Chapter Eighteen

Ciren Didymus was not a man given to worry, his natural levity often overriding such inclinations. But lately it felt as though his whole life was made of worry, and this chapter was perhaps the most distressing of all.

His loyalties were being called into to question…

Didymus had known Jareth for many years, long before the boy had ever become the Goblin King. He had witnessed the trials and tribulations of youth, the tears of a young man losing his parents much too soon, the follies of childhood romances, and all the mistakes that had led up to his eventual takeover of the goblin monarchy; he had felt the sorrow and the pride that the boy's own father had not been able to.

…But the problem was that his loyalties were on a fence.

Granted, he hadn't known Sarah for very long, a handful of stolen hours at best, but he had become her knight, all the same. With Sarah he had witnessed a simple joy for life and all it had to offer, had seen her grow—not in terms of years, but in terms of maturity—gone from a child to a young woman in the blink of an eye; for her, Didymus had felt pride that her parents would never be able to share.

Two children, brought together for the second time in ten years and somehow making it work this time. Destined.

Didymus had the capacity to be merciless, anyone did when it came right down to it, but he would not choose between the two closest things he had ever had to children of his own. There had to be a middle ground, something that Hoggle wasn't considering. There had to be some way around the Wise Man. If the Labyrinth had taught him one thing it was there was always another path to be taken.

Jareth watched as Sarah blew out a gusty sigh against his chest. "That doesn't bode well," he murmured jokingly, trying to read her eyes for a sign of what had caused it.

She had wanted to talk about where their relationship was going, he had promised that they would, but in the end he had been the only one to say anything. A one-sided declaration that she was his Sarah wasn't exactly a discussion, even by his own standards. Still, the thought that she would want to broach the subject again made him uneasy; for once in his life he was committing to something that wasn't his writing, and it was almost unbearable to think that she might not wish to do the same.

She nipped sharply at his chest and gave him a comically evil look. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," she threatened as though she had read the worries on his mind. "But I do have to go to work eventually; it's already three hours past opening and I can't really afford to keep the shop closed right now."

Jareth's arms tightened around her waist. "And if I don't want to let you go?"

Sarah wiggled on top of him, her womanly curves stimulating an imagination that didn't really need any further help to plunge into all that was basely sensual. "Then you'll have to buy some groceries because I'll be moving in after my business goes under," she replied, arms fishing behind her back to grab hold of his hands.

He hummed and pretended to think about it. "Deal," he grinned, not budging when her hands tried to pry him away from her.

Sarah paused and stared at him in something akin to shock. "You really don't do things by halves, do you?" came her breathy question.

Jareth massaged the swells of her hips, running teasing fingers over the twitching muscles. "I find I rather like the idea," he said, pulling her further up his own body so that her head was nestled against his shoulder, and ignored the shiver it caused to ripple through the both of them. "I couldn't get you out of my head this morning," he whispered wickedly into her ear. "You were in the shower and I kept wondering what it would be like to be there with you. Would you let me at your front or keep your back to me? How much more irresistible would all this smooth skin look when slicked down with soap? Would you tease? Force me to watch as bubbles hug and caress every inch but not let me touch?" He bit the cartilage of her ear and gently tugged at the delicate skin with the tips of his canine teeth.

Sarah shivered. The sensual jumps in conversation that Jareth made were bewildering, but so very fascinating. So few men put in the effort after having sex, that his continued seduction was as endearing as it was frustrating. Was this how the mind of an erotic author worked, or was this something that was purely Jareth? He had moved with such an animal grace in the Labyrinth, his eyes eternally filled with a deep hunger, that she began to wonder if seduction was merely a part of who he was, that the man couldn't subdue his sexuality any more than she could currently ignore it.

They were only a few groping touches away from bringing their past couple of hours together into the classification of marathon sex.

"I want that, Sarah," he continued after a moment, his voice low and compelling. "I want you just a few paces away, tempting and teasing, never so far from me that I have to wonder what you're doing. I want to be able to step behind you when you're making dinner, to get you hot and bothered and then leave you dry for a few hours until the anticipation is a living thing within you. I want to try out every little raunchy thing that I have ever put into words for imaginary couples that could never have experienced even a tenth of the attraction that flows between us."

"You just don't want to commute in order to have sex," Sarah interrupted, knowing that if he went any further they really would end up having a round on the couch again.

Jareth gave her a boyish smile. "You found me out," he joked.

Silence reigned for a few seconds, both a little leery of continuing the serious turn their conversation had taken, then…

"I really do have to go to work."

Hoggle watched as the couple left the small cabin, his heart in his throat and a sick feeling in his stomach.

Sarah was wearing Jareth's clothes, the picture of a young woman in love, while Jareth kept a guiding hand to the small of her back as he led them both to his car. They talked and teased amiably, something indefinable filling the air around them. They couldn't have looked more like lovers if they had tried.

It was wrong, so very wrong. The only reason Hoggle could think of for Sarah wearing Jareth's clothes and leaving his house at such an early hour was that they had well and truly succumb to each other, made intimate promises through the union of flesh. They were lovers in ever sense of the word and it scared him.

Hoggle's heart twisted. He didn't want to hurt Sarah, she had been a bright flame in a dark hour, but…

The air around Jareth was charged with more than just a young man's eagerness for the embrace of his lady. Magic sizzled around him, slowly leaking out of cracks from somewhere deep within. And that wasn't the only change, Hoggle observed: his hair was lighter and wilder, not yet the silvery-blond mane of the Goblin King but no longer the tight blond braid of Jareth Corbett, the writer. His gait had become more fluid, his movements smoother and more predatory and the easy, liquid motions of his hands began to reflect the incredible motor skills that the Goblin King had developed over the years.

He really didn't want to hurt Sarah, but the plan was failing; so much hard work was coming to nothing because two people had managed find each other and forge a relationship at the worst possible moment. It hurt him in ways that he didn't want to contemplate, but he knew what he had to do.

Somehow, Hoggle had to get Jareth out of Maine and away from Sarah, before it was too late.

Byron had waited hours to talk to The Sarah and finally she was home! Unfortunately, Jareth had come with her, which meant that Byron had had to hide himself in the thick woods that surrounded the old house.

He could remember a time, years and years ago, when servants had been at his beck and call, when his clothing had always been at the height of fashion, when he had been seen with all the right people in all the right places. In light of all that, his tree-dodging felt rather undignified. Then again, in light of having been a goblin, perhaps ducking behind the autumn-decaying foliage wasn't such a step down for the young lord.

Byron's palms itched at the sight of Jareth. There he was, the answer to all of the ex-goblin's problems, less than fifty yards away and yet so very unapproachable. It would be so easy, he thought, just to run up and force reality down the older man's throat, to force him to accept responsibility for what was happening, but Byron knew it was impossible. The damage that such poor handling could cause to the situation would be irreparable, a mistake that would deepen everyone's problems beyond even magic's ability to fix.

It didn't come naturally for him, but in the face of such precarious circumstances, Byron would be patient.

"You could have showered at my house, you know," Jareth offered from the other side of the bathroom door.

Sarah, slowly toweling off, tried not to snort. "I already tried that once and it didn't seem to do me any good." She could practically feel his male smugness radiating through the door. The locked door; she might have been falling fast and hard for the blond writer but she wasn't stupid. Jareth had revealed himself to be altogether too fixated on the idea of her in the shower; had she left it unlocked, she knew it wouldn't have stayed a solo activity for very long. "Besides," she carried on, "I needed clothes; I can hardly show up wearing yours for the second day in a row."

"Why not?" Was that a pout in his voice? Of all the things to get off on, she thought with a roll of her eyes, the man had a fetish for putting her in his clothing.

Sarah tightly wrapped the towel around her, took a deep breath to bolster her nerves and opened the bathroom door. Jareth was leaning against the frame—his pose so similar to how the Goblin king had loomed over her in the Underground tunnels that it was almost a little creepy—with an easy smile on his lips and a lazy look in his eyes. With nothing but a towel covering her, she wasn't really sure what she feared more: his blatant desire or her repressed needs for the man.

"Because," she finally answered, a strained note in her voice, "unless there's something you're not telling me, you don't own any woman's underwear. Anyway, I prefer wearing my own clothes." It was an easy lie to tell, but a lie all the same. She loved how his shirts seemed to envelope and hug her, how they were worn in all the right places, how they carried the spicy scent of him. In all honesty he was probably never going to get back the clothes that she had worn on the short trip from his house to hers; they would be hidden away at the bottom of a drawer somewhere, taken out and worn only when he wasn't around and she wanted to feel his presence. Something about the man got trapped in his clothing, more than just his scent; it was if his very touch somehow invaded the material and wove itself into the fabric.

He bowed his head to her, but the mocking smile that played around Jareth's lips told her that she hadn't fooled anyone with her lie.

Sarah quickly made her way to the bedroom, disconcerted by how he followed her like an overgrown puppy. He reached out for her just as she was bending over to grab something at the bottom of her closet but she jerked away, smiling when he let out a playful growl. "No touching," she chided, trying to fight off her smile. "I don't have the time to spare; I really have to get to work." He seemed put out for a second, but then moved away and began to snoop through her dresser, humming a cheery little tune to himself. Honestly, she thought, the man was like a kid in a candy store. She had just finished pulling her skirt on when he made a definite sound of appreciation.

"I like this," Jareth said, turning to face her and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sarah tried not to stare too hard at the lacy bra he was holding. "Well you're more than welcome to wear it," she replied sweetly.

He gave her a horrified look but didn't say anything, and quickly went back to pawing through her drawers.

She swallowed roughly once he had turned away. Jareth had been holding up a black lace bra and she could all too easily picture herself wearing it for him. The image played through her mind as she pulled a loose blouse on: Jareth, looking dangerous and perfect, his face contorted with a savage desire at the sight of her pale flesh peeking through the tiny gaps of the dark lace.

Dressing, which probably took all of two or three minutes, seemed to last an eternity.

Ludo jolted from his nap with a hiss. The air in the small cabin felt old and stagnant, a subtle danger rolled through the walls, and the atmosphere suddenly became oppressive.

Something wrong had invaded his home.

They had made it all the way to the shop without incident so, in retrospect, she really should have been expecting something. The lights were slowly flaring to life, the sea of crystal and glass was patiently awaiting purchase, and she had just been moving away from the recently unlocked door when Jareth came behind her and pinched her ass.

"What as that for?" she squeaked, turning around while rubbing the offended muscle. What was this, some cheesy 50's movie? The man had just goosed her!

But the man that stood behind her wasn't exactly who she was expecting. Pale hair flew in a wild disarray around an even paler face; delicately, almost elegantly, pointed teeth peeked out of a wicked smile; magic thickened the air as the knowing and amused uneven eyes of the Goblin King regarded her. This was the first time he had surfaced outside of sex, Sarah marveled; did that mean he was getting stronger? She had been entertaining the idea that he was only able to break through writer-Jareth's consciousness when he was anchored to her. Maybe sex wasn't the best plan to free the Goblin King, but it had certainly been the most effective.

"You bit me," he replied in that smooth and low voice of his, then paused and thought about it. "Twice."

"Oh, like the massive hickey on the side of my throat doesn't make up for a little nip on the chest!" she huffed, eyes glittering in amusement. Ten years ago, she never would have been able to picture herself saying something like that to the imposing man. Now though, she realized, the lines between simple man and otherworldly creature were beginning to blur. The ethereal king came out at erratic intervals, but he was talking about something that she had done to Jareth Corbett this morning. More and more it became apparent that the only real differences between the two were magic and past memories. Somehow, that thought made it much easier to talk to the creature standing in front of her; not to say she wasn't still a little afraid of him, of what he could do, but she finally understood that the two halves made up one whole, that he was just as much one as he was the other.

"The hickey was for the bruise," he pulled the collar of his shirt aside and pointed to his shoulder; the bite mark she'd left from their first time together had turned a dark shade of purple and she had to admit that she was more than a little proud to see it there. "The pinch was for the nip. Tit for tat, minx."

"Nothing's free with you, is it?" she asked, looking him over while trying not to wonder why this wilder version of her writer was somehow sexier.

He gave her a lazy smile, sharp canines flashing in the artificial light, and a predatory look filled his blue eyes. "No," was the simple answer he gave. He seemed to consider something for a moment, then—gently, tenderly, and with great effort—pulled a crystal from the air. It was the same one she had discovered that morning, the deep purple of the Monkshood still wrapped around the fiery gold and red of the Nasturtium. The Goblin King gave her a look then, something that was eerily similar to the amused leer he had given her when they'd both stood in her parents' bedroom. "My warning?" he asked quietly, though his expression did not change.

"I'll take my chances," Sarah answered without hesitation. True, something about the magical king still chilled her, but she now knew there was much more to him than just that. She wanted Jareth, would take the good with the bad and the sexy with the scary.

Hoggle tried not to fidget before the eyes of the Wise Man. He hated asking the shriveled bastard for more help, but it was unlikely at this point that the price of his assistance could be any worse than what would happen if he didn't lend his hand.

A shaggy eyebrow rose, stretching and lifting the deep wrinkles in the ancient one's face. "Go back?" he asked curiously.

"Not long," Hoggle rushed to answer. "Only about a week or so. Just so that we can avoid all of," he waived his hand around to indicate the cabin, "this."

"Are you sure, lad, that this is what you want?" The Wise Man asked in a wizened voice.

A pause, overflowing with doubt and worry, then, "Yes."

A/N: Well, I liked some parts of this chapter. What did you all think?

This chapter goes out to Kat from the Harem. It wasn't quite what I had in mind; I guess the evilness will just have to wait a chapter or two.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: I shall cling to Byron like a limpet, for he is the only thing I own within this story… well, him and Liz, but she's been absent lately.