Chapter Three: Heartache or Headache?

Sarah's hand twitch nervously toward the bedside lamp, and her fingers had just curled around the stem of it when the ceiling light flared to life. It was like an intensely bright pulse of continuous lightning, vivid and blinding. By no means was it the light that normally came on; as a matter of fact she didn't even think that the voice was in the right part of the room to reach the switch.

Her mind was stalling, but at least she had enough dignity to admit that fact. Fingers still wrapped around the lamp, she stared at it dumbly for a while, giving her eyes time to adjust to the glaring light and her heart a few moments to settle back into a rhythm that was approaching normal.

"Cruel beauty," the voice mocked, "I don't even get a hello?"

Her breath hitched. "You're not real," she murmured, hoping it was true rather than knowing. "I've fallen asleep and I'm having a very bad dream."

A weight settled on the mattress, close enough that she could feel the body heat being thrown off. "I beg to differ," he said quietly as a warm, leather covered finger hooked itself under her chin and gently forced her to turn around.

A shiver licked its way down her spine at the soft touch, but there was a silent steeliness to it that warned her she wouldn't be allowed to turn away. Unable, and perhaps even unwilling, to force herself out of his grasp, Sarah swiveled her eyes in random directions, delaying the moment for as long as she could. Even after all these years she still wasn't ready for this. Her resistance didn't last very long though, because she was just as curious as she was scared, and there was something about the man seated in front of her that had always commanded attention; her eyes finally focused where they had been directed to.

That single moment spun out for a small eternity.

It was definitely Jareth, but not as she remembered him. From the first time she had met him, Sarah had known that it wasn't likely she would ever be able to guess his age, but his physical maturity hadn't been that hard to relate by human standards; in her eyes he had possessed the strength and beauty of a man caught on the very brink of his early thirties. Such was not currently the case; this Jareth was younger, more boyish, trapped on the brink of his twenties and looking as though he might be able to pass himself off for being even a few years younger than her. His golden hair flared around his face wildly, drawing attention to the uneven blue eyes that were always the same no matter what age he appeared to be.

A few more fingers flexed under her chin until his whole hand was caressing her jaw. Another shiver at his touch, but she continued her pursuit.

Sarah had seen, through their strange misadventures in the bowels of Castle Aryn, what Jareth had once looked like as a child. It was not particularly hard to imagine that boyish little imp growing up into the lean young man before her, but a few things about the child had not prepared her for the slightly older version.

The first outstanding surprise was the leather. From his head to his toes, the only thing on him that wasn't leather was his shirt and that was probably only because the billowy style that he favored was completely impractical in anything that wasn't linen or silk. It didn't really help much though, because he had a leather vest over the shirt; tight black material hugged the clean lines of his torso and didn't let go until it had nearly reached his hips. The vest was an absolute tease, inviting the eyes to run along its length, which eventually led the viewer down to his pants. Leather pants did wonders for Jareth; while not as blatantly revealing as the breeches that he had once worn, the slight ambiguity only added to his appeal, leading a girl to wonder about what was hinted at between those hard-looking thighs. The dark material flowed over his masculine hips, clung to his thighs, and flared out just a bit around his calves so that he could wear his wicked-looking boots under the lines of his pants rather than over them. Adding to his devilish ensemble was his leather gloves; in the past she had only ever seen his hands in silk or velvet and this was a surprising change. The leather that caressed her jaw was skintight and soft, but textured, unlike the fake leather that she was so accustomed to seeing people wear, and it made her positively itch to see if the rest of his bad boy get-up felt just as nice.

And that's what he looked like, really. A bad boy. Not like the kind she read about in romance novels, grown men who had tormented pasts and a slight aversion to the rules, but more like the sort of guy who was wicked because it was fun. The older version of Jareth had always possessed a devilish aura, but he had also had unmistakably quiet depths, an inner well of responsibility that had, no doubt, stemmed from his many years of ruling. This Jareth was devoid of those burdens of duty; the air around him was charged with his carefree attitude. Sitting in front of her, drenched in smoky black leather, one booted foot hooked under a thigh, his hand beginning to lower its journey to stroke up an down her throat while grinning like an incubus, he looked like the sort of boy who could get under a woman's skin, lean close to whisper wicked things into her ear, and turn a good girl just a little bit naughty.

The little boy she had briefly glimpsed had also been carefree and fun loving, and the man she had come to know had possessed the same magnetism and mischievous air, so in a way she supposed that this youth sitting before her was the logical interim between the two. But, good grief, that didn't prepare her for the reality of it at all!

His grin widened when her hand reflexively let go of the lamp and began to wander in his direction. She caught herself before even breaching half the distance that separated them. Sarah cleared her throat nervously, darting her eyes away for a second before making eye contact again. "Are you really Jareth?" she asked quietly.

The Twins had given her the impression that Jareth was in a state of mental ruin—and the chaotic emotions that she typically felt emanating from him had backed that idea up—but the vision of irresponsible male virility in front of her didn't seem in poor health in the least. As a matter of fact, he seemed like the type who would be more than willing to prove he was in prime physical condition, should she ask it of him; perhaps even if she didn't ask it of him. It was becoming all too apparent to Sarah that it was hard to gauge his thoughts based on his expression because, aside from amusement, he hadn't really gone through a range of emotions yet. True she could reference what she had seen of the older Jareth, but she had no doubt that the subtleties would be different enough to keep her guessing.

His fingers wandered lower, ghosting over the silky skin where her neck and shoulder met, then turned slightly to trace delicate circles over the base of her throat. "Yes and no."

When he didn't elaborate, Sarah had to fight down the urge to pinch him. Less than a minute ago she had been terrified by his presence—and, if she were honest, it made her more than a little nervous to have him focused on her neck—but that was quickly being replaced by annoyance. "Meaning?" she snapped, hand coming up to push him away.

Clever fingers curled around her wrist and forced the offending hand behind her back, bringing her uncomfortably close to Jareth's chest and lap, his strange tracing on her skin not missing a single rhythmic stroke. "The Underground is like a poison to mortals, Sarah. The more time you spend there, the more magic you absorb, and the more magic you absorb, the more you need it to survive."

Words echoed back to her from the past, "You cannot return Above, Sarah. You've absorbed too much magic. It would just result in a slow and painful death for you."

"He didn't have any choice other than to let you go, though; you backed him into a corner, so he gave you this," his leather encased fingers ran down the open neckline of her nightshirt to tap against the amulet that rested between the swells of her breasts. "Rather than allowing you to suffer the consequences of your decision," the boy continued after an uncomfortably long moment where they were both fixated by how close his hand was to her cleavage, "he put his own magic within the medallion so that your life could be sustained outside of the Underground, and made sure that you would never be able to take it off."

"Alright, that makes sense, but it's been five years," Sarah said, forcing down a shiver when his roaming hand began to retrace its path up her neckline, "so why is this the first time I've seen you?"

"Because it was Imm and Laim who gave me shape," he purred. "Up until this point I've just been a random collection of Jareth's energy. The memories were all there, even some of the motivations, but not the form."

Which meant that the man in front of her was Jareth as the Twins had known him; somewhere between learning to control his own magic and taking over the monarchy, still a prince. And, from where she was sitting—or perhaps being groped, she amended—Prince Jareth struck her as the type who was more inclined to take where King Jareth may have extended patience. "I am going to kill the Twins," she moaned to herself.

Self-awareness was a strange thing; in a way, he knew that he had always been within the amulet, but had not actually experienced any of it until a few minutes ago. The strangest part was that he had memories of the past five years around Sarah's neck, even though he hadn't been aware of anything when it had happened. Slightly less confusing was the tangle of Jareth's memories; in essence, he was Jareth, so adapting to those felt as easy as putting on a new shirt.

The only flaw in the design, as it were, was the fact that the Twins had designed him as they best remembered Jareth so, while he remembered everything after that point and up to the present, he wasn't similarly motivated as a more current Jareth would be. He didn't feel the crushing weight of responsibility or the isolation that had stemmed from ruling the Underground; when he looked at Sarah he felt the desire to possess but not the desperate urgency that had laced Jareth's actions a few years ago. It was as though Imm and Laim had displaced him in time, but given him complete knowledge of all events leading to the present.

"Don't judge them too harshly," he finally replied, "they are more used to making the messes rather than cleaning them up."

Sarah huffed, bringing his attention back to the lovely breasts that his hand was so close to. "How is this helping?" she asked, jerking the arm that he still had pinned behind her back.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Jareth murmured. "The Twins are quite adept at keeping their own counsel. You could ask them, when next they return, but I doubt you'd get a straight answer." When she didn't offer an immediate reply, he took the moment to study her.

Many women who were initially appealing to the eye were often found somewhat lacking when under the harshest of lights, but such was not the case for Sarah. Even sitting down, he could tell that she was lithe and curvy, trim but fleshy in the areas that men would find the most appealing. Generous breasts rose and fell under her nightshirt, no hint of support or enhancement, and Jareth knew there was no way he was going to be able to keep his hands off this woman. Her skin was pale, almost unhealthily so, but livened up by a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and the slight pink of a blush. Inky tendrils of dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back; it looked silky and well cared for, the sort of hair that made him burn to take his gloves off and bury his fingers in. What made him burn even more, though, was her pixie-like face; it was round and girlish where many other women were gaunt, perhaps even pinched. Her lips were soft and full, seductive even without a hint of makeup. What really pulled the picture together though, for him at least, were her eyes. They were wide and clear, the brightest shade of emerald he had ever seen, and displayed her emotions more clearly than anything else every could.

There was a hint of interest in that green gaze, but more than that there was fear and uncertainty, even a little annoyance as well. Sarah was a roiling mess of emotions, caught somewhere between being wary of the present and fearing the past. She didn't know why he was there or what he wanted. Frankly, he didn't know why he was there either, but it couldn't have been clearer to him what he wanted.

A tattoo peaked out from under the sleeve of the arm that he had pinned behind her back—a delicate circlet of silver, green, and gold, decorated by the occasional red or black daisy, boasting a skillfully designed J, and looking very much like the twin of the one he had around his ankle—and it reminded him that, in some sense, this one was already his. She had been wooed in a strange and irregular fashion in the past, lulled until she had almost accepted, and then wounded when it hurt the most. Like a wild horse, the failed attempt had left her wary and skittish, but not beyond hope. The Jareth that she had dealt with had suffered first from being overly cautious and then, conversely, overly demanding, had been so concerned with trapping her that he hadn't actually taken the time to properly romance the poor girl.

He would make no such mistakes. Until the Twins told him otherwise—and even then it was likely to be negotiable—he had no direct reason for being there, which meant he could focus on whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was Sarah. There would be no interruptions in this dance; there were no distractions to take him away and few people for her to hide behind. She was a soft woman who led a boring life and he was her antithesis, a wild man who was a little raw on the edges; he had a feeling that she was more than ready for a little rough seduction.

"Jareth?" she questioned after his protracted silence.

He could have reassured her, he could have let her go, but he had never denied himself anything in the past, so why start now?

With one hand already behind her back and the other just skirting the healthy swell of her ass, he pulled her into his lap. She settled over him like a dream, her soft curves effortlessly molding into his hard plains and it made him burn for much more than he knew he would be able to freely take at the moment. Sarah's free hand came up to steady the sudden movement, clutching at his shoulder while her reflexive little kick easily allowed him to situate her legs on either side of his hips.

She was the very picture of a woman astride her lover, ignoring the fact that they were both miserably clothed and he still held one of her arms immobile. Then again, he mused, it all depended on how a woman liked her bedplay.

Without giving her a chance voice her displeasure, Jareth lowered his head to her lips. The first taste of her was pure heaven.

Sarah was now panicked.

She had been startled when his hand had brush so close to her rear, and a little shocked when he had used that leverage to pull her into his lap. Cradled in the triangle formed by his one leg being hooked under the other, she had had a moment of blind stupidity where her legs had kicked out to either side of his hips and her left hand had gone to wrap itself in the silky material of his shirt. Not to stop him, she thought with a disparaging snort, but to help the devilish man; without even stopping to consult her brain, her body had decided that it liked this vision of a bad boy.

Her thoughts had kicked back in at that point, though, and the fear had settled in. Despite his altered appearance and slightly different attitude, this was still Jareth, a man who turned her inside out without even trying. A man who had nearly destroyed her world on more than one occasion. If she let him back into her life she would only be inviting more disaster, more pain.

The panic had flared to life once she had seen the intent in his icy blue eyes, the telltale lowering of his head. He made her feel as no one else ever had, or likely ever would, and Sarah knew firsthand how devastating his kisses could be. For every gentle stroke against her, just a little bit more of her resistance would be stripped away until she was an absolute fool for the man again, blindly ignoring everything about him that should never be forgotten.

But, at the first gentle stroke of his lips against her own, Sarah knew she had already lost. She had never really stopped being a fool for this man, had only tried to make herself forget it.

Jareth's kiss was smooth an electric, alternating between light and silken glides over her sensitive skin and demanding little nips to her bottom lip. Her blood pounded in her ears as she was swamped by a feeling that she hadn't experienced in five years: pleasure doubled by the sense of something wild and untamed moving within her, desperate to break out. It was a feeling that she had tried very hard to forget, but now that it was flooding through her system, she knew how badly she had truly been craving it.

Soft, velvety leather caressed the skin of her legs, tickled the portion of her thighs that weren't covered by the shorts she slept in, and drew a whimper out of her. The feel of the glove that wrapped around her wrist or the one that had stroked over her throat and neckline didn't even begin to compare to the raw ache that those pants teased into her.

Sarah's hand released its grip on his shirt and slowly slid to delve into his hair. If she was already damned, she reasoned hazily, she might as well enjoy it. Her nails raked lightly over his scalp as she interrupted his rhythm to worry his lower lip between her teeth. He growled low in his throat, a heady sound that rippled through her, and pulled away.

A wicked grin lit Jareth's face as he took in her flush. He stretched then, leisurely flexing muscles that she was pressed tight to. "I get the feeling that you and I are going to have a lot of fun together, little Sarah," he purred.

A/N: This chapter was brought to you ahead of schedule by Sherrilyn Kenyon and the fact that I currently can't beat one of the bosses on Super Paper Mario. Seriously, there is no accounting for what will make me write.

On a side note, I'm absolutely thrilled with the results my current poll has turned up. At the moment, Never Nose Through The Goblin King's Closet is in the lead with Never Poke A Rockstar in a close second. So, if you haven't already, please cast your votes before I start writing.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Though I create new splices of Jareth with startling frequency, I don't own any of them. Nor Sarah.