Chapter Sixteen

Byron typically considered himself a rather intelligent creature, took a certain amount of arrogant pride in his cleverness, but he was also hotheaded and impulsive, and it was that darker side that had taken over.

He cursed at himself again. True enough, getting away from Hoggle and Didymus would have been inevitable since their goals did not mesh, but racing off to Jareth was foolish. An automatic response, but foolish. What was the point in running off to the man when he was the very problem?

Byron meandered down the night-darkened road, wanting nothing more than to go home. Stupid really, his home had fallen to dust ages ago; there probably wasn't even the slightest indication that anyone had ever called those lush acres their own. He had never really felt at ease with the Underground, but if he was truly human again it meant he couldn't return there, either. In other words, he had nowhere to go; no home and no people. His shoulders wilted a little at that thought.

"No," the teen said, trying to brighten himself up, "I have a mission to complete, regardless of anything else that happens." Going to Jareth now would undoubtedly ease the burning curiosity as to whether the man would recognize him or not, but he'd already been impulsive enough for one night. So what to do?

Jareth's voice came up from his memories, whispered advice in the middle of a silly game. "If you ever get stuck, regroup and re-plan."

"Yes," Byron mused quietly, hazel eyes going distant. He would talk to The Sarah, they could share information, hers about the ex-Goblin King and his about the dangers that he was beginning to feel they were facing, and together they could come up with a plan of action.

She was warm, comfortable, content; drowsing lazily, like a cat sleeping on a bundle of dryer-warmed towels. But the sun was shining in her face and Sarah knew that, sooner or later, she would have to get up and make sense of what had happened the night before. The memory of it pulsed in her mind, much the same way desire throbbed in her veins. Sex had never been like that before, wild, urgent, nearly feral, and yet somehow… decadent. Her past experiences with the pleasures of the flesh had always been sweet, scheduled, and completely unsatisfying. Mechanical ruts with men who had only a basic understanding of female pleasure, and not much desire to learn any more. Last night had been different, fulfilling on a level she couldn't even begin to understand.

A hand idly stroked through her hair and down her naked back. Jareth was awake, probably knew she was too, which meant she would have to face him in the bitterly short minutes to come. She didn't want to, though.

And that was the problem, really, because as much as she had enjoyed last night, even looked forward to repeat performances, Sarah had no idea where the two of them stood, exactly. Sexual relations didn't mean emotional ties to him, he had made that painfully clear, but it was hard not to become emotional when so much was weighing her down. She was starting to like the man, damn it, and as more than just a neighbor or a good nocturnal romp. More than a childhood crush, even. Her heart was becoming engaged, just as she had suspected it would after sex with him, and for the first time in her life Sarah was beginning to understand how the Goblin King must have felt as she ran through his Labyrinth: scared, trapped, but jadedly hopeful despite what common sense dictated.

Her insides churned as his fingers traced delicate patterns over her back and sides; it was such a tender gesture, and left her feeling like she wanted to ask for more from this man than he had already stated he was willing to give. One step at a time, she chided herself, it was no good getting worked up into a frenzy of nerves; she had to face him eventually, it might has well be now.

Slowly Sarah opened her eyes, squinting in the light that spilled around her, and took stock of the situation. She was face-down, on her belly, snuggled into Jareth's side, and using his chest as a pillow. Jareth was, more or less, doing his very best to surround her, a thigh was pressed between her own, entangling their legs, and one arm curled securely around her side, lazily drifting through her hair and trailing unseen patterns down her back.

Intimate, tender, not entirely what she had expected in the morning after with a self-proclaimed womanizer.

Sharp blue eyes stared down at her, quiet and unreadable. She had been hoping for some sort of sign to go on, a stiffening to pull away or tightening of his arm to pull her closer, any sort of indication about how he wanted them to continue. But whatever was on his mind he didn't share, his only movements being the continued caresses along her back. Should she take that as a good sign, she wondered; after all, if he was no longer interested in her then it wasn't likely that he would waste any time in getting her out of his bed. There was no point in acting like a contented cat, more than happy to just soak up the sun and curl up next to a warm body, if he no longer cared. Right?

She bit her lip in nervous thought.

Jareth, for his part, really was content to act like a lazy housecat. There had never really been 'morning's after' in his experience, perhaps a few quick words about another rendezvous or some hurried rearranging of clothes, but never this warm luxuriating. Then again, he had never wanted it in the past, lingering around after the actual sex usually led to some sort of emotional connection, something he had tried very hard to avoid.

But it was different with Sarah; he had been right when he'd thought that the more time he spent around her, the more he would want to keep her. Seeing her like this, curled naked and trusting into his side, with the memory of what they had done the night before racing through his mind, Jareth had the sneaking suspicion that his stay in Maine wasn't going to be nearly long enough.

That thought scared the hell out of.

Sarah met his gaze, wondering what it was that she saw flickering through their depths. There was only one way to find out, she decided; they had stayed silent for long enough.

Perhaps it was the sudden intake of air, or the intent that must have shown in her eyes that alerted him to the impending conversation; she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she opened her mouth to start babbling through some sort of dialogue, and never got a chance to actually start.

Jareth's lips crashed down on hers, hungry, bruising, and possessive. He stole the breath out of her lungs, made her head spin. "No words," he murmured, cruelly taking his lips from her own, "not yet."

And there was the truth of it: neither of them really knew what to expect now. The basis of their relationship had, thus far, been based on the seduction. But once the seduction had succeeded? Talking about it was the only way they would figure something out and, right now, neither of them had anything thought out to say.

Jareth leaned back with a sigh, feeling torn in half. Part of him simply wanted to stay in bed with her until they both fell to dust, and another part of him wanted to turn tail and run back to Boston as fast as he could. The fact that something in him snarled angrily at the thought of leaving told him plainly enough that he was getting in too deep. But was too deep really so bad? A seductive inner voice whispered to him; they worked together quite well, in a teasing-nagging old-couple kind of way, and the sex had been… well, strange, quite frankly, but mind-blowing. Besides, he didn't want to hurt his nymph's feelings by simply disappearing, as he had with so many other women.

The morning after had a nice glow about it, he thought idly, but its comfort was decidedly dangerous.

"We'll talk, Sarah, I promise," he said, running a hand through her hair and loving the silky feel of it. A few fingers ghosted over the back of her neck, causing a shiver to ripple through her. It was as he caught himself admiring the wonderful things that shiver had done to her breasts that he decided it would be better for them to talk sooner rather than later. Any more time snuggled together like puppies would either lead to more sinful entertainment or promises that had been wrung out in the heat of the moment. He needed a little time to think.

Gently, Jareth shifted Sarah off of him, missing her warmth as soon as it was gone. "Why don't you take a shower while I go make breakfast," he suggested, not able to fool himself that, though he wanted time to think, he didn't actually want her gone. "We'll talk after that."

Sarah watched him as he slowly began to slink out of bed, trying to hide a smile at his contradictory actions. He was trying to put a little space between them, but he was getting out of bed with all the speed and zest of a snail. Eventually he managed to convince himself to leave the warm sheets and grab a pair of pants on his way out the door, his cute ass disappearing into a pair of jeans as he walked down the hall. It didn't really cross her mind to worry about what sort of decisions he would make while alone; it was clear that he was just as confused right now as she was, which meant they were on even ground. Even ground meant that they would probably just argue like they usually did, which was something of a relief.

It was only after he descended the stairs, completely out of her sight, that she noticed the crystal.

Byron sat outside The Sarah's house, idly drumming his fingers against the sore muscles in his legs. He knew where The Sarah was and, seeing how long she had been gone, he knew what she was doing, too. It was hard not to go straight to her, they had so much to talk about, but he tramped down the urge, knowing that Jareth would be with her. He still wasn't sure what effect he would have on Jareth, so he kept himself patiently waiting on The Sarah's front porch, knowing that it would be best to keep himself unknown to the other man until there was some sort of a plan. Already, he had waited through the night with the patience of a saint.

But Bryon was no saint.

He began to pace agitatedly.

It was fragile and thin, two things Sarah knew Jareth's crystals had never been before. All the same, the fact that it was there meant something, just as the two flowers frozen inside did. Sarah's fingers ran over the smooth, cool surface of the crystal, handling it with the same care that she would give to any of her shop's pieces. The crystal itself was easy enough, it meant that she had been right about the Goblin King breaking through. But the flowers…

Nasturtium and Monkshood. The wide petals of the Nasturtium flowed over each other like ruby water, trailing down to a golden throat. An extravagant flower. Conversely, the Monkshood was a flower of simplicity: a deep violet in color, with petals that truly formed into little 'hoods'. But what did they mean? Some sort of token of regard, or was there something more to this?

A niggling started at the back of her mind, slowly working its way to the front of her thoughts. She had learned this once, through a story. These sorts of things weren't meant for pretty decoration. This was flower language. Flowers meant things; as roses were for passion, daisies were for innocence. So what were the Nasturtium and Monkshood supposed to be telling her? Monkshood was easy enough; it was a flower of caution, meant to alert someone to a dangerous foe.

But the Nasturtium… she had barely recognized the flower enough to identify it, so she wasn't entirely sure what it meant. Something to look up later, she mused.

Getting out of bed wasn't exactly what she wanted to do right now. The sheets were warm and held the comforting scent of man, something that had been painfully absent from her life. Still, a nice hot shower wasn't entirely unwelcome. Her body moved on autopilot, digging out some clean clothes to wear, navigating to the bathroom, setting the water temperature to just right; the fact that it wasn't her house seemed to be largely immaterial. Stepping under the warm spray of the shower didn't call her thoughts back from where they had wandered any more than her own shower did when she was deep in thought at home.

Beware, the Monkshood seemed to tease her. Beware of what; or rather, who? Was the Goblin King warning her of himself, or some other potential enemy? Didymus, perhaps? No, Sarah thought as the warm water loosened the tense muscles of her shoulders, that seemed too abstract. If there was one thing she had known with absolute certainty while traipsing through the Labyrinth, it was that the Goblin King was a narcissist at heart; it only took a quick glance at the way he dressed himself, a brief acknowledgment of the many different changes he made each time he had appeared, to come to that conclusion. Would a narcissist be able to send any sort of message that did not, in some way, pertain to himself?

The answer was, quite simply, no.

So the Goblin King meant to warn her about who was laying in wait inside her teasing writer. She already knew that something not altogether human lurked beneath the surface of Jareth's mocking civility, so the true message that He-of-the-indecently-tight-pants was trying to send must lay with the Nasturtium.

Jareth loomed over the toaster, finally admitting to himself how much he loathed the little device. You set the dial to 3, and the toast came out a 5, burnt to a cinder; set it to 2, and the toast came out a 1, warm but not toasted. Nasty little creature, the toaster was. He had been able to manage it just fine last week, but ever since coming to Maine the devious machine somehow eluded his basic comprehension. It had been that way with a lot of things, lately; as a matter of fact, the only machine that hadn't somehow betrayed him was his laptop, and he had a feeling that had more to do with his own stubborn nature than any attempts on the computer's part to cease functioning. Next thing you knew, he thought to himself, the shower would suddenly become incomprehensible.

The shower…

His thoughts flew back to Sarah. Simple as that: think of where the woman was, and suddenly his mind was filled with visions of dark hair while a fierce longing raced through his veins.

She was in the shower right now, warm water sliding over the lush curves of her body. Slippery, wet, naked.

His body responded much more eagerly than he felt it had a right to, considering he was trying to sort his life out at the moment. He didn't need temptation swaying the decisions that would have to be made. But still…

The air beside him felt empty and cold. The kitchen was dead and lifeless. The warm bed seemed like a distant memory.

Apparently, life without Sarah was rather dull.

She was washing the shampoo out of her hair when the thought surfaced from nowhere.

Nasturtium was the flower of conquest.

By itself, the idea was abstract at best, but together with the other flower, Monkshood followed by Nasturtium, the message was clear.

Beware of conquest.

A/N: Sorry for my protracted silence, it's just been one thing after another for the past few weeks. In other news, a new poll is up in my profile. Please go vote!

The toaster dial comment is actually from Eddie Izzard (either the tour of Glorious or Definite Article); although not an exact quote, I figured credit where credit was due.

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Disclaimer: At the end of every chapter I'm hit by a vague sense of accomplishment, but the fact remains that the only thing truly mine are the words. And Byron.