Pas de deux

By Telcontarian

Thank you for your continued love and support! Next week's chapter will be where "Pas de deux" earns its explicit rating, and we finally put some of those mouth-watering tags to good use.

The kitchen scene with the nom nom recipe is heavily inspired by the amazing "Satan Wears A Rolex" by AquaWolfGirl

Also, if you look for me on AO3 (same pen name) this fic has a playlist which you can listen to while you read along.

Chapter Four: Variation: Deuxième partie

As the last tendrils of Winter's chill began to finally recede from the frozen earth, the weeks passed by in a flurry of frenzied rehearsals with the Royal Ballet, additional lessons with Master Llewelyn and daily meltdowns with the choreography department. Sarah knew that if Jareth was not present to ensure that she ate regularly and obtained at least eight hours of sleep each night, she would have forgotten to take care of herself. Sarah blossomed under Jareth's tutelage; she pushed her body to its limits, dancing for ten hours a day, determined to make Master Llewelyn proud of her.

Master Llewelyn insisted on being present at Sarah's rehearsals with the Royal Ballet to observe her routines with the other principal dancers. Initially, she had been uncertain of Jareth accompanying her; worried that he would prove too distracting or criticise her movements too harshly in front of her peers. However, she soon began to depend on him waiting quietly in the wings—he was a familiar and comforting presence who never failed to shower her with kind words and quiet praise after each performance.

As Spring began to tentatively unfurl her delicate wings, the long-awaited list of roles for this year's production of Swan Lake was finally posted to the noticeboard in the dancers' common room in the Royal Opera House. Weaving through the throng of anxious dancers, Sarah held her head high as she tried to ignore the rude stares and the whispered conversations that seemed to follow her insidiously through the hallway. As she approached the noticeboard, the younger ballerinas currently crowding the roster seemed to part for her, eyeing her with a mixture of awe and jealousy. However, Sarah soon forgot their presence when she momentarily failed to remember how to breathe, and her knees threatened to buckle from underneath her when her eyes swept over the principal roles.

Odette/Odile – Sarah Williams.

Her heart beat triumphantly in her breast, a wild, untamed joy singing through her veins and absolutely nothing could stop the radiant smile that curled at her lips. She turned away from her muttering peers, knowing that there was only one other person with whom she wanted to share the news with, and she pulled her mobile phone from her pocket.

He answered almost instantly, and the curt "Jareth Llewelyn" spoken directly into her ear made her swallow, her teeth biting softly into her lower lip.

"Hi, it's Sarah."

Jareth's tone immediately turned to one of concern. "Are you alright? Are you safe?"

"I'm fine," she replied and all of the stress that she had endured in the past few weeks, all of her fear and insecurities and worry that she was not enough left her mouth in a ripple of laughter. Her shoulders felt instantly lighter as if relieved of a huge burden. "I won the dual role of Odette and Odile!"

"There was never any doubt," he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice and the rare hint of pride that coloured his tone. "We should celebrate your success. Are your classes finished for today?"

"Yes," she replied brightly, stepping out into the crisp, spring air and heading for Holborn Underground Station. "I'm just about to take the tube; I should be at the studio in thirty minutes."

"I'll see you soon, Precious," he murmured, and the husky tone of his voice sent shivers down Sarah's spine as he disconnected the call. She started walking just that little bit faster towards the Underground, a wide grin blossoming slowly over her lips. And she tried to reason with herself that it was due only to the cold chill of the wind and not because of the handsome Ballet Master who waited for her in Portobello Road.

When Sarah finally reached the ballet studio a little after five o'clock, she was surprised to find Jareth in the middle of locking the door securely behind him. "Master Llewelyn!" she called, waiting for a gap in the busy traffic before hurrying to meet him. "I thought that we had a lesson tonight?"

Jareth turned to face her, and the left side of his mouth curled up in a wry smile as he turned the key to his studio over in the palm of his hand. "I've decided to cancel it," he replied cheerfully. "My plans have fallen through tonight and I thought that we could have dinner instead."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Let me guess: the plans that fell through were my evening lessons?"

Jareth's grin widened as he unlocked his car and opened the passenger door for Sarah to slide in. "Naturally."

She snorted. "Convenient."

Despite the usual rush-hour traffic, they reached Marylebone in under half an hour. When Jareth pulled up outside an elegant, two-storey townhouse, Sarah turned to look at him, her head tilted quizzically to one side. "I thought that we were having dinner?"

"We are." He smiled, and he cut the engine to step out and open the passenger door for Sarah to slip out. "I thought that I would cook for you tonight." Sarah gaped up at the handsome, pebble-dashed exterior with welcoming marble columns on either side of the entryway, and she hurried to follow Jareth up the stone steps when he turned around to see that she was not following behind. She shucked off her trainers in the hallway—tucking them into a small cubbyhole behind the door—and her stocking feet sank into the thick, cream carpet. Sarah marvelled at the various works of art that lined the walls, longing to reach out her hand and brush her fingers over the lifelike birds that seemed like they could take flight if she touched them. She barely had time to admire the lounge to her left, catching a glimpse of an elegantly carved marble hearth and leather recliner sofa that Sarah knew she would not be able to rise up out of once she sat down. And while she was fairly certain that Jareth was unattached, there did not seem to be any sign of feminine touches throughout the spacious home.

Jareth beckoned her into a large and modern well-stocked kitchen filled with sleek marble countertops and expensive appliances that she was sure had to cost more than her monthly salary from the Royal Ballet. The cupboards were painted a soft grey, and a breakfast bar currently set for one ran parallel to the back wall, constructed from the leftover worktop. An ornate, mahogany dining table lay nestled in the corner, six elegant burnt orange chairs tucked neatly underneath. The table itself was barely visible under a mountain of paperwork, several binders and various mugs filled with half-finished coffee where Master Llewelyn obviously planned his lessons. Jareth raised an eyebrow when Sarah opened the closest cupboard door out of curiosity, the left side of his mouth quirked up in amusement as she examined the contents. "Wine, Sarah?" he asked, selecting one of many bottles from the integrated wine rack and he held it up for her inspection.

"Yes please," she replied, smiling her thanks when he slipped a glass onto the breakfast bar and gestured for her to take a seat while he pulled a large bowl and various ingredients from the fridge. He moved around the kitchen with relative ease and not for the first time, Sarah wished that she could see him dance. She shook her head before taking a sip of wine, trying to rid herself of her jealousy when she realised that his movements would likely be more fluid and graceful than hers would ever be.

"Forgive me for cheating, but I prepared the soup last night."

Sarah snorted. "You're talking to someone that is significantly lacking in culinary skills. Do you enjoy cooking?"

She watched as Jareth drizzled a little oil in a large skillet, pulling a chopping board towards him, and he sliced up a block of brie and grated parmesan into a little bowl while he waited for the stove to heat up. "I do. Unfortunately, I don't often get the opportunity to cook for anyone other than myself." Jareth buttered four thick slices of bread and pressed them into the plate containing the parmesan, before placing two slices carefully into the skillet and decanting the creamy, tomato soup into a pot to warm it through.

"Can I help? I'm not much of a cook and I would probably cut my own finger off, but it's the thought that counts."

Jareth's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "No thank you; I appreciate the offer though." He poured himself a glass of wine and took a small sip, humming appreciatively. Sarah watched in fascination as Jareth plucked two juicy pears from the fruit bowl and started to peel them.

"A pear?"

He actually had the audacity to wink at her, and a mischievous smile pulled at his lips. "Wait and see. I promise that it will be worth it."

Jareth arranged the brie over the bread in the skillet, topped them with pear slices and spooned a thick honey and chilli mixture over the ingredients before he placed the remaining slices of bread on top.

"Grilled cheese?" she asked incredulously, "You're making me a grilled cheese sandwich?"

A muscle ticked in Jareth's jaw and Sarah fought to stifle a laugh when she realised that Jareth was resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her. She froze, bowing her head, and took a sip of wine to hide the redness that she knew was stealing across her cheeks. Since when was she so attuned to Master Llewelyn's feelings?

"This is not just a grilled cheese, Sarah," he muttered in exasperation as he flipped the sandwich over and waved the spatula in her direction. "It's a grilled cheese sandwich made with brie, parmesan, pear and chilli infused honey."

"Smells delicious," she answered honestly, and Jareth gave her a small smile as he poured the soup into two bowls and plated up their sandwiches a few minutes later. He slipped the bowls onto the breakfast bar and took the stool beside her, his thigh pressed along the length of hers once more.

He waited nervously while Sarah dipped the edge of her sandwich into her soup bowl, and she moaned appreciatively around a mouthful of cheese. "My God, can you cook for me every night?"

Jareth's smile widened, and his eyes brightened at her praise. "Good?"

"So good," she replied, "Now be quiet while I devour this."

After they argued over who washed the dishes—which Jareth won narrowly after he threatened to cut Sarah off from a third glass of wine—Jareth tentatively suggested that they retreated to the lounge to let their dinner settle. Sarah followed obediently, her belly full and her brain hazy with tiredness, and she sank into the leather recliner sofa with a contented sigh and tugged a warm, grey throw over herself. Jareth glanced down at her affectionately, his mouth twitching in amusement and his eyebrow raised as he chose the seat beside her. He pulled the blanket over his lap, his arm resting casually against the back of the couch beside her head. "Comfortable, Precious?" Sarah hummed in quiet contentment and in her sleepy state, she wasn't sure whether or not she imagined Jareth running a lock of her hair between his fingers. "It's still early; shall we watch a movie?"

They barely made it through the opening scenes of The Devil Wears Prada—Sarah snorting in amusement at Jareth's choice of movie—before she began to snore softly. She slipped sideways in her chair, her head falling to rest on Jareth's shoulder, and his arm curled around her waist to pull her against his warm body. He hushed her when she stirred, sleepy murmurs drawn from her lips when he cradled her against him and carried her through to a guest bedroom. Jareth turned down the bed and slipped her gently beneath the thick comforter, tucking the edges around her to ward off the evening's chill. Sarah was almost sure that she was awake—but it was hard to tell as she started to drift, caught somewhere between wakefulness and dreams—curled up in what was quite possibly the comfiest bed that she had ever slept in. She was almost certain that she felt the lingering press of Jareth's lips against her forehead, and the brush of his fingers along her jawline before sleep finally claimed her.

"Goodnight, Sarah-mine."

Unfortunately, one ill-timed misstep brought Sarah's world crashing down around her once more. During a dress rehearsal several weeks later, Sarah crumpled to the floor on the stage of the Royal Opera House, her face contorted in pain as fire lanced through her ankle. Jareth was at her side almost instantly, pushing through the gathered throng of concerned dancers flocking around her, kneeling beside his student and drawing her foot onto his knee. Sarah clutched at his arm, her fingernails biting into the crisp linen of his shirt as Jareth began to unwind the ribbons from her ankle, slipping the shoe from her foot to assess her injury. She hissed in pain when Jareth probed her ankle with a gentle touch, his fingers tracing the scar that bisected her foot and gingerly moving her ankle. "I don't think that it is broken," he said at length, his gaze fixed on hers, brows drawn over sympathetic eyes. "However, you will have to rest your ankle for a few weeks."

Sarah swallowed thickly, teeth biting into the soft flesh of her bottom lip as tears of frustration started to pool in her eyes. "But the auditions—"

"No buts, Sarah," interrupted Jareth in a tone that left little room for argument. Before she could protest further, Master Llewelyn rose from his crouched position, offering Sarah his hand and pulling his student to her feet. He slipped his arms around her shoulders and beneath her legs, mindful not to jostle her injured foot as he swept past the whispering students, and Sarah buried her heated face in the soft folds of Jareth's shirt to hide her embarrassment.

She did not protest when Jareth lowered her carefully into the passenger seat of his car, his thumbs brushing over her collarbone as he tucked the seatbelt securely around her. She did not protest either when Jareth refused to let her climb the two flights of stairs that led to her little apartment, convincing Sarah to hand over her keys before allowing her to leave the car. He struggled only briefly to insert the key into the lock, easily supporting her weight with one arm and cursing quietly under his breath as he waged war against the ancient locking mechanism. Jareth paused on the threshold, and his sharp gaze missed nothing as he cast a curious eye around her small, studio apartment. His gaze swept over the living room as he took in the almost derelict television set, the mismatched couch and armchair that looked like it had seen better days. He grimaced at the tiny kitchenette that had been squeezed into the back corner of the room as if by afterthought. Unfortunately, the cost of living in London was ridiculously high and while she could hardly call her run-down little flat luxurious, she had tried to fix it up as best she could. Sarah had spent many weekends wandering through the markets on Portobello Road, purchasing bright rugs to cover up the bare floorboards, and adding the cheerful splash of several colourful paintings to cover the peeling wallpaper—slightly damp in places. She had also been unable to resist buying thick, fluffy throw rugs for her couch and bed to keep her warm when the temperature plummeted, and her heating failed.

Jareth set her down gently on the couch, wincing when Sarah's face contorted in pain as her ankle was jostled in the process. She shifted in her seat, trying to ignore the press of the broken spring that was beginning to poke through the cushions and into the small of her back. "I'll get you some ice," Jareth muttered, his teeth clenched against the biting cold of the room, gooseflesh causing the light dusting of hair on his arms to prickle and stand on end. "Where is your thermostat?"

"My heating doesn't work."

From his stooped position examining the meagre contents of her freezer he paused, glancing at Sarah in the vain hope that he had misheard her. "Come again?"

Unable to meet his gaze, Sarah cast her eyes downwards, her fingers plucking at the frayed hem of the knitted throw tossed carelessly over the back of her couch. "It doesn't work," she repeated, "My landlord hasn't gotten around to fixing it yet."

"Please tell me that you are not being serious, Sarah; heating is a basic necessity."

"It doesn't matter," she replied quickly, still not meeting his eyes, "Besides, I was lucky to find this apartment."

"Lucky? This whole building ought to be condemned," he muttered darkly. "How long have you been without heating?" Jareth growled, the couch protesting when the cushion sagged under the extra weight of a second body. Her teeth worried her lower lip as she hesitated in her answer, hissing her discomfort from between clenched teeth when Master Llewelyn pressed a frozen bag of peas against her aching and bruised ankle. Jareth leaned forward, tucking his finger beneath her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "How long, Sarah?"

"Four months," she admitted reluctantly, flinching when Jareth pulled away and swore colourfully, running a frustrated hand through his normally immaculately groomed hair. She tried not to stare too long at the tousled strands, wondering how soft his hair would feel if she were to run her fingers through it. She wondered what noises he would make when she tugged softly… Sarah blushed scarlet, and she prayed to whatever deity existed that Jareth was too preoccupied to question her embarrassment. She clenched her thighs together beneath the blanket, acutely aware of the trickle of arousal that had started to pool between her legs. He was a sinfully attractive man sure, but she genuinely had no idea where this sudden elicit fantasy had come from. It had been longer than she cared to remember since she had last slept with anyone. Surely, it was just her embarrassingly long dry spell that was fuelling her unexpected horniness and not because she was actually attracted to him—was she?

"Why did you not tell me sooner?" Without waiting for her answer, Jareth rose from the couch and strode purposely away from her. Sarah craned her head just in time to see him brush aside the beaded curtain that separated her miniscule bedroom from the rest of the apartment.

"Jareth?" she called out tentatively, vaguely aware that this was the first time that she had allowed herself to speak his name aloud, and her tongue curled around his name like a precious secret. A loud thud, followed almost immediately by a string of muttered curses and soft expletives echoed throughout her apartment. Sarah allowed herself to bask in the warm glow that seemed to radiate through her body at his spoken name, sending another throb of pleasure to her aching core. Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed in confusion when she heard Master Llewelyn rummaging through the contents of her bedroom. "What are you doing?"

"Packing your things," he called back, his voice muffled by the opening and closing of drawers as he gathered her belongings. "I have two spare bedrooms; you can stay with me while we find you a more suitable apartment."

"I can't leave!" she protested, red-faced and spluttering at the prospect of actually living with Jareth, all too aware of the vicious rumours that would be spread around the Royal Ballet if their living arrangements were ever publicly disclosed.

"It is not up for discussion, Sarah," he replied seriously, eyes narrowed as he swept aside the beaded curtain to fix her with a stony glare that brooked no argument. "I cannot fathom how you have been staying here as long as you have with a landlord who obviously does not give a shit about your living conditions." He paused, scowling his displeasure at the mildew stain that had become a permanent fixture on her ceiling, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as flint while his hands clenched into fists at his side. "You should have come to me months ago, Sarah," he said gently, placing the half-filled suitcase at her feet. "I would have helped you. I know that I am not the easiest person to get along with, but I would never have turned you away."

Swallowing back the lump of emotion that had lodged firmly in her throat, Sarah reached almost tentatively for Jareth's hand, offering him a timid smile when he jumped slightly before glancing doing at their joined hands. To her surprise he did not pull away, choosing instead to lace his fingers through hers. "You have treated me with nothing but kindness. Don't get me wrong, you are a complete pain in my ass, and I could cheerfully strangle you at times," she continued, blinking in surprise when he smiled affectionately at her, his dark gaze soft. "But you are not a bad man." Still, she hesitated, her head pounding with a million and one reasons why living with Master Llewelyn was such a terrible idea.

"You don't really have much of a choice, Sarah," said Jareth quietly as if he guessed her turbulent thoughts, and she sighed unhappily, knowing that he was right.

"Fine," she mumbled, and she almost missed the slow, triumphant smirk that curled at the corners of Jareth's lips when his stubborn student finally yielded to him. "But only until I get back on my feet again."

Jareth chuckled. "Of course, Precious. If you pack what you can, I'll arrange for a courier to deliver any larger items that you wish to bring with you, and I'll have the rest put into storage for you. Now let's get to work; the sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave this accursed apartment."