Warning: tooth-rotting, saccharine fluff.

Chapter 4

Sarah blinked, and she wasn't in her bedroom anymore.

The stony mess of a throne room greeted her instead (though with a lot less chickens this time), along with a hundred yellow goblin eyes watching her, waiting for her to do something. She whirled around, heart practically in her throat, but it plopped right back down when she found the throne room empty of its king. The throne sat in the background surrounded by tiny goblin bodies, looking sharp and imposing with its bone backing and cloth draperies… or it would, if not for the tiny pile of potatoes on the seat and a single onion topping it like a star on a Christmas tree. She couldn't help but laugh at the sight despite her disappointment.

"Where's Jareth?" she asked the room, when they just kept staring.

"Dunno," several of them barked, their answers scattered and out of sync. A few just looked at each other and, when confirming the other one didn't know either, shrugged.

Sarah's shoulders sank impatiently. "I asked you to take me to the king."

"He's usually here," said one goblin nearest to her ankle.

"But you don't know where he is now?"

Collective heads all shook 'no'. Sarah resisted the urge to slap her hand to her forehead—how did anything get done with these guys around?

"I'm going to go look for him, then," she said shortly, turning on her heel and making her way over to the arched exit.

She wasn't even a step out of the throne room before she collided with a tall, wiry body barreling full speed towards her. Gloved hands abruptly gripped her hips before she could collapse backward onto the stone as Sarah fisted her hands in the silky material of a billowing overcoat to prevent the same. She let out a stuttering gasp at the impact but went completely breathless as she looked up to find the familiar, bewildered eyes of her king. His hair was more flyaway than normal, like he'd sprinted all the way up here, and his face, lacking any trace of his former injuries, was all sharp angles and perfect mouth gaping at her like he'd never seen anything like her before, and her heart seized, he was beautiful.

"Hi," she said blankly, instead of any of that.

"Hi," he repeated just as tonelessly, and she almost hoped his brain was short-circuiting like hers was right now.

Sarah startled in his arms when a few of the goblins contributed scattered, 'hi's of their own, and she would have laughed at the absurdity if she still had the breath to do so.

Jareth let out a little huff and, letting go of her painfully quickly, told their would-be audience with a quirked eyebrow, "You are all excused."

The goblins abruptly scampered out of every available exit (the window included), some pulling others that weren't going quickly enough, until the throne room was empty of anyone but the two of them. She turned back around to face Jareth, who had taken several steps back and was looking at her like a bomb that might go off. Her brows drew together as a cold flush swept over her—oh god, was it a mistake to come here? Maybe he was just fine with never speaking again after what happened, maybe—

"Do you," he said carefully, interrupting her mental panic, "remember what has transpired?"

That was not at all what she was expecting.

Frowning, Sarah exclaimed, "Why the hell wouldn't I?"

Just like that, the Goblin King's whole demeanor changed from tense uncertainty into boneless relief, like he was Atlas and her words had just been the heavens' weight being removed from his shoulders. He reached for her with outstretched hands like he wanted to just collapse into her, but she beat him to it, stumbling forward and throwing herself into his waiting arms. Jareth drew her in like he was trying to merge with her, holding her so tight it left her breathless and near tears alarmingly quickly.

"I didn't know if you would remember me," he breathed into her hair, before she could say anything.

"Why wouldn't I?" she repeated, ear pressed just right on his chest so she could hear his thundering heartbeat.

"Remember what I told you in the dungeon? The Council ordinarily wipes the memories of Aboveground women."

"Looks like they were gracious enough to leave me with mine," Sarah mumbled sarcastically.

Jareth pulled away and she followed suit, only to find him looking at her with a bizarre expression she couldn't quite place, almost like he was trying very hard not to look relieved.

"Sarah, it would be… understandable if you wanted them gone," he said in a carefully neutral tone.

'It could still be done,' was left entirely unsaid, but Sarah still heard it loud and clear. The thought horrified her more, for some reason—how could he think she could just erase all of her memories of him and happily go back to thinking he was an evil trickster, living her normal Aboveground life while he wiled away alone down here?

"No," tumbled out of her mouth almost on its own. "No, I don't want that. I don't want to forget anything about you."

Her hand reached up of its own accord to trace the lines of the face she wanted branded into her memory, the one that had looked at her like she was a sweet impossibility, the one that blazed like a wildfire when she whispered dirty promises into his ear. Now it melted into gentle, vulnerable relief, eyes shutting under her warm caresses. His hand claimed one of hers to steal it away to his mouth, so he could kiss her fingers in that breath-stealing, reverent way, just like at the ceremony. She found her eyes burning with tears again, but surprisingly not upset at the remembrance of the ceremony, as horrendous as it had been. The whole time she'd been agonizing Aboveground with no answers and no goodbyes, she'd been shocked with herself that it wasn't the ceremony and its horrific nature that left a bottomless pit in her stomach, but the grueling uncertainty that she'd never get to see those little glimpses of his love for her ever again. Eventually she was going to have to work that out with a counsellor or something, because it was probably concerning she was more hung up over a guy than she was at being forced to go through something like that, but that would be for a later time, she thought.

"Why didn't you come and see me, or send some kind of message?" Sarah whispered, regretful to break the moment but desperately needing answers. "It's been over a week since they sent me home."

"I regret leaving you without word, Sarah, but I truly thought they would have erased your memories," Jareth said, eyes opening to look at her with repentance. "I'm uncertain as to why they wouldn't, considering they are in no hurry to do me any favors at the moment."

"What do you mean?" Sarah frowned.

"They have yet to return my magic," Jareth said sourly, "despite the ceremony's completion. It has been months, and—"

"Months?"

What the heck was up with Underground time?

"Yes, and my senior advisor has had to take on the responsibility of running the kingdom since the Council has been refusing to allow me my powers back," Jareth snarled. "It is impossible to run a kingdom of magic without my own magic to control it. I was returning from petitioning the High Courts, but it appears they are still displeased with me for refusing the supposed honor of participating in the ceremony, and their so-called generous offer."

Sarah almost smirked at the way he spat out the words 'generous offer', reminded of her villain in tattered beige coats demanding she recognize his 'generosity', but she frowned instead.

"What offer?"

He paused in his rants and looked ashamed for a moment, taking that long, aggravating pause that Sarah knew all too well. She almost huffed—what the heck could he be hiding now, after everything they'd gone through together?

"They… offered you. As an incentive to participate in the ceremony," he bit out, like the words were poison.

"What is so bad about this ceremony that you'd go through this, just to avoid participating?"

"They involved you."

"Wait, I don't understand," Sarah said quietly, shaking her head. "Why would they offer me? I thought… you said they hurt you because you found out they took me, that you didn't want me involved?"

"Of course I did not want you involved, Sarah," he hissed, gripping her hands like he thought she might run away.

"But they thought you did," she said breathlessly, watching his face flicker between terror and helplessness as she pieced it all together. "Because… because you love me."

The statement numbly slipped out, its cold truth spreading from her lips across her face and down to her chest, leaving her unable to breathe. She couldn't do anything but watch Jareth as his eyes slammed shut, looking like she'd torn him open and pulled out his soul to show to the world, and this time when her eyes burned with tears she found them impossible to swallow back down. God, he really did, it wasn't a lie or the stupid imaginings of a lonely girl. When his eyes reopened, it was to stare at her questioningly, almost like he was asking how she'd guessed.

"You did put it in the book," Sarah said, her attempted nonchalance foiled by the hitch in her voice as she felt her tears spill over her cheeks in hot trails.

Jareth looked pained as he wiped them away with gentle care, the fabric of his gloves soaking them up.

"There were a million ways I wished to see you again, Sarah," he whispered so, so brokenly, "but that was not one of them. I… regret how things happened."

"I don't," she hissed around the lump in her throat, shaking her head between his hands. "This whole week I was so upset, and it was awful, but I realized I was barely thinking about the stupid ceremony. I just wanted to see you, so much, it was like I couldn't breathe—"

She interrupted herself with a sob, all the exhaustion and grief and uncertainty of the past few weeks finally spilling out in one go. Sarah felt Jareth's billowy coat caress her ankles as he drew her into another tight embrace, and she gladly buried her face into the collar of his shirt, the lump in her throat receding almost at once.

"They didn't even let us say goodbye," she whispered finally, after a moment of the two of them just breathing each other in. He smelled like leather and that sweet, floral scent she sometimes caught during her time in the Labyrinth, like .

"I would have gone to see you if I could," Jareth murmured regretfully into her hair.

"I know," Sarah sighed, and she did, she knew now, and the knowledge was calming enough for Sarah to have no qualms about tilting her head up to find his and kissing him.

He kissed back in that special way, just like the first time in the dungeon, like she was an elusive dream that was just about to slip away and he had to take advantage of her kiss now or never. It stole her breath again, and she had to fist her hands in his lapels to stop from crumpling onto the floor with the dizzy pleasure of it. The motion made his jacket slip a little off his shoulder, and Sarah didn't hesitate to slip one hand underneath his lapel to grasp the warm, smooth skin of his chest. She let out a pleased little mewl when Jareth took the same liberties, his hand sliding up her bare back underneath her shirt, silk gloves gliding against her spine. He answered the noise with one of his own and pulled her a little closer, and Sarah's whole body absolutely shuddered at the thought of where this was sure to go.

"We still haven't tried out that throne," Sarah crooned when she was able to pull herself away.

Fuck, she loved that blazing look in his eyes.

"We have not," he said in a low voice full of promise, hands sliding unapologetically over her ass.

She grinned and was about to lead him over, wracking her brain for how exactly her promised dream went, when she suddenly blinked in remembrance.

"Oh wait, the goblins left you a present on the seat," she said blankly.

He had to blink the arousal out of his eyes. "What?"

"Yeah, they put, um, potatoes. And an onion."

Jareth immediately looked annoyed, one hand leaving her ass to pinch the bridge of his nose. "How many times have I told them?"

She laughed, not even bothered that the mood was totally ruined. "They thought you'd like it this time."

"I especially do not like it this time, since you were just about to ride my cock like the queen you are."

Jesus, this man's words turned to molten liquid in her blood. She stared him down through hooded eyes in a way that had him freezing in place, and if Sarah could see herself she imagined she was sending him a scorching gaze just like the ones he sent.

"Tell you what, Jareth," she breathed, grinning at the way the utterance of his name had him sucking in a breath, "we can save your throne for another time. For now, you can take me to your royal chambers and fuck me in your bed like the king you are."

"Sarah," he hissed through clenched teeth, before looking pained. "I dearly wish I had my magic so we did not have to make the entire fucking trip there."

Sarah laughed and, grabbing his hand, pulled him in a slight jog towards the hall he'd entered from. "We'd better run, then, shouldn't we?"

And he followed her, coats billowing and their combined laughter ringing through the halls without a care to who might see them.

Jareth watched her, as he usually did, except this time her head was pillowed on his arm, naked body tangled in his sheets after hours of going at it with wild enthusiasm and a little bit of desperation, if they were being honest.

For the first time he wasn't an owl resting on a cold branch, watching her through a foggy window, or a bruised man stripped of his title and chained in a dungeon next to her. He had watched her in the dungeon too, after they'd finished eating dinner and he had coaxed her into napping when her yawns started to get more frequent. She had blushed but scooted herself close to him to his surprise, pressing her back against his chest in clear invitation; he had only hesitated the briefest of moments before pulling her close, like she clearly wanted, like he never expected she would ever want.

It was fascinating, he had thought to himself back then—he'd never seen her this close before. He could see everything he hadn't been able to see through his blurry crystals—the uneven piercings in her ears; the tiny mole on the right side of her stomach, made visible by the shirt she'd hiked up during her nighttime wriggling; the sprinkling of freckles on her shoulders from some long-healed sunburn. Her brow was furrowed, but she didn't frown, and if the vibrant images and feelings wafting from her were any indication, her dreams were pleasant. Her lower lip was stuck out in something of a pout, and he swallowed hard when he remembered tasting it earlier. He chanced a soft kiss and, when that thankfully didn't rouse her, he lifted a hand to sweep tendrils of her hair out of her face, lingering on her cheek. Whichever god Above had crafted her, Jareth thanked in his mind—she was exquisite. His breath hitched when she snuggled closer, slipping a leg between his.

She was warm against him, so trusting in her sleep that she'd clamped onto him like a vice, her arm thrown around his chest. She was also drooling on his arm, he noticed with a smirk. It was utterly endearing.

The few who'd witnessed Sarah's triumph over his Labyrinth couldn't possibly understand why their King had obsessed over this mortal girl—she was nothing, just another selfish brat, not all that pretty to look at (the servant who'd said the last bit had been exiled, Jareth had made certain of it). And in a way, when he first happened upon her by catching snippets of her vivid and fantastical dreams, he'd thought so as well.

But he fell hard, utterly fascinated at how firmly she believed, at such an age—normally only children believed in things like goblins and magical kings who controlled dreams. Sometimes, just out of curiosity, he would prod her dreams to show more images of himself and his world, and he was interested when she delighted at them. Her favorites had been those where she had someone to rescue from the castle's towers—a classmate, her parents—and she seemed to enjoy it more when he played the villain rather than the friend or the captive, so he adapted to it, gave her exactly what she wanted. When Sarah had truly made it to the Labyrinth, he composed songs for her, drawing inspiration from her own dreams and his thunderous passions, and she reveled in them. He had played his part as usual, and so had she, but he hadn't expected it to backfire so spectacularly in the end. Sarah had shoved away her dreams, and subsequently himself, with no remorse, and he forgave her. Of course he did. Though he'd spat it at her, she couldn't see how hard he'd tried to give her everything she wanted—and how could she? He was just the villain who stole her brother and sicced his goblins on her.

It was easier back then to let her leave. She still believed, still talked to her friends from the Labyrinth, and still dreamed. He let her dreams progress naturally after that, certain his interfering had done some harm. He still caught snippets now and then, but he preferred watching her go about her days in real life as the unseen owl, certain he couldn't do any harm simply by watching. She later moved to the city, which was too bright and difficult to navigate in his animal form, and he stubbornly took to crystals. She dreamed of him—he knew that, he could feel it, and he always knew she would—but he vehemently kept away from those, unwilling to see what she thought of him.

Jareth had glanced down at her again, watching her breasts rise and fall underneath the thin material of her blouse with each breath. He'd touched her there, sucked on them, watched them bounce as he rode her. He swallowed again, trying to ignore the dull throb that came from his thoughts. Gods, he'd made love to this woman, under her fervent request—and what a stunning, fantasy-fulfilling request it had been. How in the world was he going to forget that? The moment was burned into his mind like a brand, he was sure of it. He was also sure this woman had spoiled him for anybody else; the mere accidental slip of his name from her lips had been enough to spin his head.

Now, Sarah stretched out in her sleep, mumbling pleased little sounds as her hands swept over the bed in search of him and connected almost immediately with his bare chest. She settled right back down, a little huffed breath blowing away a stray strand of hair as she slipped back into sleep. He smiled as he watched her, head propped on his arm as he traced the sprinkling of freckles on her shoulder with his fingertip. He had wanted to when they were in the dungeon, but hadn't wanted to wake her, nor overstep his boundaries. Jareth almost snorted at the thought—the woman had quite literally thrown herself into his lap and begged him to take her, but he had worried too much about touching her shoulder. Sarah hadn't stopped surprising him the moment she'd been stolen back into his life.

His expression soured at the thought. The remembrance of the ceremony turned his stomach whenever he thought about it. It was difficult to look the councilmembers in the eyes even to demand his rightful power back, knowing they'd all seen perhaps one of the most private moments of his life. The idea of the breeding ceremony had never bothered him before—he'd all but accepted it in theory, having two common fae, normally unwed individuals, be selected to go through the ceremony for the chance of a child. Hell, sometimes they volunteered. It had been successful in the past, the two participants largely able to leave unscathed and remembering little due to the potion, perhaps even leaving pleased if a child were to come from the event.

It was so… complicated for them. Not for the first time, he cursed the High Council in his mind for their horrendous choice, no matter how overwhelmingly happy he was to have the love of his life sleeping peacefully next to him. Never mind Sarah going on with her life believing he was a villain, or finding herself snatched back Underground without warning—even with their splendorous, dream-fulfilling time in the dungeon just to themselves, she was not something Jareth would have ever wanted to share with anyone else's eyes, let alone a council of pompous ancients who disliked him for the kingdom he happened to run. On that day Sarah had, too quickly for him to be anything but stunned senseless, fulfilled everything he had ever wanted from her and then some, and he hated that he had to share any part of that with a group of indifferent voyeurs. It was a bittersweet truth they would just have to deal with.

Sighing and running a hand over his face, Jareth settled himself back down next to her but kept a few inches of distance between the two of them, so he could run his fingers up the line of her spine. No matter how it happened, she was here, of her own volition this time, and although she wasn't his yet, he was able to hope that she might one day be. She knew his heart; he need only wait for hers to catch up.

He let out another sweet sigh and pressed a kiss to the freckled shoulder, whispering a quiet, "I love you," into the sweet skin of her arm.

"I know," she murmured back, startling him. Before he could apologize for waking her, she rolled over and smiled so, so sweetly at him. "And if I don't already… I will."

He kissed her fiercely, sealing that promise.

A/N: This tiny end chap is such a ball of tooth-rotting fluff you can just call it a marshmallow :) So this was all I had written and I plan to mark it complete for now, but I am planning some lil epilogues, including the throne scene because like, we have to. Also the Council deserves some backlash for their bullshit. I cannot promise anything soon because if you think regular university is time-consuming, try it when you're stuck inside for literally the next two semesters! (end me) Special thanks to Margot Grazyna, Fleur24, hobgoblinowl, furionbeauty, DeannaBear, Fantasyx-101, LadyDragon28, LadyCorazon, and pinkdynamite.