Pas de deux

By Telcontarian

I am absolutely blown away by all the kudos and comments that I received on the first chapter. Thank you so much all of you. Whenever I see a notification in my email inbox that a comment has been left, I get a huge goofy grin on my face.

I hope that you all enjoy Chapter Two. Chapter Three will be posted next Sunday.

Chapter Two: Adagio

Unused to being in such close confines with Master Llewelyn, Sarah fidgeted restlessly in her seat as Jareth wove expertly through the London traffic. She was unable to take her eyes off of his elegant fingers manoeuvring the gear stick, quickly shutting down that irritating little voice inside her head that daydreamed about the other things that those clever fingers could do. She glanced up at Master Llewelyn; a crimson stain spreading rapidly across her cheeks when she realised that he had been watching her. She turned her face away quickly to look out of the window, missing the ghost of a smile that danced over his lips.

"How are you enjoying living in London, Sarah?" Jareth asked quietly as he turned his attention back to the peak time traffic, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel in frustration when the surrounding traffic ground to a complete halt.

"It's… Different," she replied. "Busier. I grew up in Upper Nyack where everyone knew each other, and no one really left. Coming to London was such a culture shock: everyone is always in such a hurry; no one stops to talk, and the first time I had to ride the Underground I was downright terrified. It's getting a little easier after ten years."

"How did you get into ballet? Your mother?"

Sarah scowled at the black Mercedes beside them, impatiently sounding his horn despite the gridlock. "Linda used to love bringing me to rehearsals with her, she loved showing me off and pretending that she had the perfect family. As soon I was old enough, she bought me my first pair of ballet slippers and enrolled me in classes. I didn't really have a choice in the matter, I just wanted to follow in Linda's footsteps and make her proud of me."

"You don't call Linda your mother?"

"No," Sarah snorted. "She left my father for another man when I was six-years-old. She travelled all over the world with Jeremy and was always too busy to call. She was too focused on her career, and I think that she tried to forget that she even had a daughter. Eventually, her relationship ran its course and she reached out, wanting to reconnect. At this point, I had not seen Linda in almost three years, and I was desperate to have a mother in my life again. My father remarried and they had my brother Toby, but I always resented Karen for trying to fill my mother's shoes."

Sarah paused, glancing briefly over at Jareth who looked back at her with sympathetic eyes. "She convinced me to move to London when I was sixteen, promising that she would help further my career. I stayed with her while I found my feet and enrolled in the Royal Ballet School. I remember my first recital; I was so nervous, but I was thrilled that Linda was sitting in the front row, finally attending one of my performances. I was exhausted from all of the rehearsal hours that I had put in, but I finally wanted her to be proud of me. During my solo, all I remember is the smile slipping from her face and the resentment in her eyes when she watched me dance. Linda had been getting passed over for roles for a while at that point, and I think she finally realised that having a daughter who followed in her footsteps wasn't necessarily a good thing. I was young and I had my whole career ahead of me, and Linda was slowly fading into the background, forgotten."

Jareth swore under his breath when a driver honked angrily behind him, not realising that the traffic had started moving again and he was holding up the lane. "What happened next?"

"She packed my bags that night and told me that I was no longer welcome," Sarah replied sadly. "That was the last time that I saw her."

Sarah jumped slightly when Jareth reached over to cover her hand with his and squeezed reassuringly before withdrawing; his fingers brushing against her skin. "Blood isn't always thicker than water, Sarah," said Jareth gently, "For what it's worth, you deserve better than Linda Williams."

"Thank you," she replied with a watery smile. "I wish that it had not taken me so long to realise."

"Do you regret moving to London?"

"Yes and no. I made what I believed was the correct choice at the time to further my career, but it came at the cost of my family. I had a huge fight with my dad and stepmom when I left, and words were said that can never be taken back. I miss home; I miss my little brother. I regret that I can never see him grow up."

"It's never too late to make amends, Sarah. Have you tried contacting them?"

"No," replied Sarah sadly. "I've picked up the phone so many times and dialled their number, but I always get cold feet and hang up when my dad or Karen answer." She breathed a sigh of relief when her apartment building came into view, her heart sore and aching from the painful conversation and being forced to relive memories that she thought she had long buried in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind. She needed some time alone to nurse her bruised heart.

Jareth frowned as he looked up at the building in front of him, his eyes dark as flint and his jaw clenched as he glanced warily around at the less than savoury characters who lounged around outside. His eyes missed nothing as he took in the crumbling exterior, the smashed windows and the broken entry door that had been kicked in by the police, and the feeble attempt that had been made at repairing it. "Please tell me this isn't where you live?"

"I didn't have much choice when Linda kicked me out," Sarah scoffed. "Have you seen the rental prices in London?"

"Are-are you safe here?" he ground out from between clenched teeth.

"I carry pepper spray in my bag," she replied dryly.

Jareth shot her a withering look. "I don't care what time it is; if you ever find yourself in trouble, promise me that you'll call." Sarah scowled at him, opening her mouth in a retort and thinking better of it at the thunderous look on Jareth's face. "Promise me, Sarah," he repeated, his fingers reaching out to curl around her wrist and his eyes holding hers, searching, waiting.

Sarah huffed, snatching her arm back and turning away from him to open the car door. "Fine," she mumbled, "I promise."

"Good girl," he growled, and the deep timbre of his voice coupled with the hint of dark promise caused a jolt of pleasure to pool low in her belly, and she clenched her thighs together against the sudden wetness that she could feel growing between her legs.

"I-I'll see you tomorrow," she replied shakily, hoping that Jareth did not pick up on the tremor in her voice. She turned to offer him a small smile and closed the car door securely behind her.

Before she could escape, Jareth rolled down the electric window and called her name. "I feel that I must renege on our previous agreement for you to take the Underground to the studio. I'll pick you up at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

Sarah scowled. "I've lived here for almost ten years. I'm perfectly capable of making my own way there."

Jareth shot her a dark look that clearly indicated that the topic was not up for discussion. "Tomorrow, Sarah," he promised as he watched her scurry up the front steps, ignoring the people gathered outside her apartment building. When she gathered the courage to twitch her curtain aside, she was surprised to see Jareth's car still outside, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel, and his lips pressed together in a hard frown. He seemed to be debating something and she watched until finally, what seemed like hours later, he started the engine and drove away.

True to his word, Jareth arrived the next morning at exactly ten o'clock, cheerfully sounding his horn. Her duffle bag thrown over her shoulder and a travel mug of coffee clutched in her hand, Sarah winced as she crept downstairs, hoping that her neighbours would not complain about her noisy visitor. Master Llewelyn leaned casually against his car dressed warmly in a navy-blue peacoat and check scarf, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his charcoal-coloured denims.

"Thanks for the fanfare," she muttered darkly, rolling her eyes when Jareth smirked and opened the car door for her, before taking his own seat behind the steering wheel.

"Good morning to you too, Sarah," he replied, an amused tone colouring his voice. "Always a joy." She tossed her bag into the back seat and brought her coffee to her lips to take a long draught of her hot drink, before extending the middle finger of her free hand in his direction and causing him to chuckle. "Charming."

The traffic was light as Master Llewelyn pulled away from the kerb, and Sarah was too preoccupied with her much-needed caffeine fix to realise that they were not headed in the direction of the studio. She frowned when she glanced out of the window, realising that they appeared to be travelling in the entirely wrong direction altogether. "Where are we going? Did you miss a turn?"

"I thought that we might have brunch before your lesson," Jareth replied happily. "I found the most charming little bistro in Westminster; have you eaten?"

"No, I didn't have time before I left." Sarah tapped her fingernails against her coffee cup, her mind racing and her heart sinking, before finally gathering enough courage to ask the question that had been plaguing her thoughts. "It's not that I don't appreciate the invitation, but is your wife okay with you going to lunch with one of your students?"

To her dismay, the corners of his lips curved upwards in a wicked smile, and his eyes glittered with mischief. "Why, Sarah, is this your way of asking if I'm single?"

"Oh, piss off," she grumbled, rolling her eyes, and a light blush kissed her cheeks as she swatted at his arm.

Jareth chuckled. "In response to your question: no, I am not married."

Sarah tried to shrug off her embarrassment, even as her heart gave a traitorous thump in her breast. "As kind as your offer is, wouldn't it be better if we spent the morning rehearsing? Auditions begin next week, and I would really like to spend more time working on Odette's variation for the pas de deux."

"You are working too hard, Sarah," said Jareth gently, checking over his shoulder for oncoming traffic before merging onto Marble Arch. "You are going to burn yourself out or worse, injure yourself if you continue at this pace."

"I just want my performance to be perfect," Sarah mumbled as she toyed with the frayed hem of her sweater.

"It will be," Jareth replied kindly, and he reached over to give her hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he offered her a soft smile. He hummed under his breath as the faint strains of "Starman" by David Bowie echoed over the radio, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel in time with the music. Jareth sighed at the usual mid-morning traffic when they neared Hyde Park, at the pedestrians and cyclists weaving in and out of the cars, at the eager tourists outside Buckingham Palace as they approached Westminster. "The Queen's not going to come out and personally greet you," he muttered with disdain, and Sarah snorted with laughter.

Brunch, Sarah soon discovered, was not quite the quiet affair that she had been expecting. The Owl's Nest bistro itself was nestled within The Winchester Hotel that had recently undergone a major refurbishment to preserve its original Victorian features. Two pillars stood proudly on either side of the entryway, with an overhead canopy to protect guests from inclement weather. When Jareth held the door opened for Sarah, they were welcomed into a cosy, open-plan interior with walls composed mainly of mahogany wood and a polished, hardwood floor beneath their feet. The restaurant hosted several booths strewn across the room for guests to enjoy their meals in relative privacy, and a well-stocked bar. The maître d'who greeted them at the door offered to take their coats, and although he was too polite to say, Sarah bristled as his eyes swept over her body. Admittedly, her ancient sweater and leggings ensemble with one too many holes in them were not quite up to standard for a restaurant of this calibre. And she wished that she had spent more time on her hair this morning, rather than hastily sweeping it up into a messy bun. "This way please." The maître d' led Jareth and Sarah past the guests sipping their morning mimosas to a secluded corner booth, and Sarah slipped in first. Although the booth could fit six patrons comfortably, Sarah was surprised when Jareth chose instead to sit directly next to her, his thigh brushing along the length of her own. "I'll let you get settled; your waiter shall be here shortly to take your order," said the maître d' as he passed two menus over to them, the leather cover beautifully embossed with the restaurant's logo and the thick, crisp white pages inside printed in beautiful script. Sarah tried not to show her alarm when her eyes skimmed over the prices.

"Just water for me, thanks," she said quietly when the waiter approached their table to note down their drinks order. Sarah immediately began to search for the cheapest item on the menu, mentally calculating her budget for the rest of the month and trying desperately to figure out what she could do without.

"I'll have the same." As the waiter left to place their drinks order, Jareth's hand moved to cover her leg, causing Sarah to wince when her knee jerked in reflex and hit off of the underside of the table. "You're worrying, Sarah."

Sarah distracted herself by pretending to focus intently on the menu in front of her, the words blurring together as she tried desperately not to think about the heat of Jareth's hand through the thin cotton of her leggings. His thumb brushed lightly against her inner thigh and she swallowed, resisting the urge to press her legs together to relieve the thrum of pleasure she could feel twisting in her core, resisting the urge to nudge his hand just a little further towards her centre. God, she really needed to get laid.

"I would have been fine with a McDonald's, honestly."

Jareth rolled his eyes, removing his hand from Sarah's leg, and she released the breath that she had been unconsciously holding. "We are not going to McDonald's, Sarah. If you are worried about money—"

"I'm not," she insisted quickly.

"—I had no intention of asking you to split the bill. You are my guest; I invited you, and it would be bad manners to expect you to pay. My mother would have been horrified. Order whatever you like; I highly recommend their excellent mimosas."

"Really, I don't mind paying my share."

"It's not up for discussion," he said gently but firmly, and the underlying, faint trace of steel in his voice and the shrewd look that he cast in her direction indicated that he would not accept any further protests.

"Fine," she muttered petulantly, tearing her eyes from his to look at the menu once more. "I think I'll order Eggs Benedict. Karen is an amazing cook; she used to make them every Sunday. I miss her chocolate chip pancakes, they're not the same over here," she said sadly.

"The buttermilk pancakes served here are delicious. They're perhaps not quite as fine as the pancakes that I used to eat in New York," Jareth admitted, "But they are certainly the closest that I have found."

"I forgot that you used to live in New York. I almost went to school there before Linda convinced me to move to London."

Jareth gave the waiter their order when he returned, surprising Sarah by ordering a stack of buttermilk pancakes to share. "I don't think that I will be able to dance after this," she grumbled good-naturedly. "Why did you leave New York?"

"I also believed that I was making the correct decision at the time; I had been living there for five years when the itch to travel struck me once more. I had not stepped foot in London for almost fifteen years at that point, and I was curious to see how much the city had changed."

"Are you happy here?"

Jareth paused, pondering her question. "Yes and no," he replied softly, and the repetition of her own words was not lost on Sarah. "I hold firm to the belief that everything happens for a reason, and I believe that I was supposed to return to London for a spell, but I would move back to New York in a heartbeat. Although," he mused, his eyes gentle and flickering with an emotion that Sarah could not quite put a name to. "Living in London is not entirely without merit. I would never have met you unless I moved here."

Sarah sucked in a breath and a gentle blush coloured her cheeks as she pondered her reply, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Thankfully, she was saved from answering and potentially making a fool of herself when their dishes arrived and she turned her attention to her plate, the delicious aroma making her stomach growl with hunger. She speared a forkful of eggs and moaned at the first bite of her meal, missing the way that Jareth's eyes drifted lower to her lips, his eyes darkening, before looking away and reaching hastily for his glass. "Oh my god, this is so much better than instant ramen."

Jareth coughed and spluttered, almost choking on his sip of water. "I beg your pardon? Instant ramen?" he repeated, looking absolutely horrified and mildly uncomfortable.

Sarah shrugged. "You get used to it. Unfortunately, I found out the hard way that breaking your ankle and being unable to perform for a year does not exactly pay well in the ballet world. Like I said, living in London isn't cheap. So, how did you get into ballet?" she asked, swiftly changing the conversation away from her abysmal living situation.

Jareth hummed thoughtfully. "My mother was one of the last prima ballerinas. Unfortunately, my father died when I was very young, and like you, she often brought me to rehearsals with her. I was practically raised in the dressing rooms of the Royal Opera House. I was fascinated with the world of ballet: fascinated by the raw power of the ballerinas; the elaborate costumes; the quiet hush before each performance and I thrived on it. I would watch each show from the wings of the stage and try to copy the ballerinas' movements. I would beg the ballerinas to apply make-up to my face when they were readying themselves before their performance. I think that I was around five-years-old when I told my mother that I wanted to be a ballerino when I grew up and she was kind, understanding even. Where other children often mocked me for my love of dancing, my mother nurtured my innate talent and encouraged me to follow my dreams. She put every penny that she earned into my education and never missed a show; I owe everything that I am to her. I dance to honour her memory."

They parted ways several hours later, Sarah's belly uncomfortably full, and she thought longingly of soaking in the tub to soothe her aching muscles and bones after a long week of gruelling rehearsals. Jareth escorted her to the front door, and he hesitated only briefly before he pressed a kiss to her cheek, his warm hand resting gently over her hip as his lips brushed against the corner of her mouth. When Sarah finally emerged from her bath an hour later, she tugged her robe tighter around her when a knock sounded at her front door. She opened it tentatively; her eyes narrowed, and her brow furrowed in confusion when she found the corridor empty. And when she glanced down to find several bags of groceries waiting on her doorstep, Sarah finally allowed herself to feel hope.