He'd played the villain, the author of devilish seduction, the inscrutable taskmaster, the mysterious fae, the immortal king, but what he hadn't really admitted to himself was that those were roles more than anything else. They didn't really get down to the heart of him. At least not the little room where the dream of Sarah lived.

And now he was prancing tantalizingly over her bedroom carpet, hoping she wouldn't notice the sweat collecting on his wrists and running in tiny rivulets down the back of his neck.

Sighing he at last avowed in his soul of souls that he really didn't have a clue on this one. In the end, it was she who seduced him. Every time. Now was no different. Except now he wanted her to reach out, to pull him in, to guide him through the drowning sensation of releasing his body as it flowed seamlessly into hers. Flinching, he envisioned the sour expression blooming on her face once she realized that he was utterly helpless in her arms. Between waves of harrowing shame, he imagined in minute detail her overwhelming disgust at his weakness. The truth of it all made him want to just throw his hands up in the air and outright faint. Before this woman I am no king. And that's the heart of it. Blinking he did his best to shake away the dizziness edging voraciously through his temples.

The carpet still lay beneath his fidgety boots. Recentering his attention, he noticed Sarah was entertaining a very curious look in her eyes. Maybe she'd already seen through him—he gulped in rising dismay. Perhaps it's time to make my exit, and swiftly…

Too late. She'd already taken him by the hand.

He tried not to close his eyes in anticipation of a slap or something worse—a word that would make his whole palace of dreams crumble to pieces. Something like, I hate you. Or how could you. Or get out of my bedroom. You're worthless. I thought you were better than this. Of course, he'd never let on that such words cut him to the core—no never! But cut they did. Especially from her. And bleed he would, he was positively sure this time.

"Jareth,"

A long familiar voice ripped him from his panicked reverie and brought his gaze like a magnet into hers. He couldn't speak. Not in this state. Couldn't tell her why or how his heart raced. She'd probably shudder to know anyway. Her little idol of a perfectly cruel and powerful monarch with the otherworldly sex appeal would deflate in mere instants. Then she'd be devastated, lost, angry…

"Jareth, are you okay?"

Disappointed at himself for not keeping a hold on his facade, he finally managed to draw a fresh breath.

"Horrible," he uttered with abject finality as he looked her dead in the eye with the only ounce of dignity currently left to him.

She snaked her hands around his arms and drew him softly closer as her face lit up in a smile.

"Aww, you know you're so endearing when you get like this."

Before he could blink, her lips were pressed delicately against his.