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Chapter Text

“You’re chewing the inside of your cheek,” Jareth observed. “Do you enjoy the pain of it?”

Sarah’s finger paused on his cheekbone where she had been dabbing golden shimmer. She met his gaze with an arched brow.

“Just a question.” His shrug was all innocence.

Sarah's smile was wise and knowing as light fingertip taps continued toward his temple. “Your questions are never just questions.”

“True enough,” Jareth agreed, returning the smile. “But does that make me so unique?”

“Well,” Sarah mused, tilting his chin to check that her work was symmetrical. Touching his face like this was new; she was trying very hard to seem casual about it—which was difficult, considering how reluctant she was to release him. “I suppose all questions have a motivation. Yours just happen to be particularly duplicitous, Goblin King.”

“Clever, you mean,” Jareth corrected.

“No. I really don’t,” she replied, still smiling. “Anyway, it’s not that serious. I was concentrating.”

“I’ve never seen you do it before. I have all of your mannerisms cataloged.” Jareth tapped his temple with a wink.

“How rude of me,” Sarah said dismissively. He was taking this somewhere, and she did not want to play. Not with him so close. “I’ll be sure to inform you when I start up with a new one.”

“Oh, do,” Jareth said before pulling a pout. “I miss the lip bite. It’s my favorite.”

She couldn’t keep a smirk from stretching at that. “My face is less than a foot away from yours, Jareth. It didn’t feel like the opportune time to drag my lip through my teeth.”

His eyes lit up like he had won a prize. “So, a decision was made after weighing risk and reward?”

“A decision was made based on my need to focus and your status as a pervert.”

Jareth gasped in mock offense. “I’m a pervert now, am I?”

“Now?” Sarah snorted. “Please. It’s not new.”

She scanned Jareth’s smug expression before shifting her attention to the clock on the bathroom counter. “It’s getting late,” she commented noncommittally, knowing it wasn’t the same as ‘it’s time for you to leave now,’ and he wasn’t going to treat it like it was. She didn’t want him to.

Evenings were her favorite part of his visits. Ease settled between them as the sun began to sink. Their days were busy with catching up and playful conversation. The longer the shadows stretched, the deeper they allowed themselves to reach.

But with the darkness crept a dread that started in Sarah’s belly as a light squeeze. As the hour grew late, there would come the moment when Sarah would directly give Jareth his cue to leave. She never wanted to, but the pressure of having to decide was too overwhelming.

Jareth never overstayed his welcome, but he did nothing to hide his intentions. They were woven into every small touch, how he studied her movements, the sound of his voice as he spoke her name in the way only he could. He desired to stay with her. If she asked him to, she knew he would.

“Well?” Jareth needled, pulling her from her thoughts. She realized her gaze had been lingering on his lips, now twisted in a smirk. Her fingers still held his chin, and she dropped her hand. She’d been contemplating what lip shade to use before her mind drifted, but Jareth seemed to assume her long pause had signaled she had finished his makeover. “Give me compliments,” he added in a well-practiced kingly tone.

Sarah laughed, admiring her artistry. She’d opted for matte browns and grays to give him a smokey eye. Black kohl rimmed his water line, and a bright metallic gold shimmered at his tear ducts, matching the sweep of his sharp cheekbones. “I did well,” she said with a proud nod. “I knew neutrals and golds would bring out your eyes.” She’d been right, she thought, as his cut sapphire eyes sparkled under her appraisal.

Jareth tutted. “I requested compliments about me, not about your talents.”

“You are beautiful to the point of rudeness, your majesty,” Sarah told him with a half-hearted eye roll. She grabbed his arm and made to pull him into the hallway from the chair where he was seated. “Come on. I need something sweet. Cinnamon hot cocoa?”

“Wait,” Jareth announced, getting to his feet and tugging her gently back into the bathroom. “It’s your turn.”

Sarah squeaked in surprise as Jareth lifted her by the waist and deposited her on the bathroom counter. He released her as soon as she was seated, leaving her uncharacteristically stunned. The counter was deep enough for her to scoot back comfortably, but she had to spread her knees to make room for him. Her bathroom was not large, but it suddenly felt microscopic as they regarded each other at eye level.

Jareth, suddenly possessed with artistic whimsy, pushed her hair back with both hands, then turned her face this way and that. He hummed in contemplation.

Sarah giggled at his scrutiny. “Let it be known that my expectations are very high.”

Sparks lit in his eyes at the challenge, and he reached for a palette. “So good of you to warn me of that now.” The way he expertly balanced the eyeshadow brushes in his gloved fingers as he went to work spoke to his expertise.

The first few minutes were easy enough to manage, his stifling closeness tolerable while he painted the tops of her lids and filled in her brows. Sarah didn’t need to look at him for that bit, after all, giving her the time she needed to figure out what to do with her damn hands. Finally, she let her palms settle on the tops of her thighs.

“Look up,” she heard Jareth say as though it hadn’t been the first time he’d issued the gentle command. He tapped her chin.

“Oh,” Sarah said. “Sorry.”

There was a smile in his voice as he carefully swept eggplant liner in her waterline, smudging it out into her bottom lashes. “Distracted?”

“Mmhm.” Sarah wasn’t surprised that she had answered the question that she could have easily brushed off as an observation. There was something about the way she felt when Jareth asked her something directly—a tug at her navel that propelled her into truth. It wasn’t an irresistible compulsion, she could always wiggle out of it if she wanted to.

It had taken years of exposure to Jareth for Sarah to stop feeling mistrustful of his every word. But now, it was a relief to lean into honesty around him. Her truth would tumble right past her lips if she wasn’t careful.

“Look at me,” Jareth demanded, the smile still there on his face when she did. His hands were in her hair again, shifting it off her shoulders and away from her face where her natural cowlick stubbornly forced it to fall. He dropped his eyes to hers; her head cradled in his palm. “What has you so distracted?”

“You.” The confession spilled from her mouth like it burned to keep it there, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Obviously.”

Jareth hummed, his eyes leaving hers to dance across her features, dutifully checking his work. His fingertips rubbed her scalp slowly as he considered his final touches. The intimacy of it was also new, a small test. She allowed it, leaning her head back into his massaging fingers.

One hand slipped from her head, leaving the other to hold her in place. “I would have assumed the novelty of me had diminished by now.” Jareth closed his teeth on the tip of a leather-clad finger and tugged the glove off, his feral eyes trained on her face.

It thrilled her to see that wildness in him. The unpredictability of it had initially drawn her, how unfathomably inhuman he was. She’d learned to adapt to how he could turn the mood in a breath. He wasn’t unfathomable anymore; he was endearing. Still dangerous, she knew, but genuine affection had her smiling when she said, “The novelty, maybe.”

Her eyes tracked his exposed hand as he dug into a cosmetics bag. She had seen him ungloved twice before—once in her early twenties when she’d been shamelessly hungover upon his early morning arrival. He’d interacted with her for less than a minute before decidedly heading to the kitchen, where he made her a greasy breakfast. Sarah had always regretted that she had felt too sick and sorry for herself to pay closer attention to his bare hands at the time, not realizing his naked fingers were a rarity.

Years later, an unfortunate bat had gotten trapped in her apartment. Sarah had watched as Jareth cradled it to his chest, soothing the injured animal with gentle touches and words she couldn’t understand. His fingers were bone-white in the moonlight and stretched wide when he released the healed bat—ready to catch his new friend should it tumble back to earth before its time. Sarah had made sure to stare, unsure if she’d get the chance again, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she had glimpsed more than she had intended to. The kind of more that stirred emotions she wished away by rote.

“Then what is it?” Jareth’s tone was casual, but she knew he was baiting her—or at best, fishing for more compliments.

Sarah considered her answer. She was experienced enough with Jareth to know that he could make this harder on her if he wanted to. His questions could be more direct, the traps less avoidable. As savvy as she was, she was certain he was skilled enough to force the truths he wanted out of her. He never did.

She opted for honesty and shrugged, hyper-aware of his fingertips still gliding in her hair. “We aren’t usually this close.”

Jareth canted his head, a playful smile spreading. “The makeup was your idea, Sarah. Surely you didn’t expect me to leave room for the gods between us. Is our proximity too much for you?”

“I didn’t say it was too much, but I didn’t climb onto the counter myself either. I brought a chair in here for a reason.” Sarah’s protests sounded hollow even to her. If she had wanted to be anywhere else, she’d had plenty of chances to move.

Jareth huffed with mock offense. “I am taller than you, and I refuse to hunch. This arrangement is much more suitable if I am to pay my posture any respect.”

“Such an opportunist,” she accused, mimicking his huff.

“Really, Sarah. If that were true…” He let the statement hang there, unfinished. The pad of his thumb brushed beneath her bottom lip and pressed there. “Open.”

That first touch of his naked skin made her feel like a marionette on strings. It was barely there, but it obliterated any ability to further whatever point she had been trying to make. Sarah was too focused on how she couldn’t prevent her breath from puffing out against his face with him so close and her lips apart.

Jareth’s thumb left her chin, and his hand returned with a dark lip liner. He traced her cupid’s bow like he had the shape of it memorized. Like he could have sketched her lips with his eyes shut.

“And, I’d like to point out,” he continued, as though Sarah was still participating in whatever conversation they had been having. “You are not where I put you.”

She’d been staring at him, she realized belatedly, and he was grinning in a self-congratulatory way that tore her from her trance. Her thumbs stilled on his hips where they had been drawing mindless patterns as she turned over his words.

Sarah took stock of herself all at once. Not only were her hands not where she had left them the last time she’d thought to check in with them, but she had dragged herself forward and tightened her legs to hold him.

With the awareness of how open she was to him came the sudden impulse to rock forward just a little bit. She wanted to see what kind of state he was in, but she refused to drop her eyes. Instead, she held his gaze, sure that a fleet of emotions had played across her face as Jareth watched her unravel and then pull herself back together.

“You’re right,” Sarah said before pressing her thumbs into his flesh again. An admission in the small squeeze. “I’m not.”

Jareth made a pleased sound that sent a shudder straight to her core. She could sense his mind flitting through possible responses like shuffling cards as he stared at her. He seemed to settle on saying nothing at all, ostensibly content with the closeness that Sarah had confessed to initiating.

She suspected he was being strategic rather than giving her grace.

His bare hand was back, a fingertip smoothing a dark purple cream on her lips. His mouth was slightly open as though unconsciously mirroring her. Jareth lingered, his strokes on her lips something close to worship, and all Sarah could think about was how badly she wanted him to slide his finger across the scrape of her teeth and onto her waiting tongue.

“Well?” Sarah asked when his hand finally dropped away. She winced internally over how shaky her voice sounded—like she hadn’t used it in years.

Jareth scanned her face, evaluating his work, and hours seemed to pass in the time it took for him to meet her gaze again. When he did, she sensed that he had weighed his options and knew what words to say—he was debating whether or not he was going to say them.

His eyes dropped to her lips again before flicking back to hers. “I want to make a mess of it.”

He was so close. It felt like he had poured the words into her open mouth. The ones he had spoken and the ones he hadn’t.

Let me.

It wasn’t hard to imagine what he would look like if she did; that wildness that Sarah loved, purple paint smeared on his face, his teeth, his cock. The edging throb in her cunt pulsed, and her quick exhale was almost a moan.

His grin was a flashing thing, her sound a small triumph he wasn’t above acknowledging. The expression on his face was all dare and had her fingers itching to leave the safety of his hips to explore him. To pull him closer.

Jareth had never been one to shy away from flirting with her. His advances were always cloaked in innuendo or a half-joke. This was different. This was a let-there-be-no-mistaking-my-meaning statement of intent that sent a burst of adrenaline rushing through her system.

He’d handed her the baton an inch away from the finish line. He’d sent up a plane with a trailing banner that read, ‘KISS ME, DUMMY!!’

As Sarah struggled to control her body’s reactions, more unspoken things flooded her mind as if he’d said them plainly:

Make your move.

It would be so good.

For a moment, she was sure neither of them breathed. She could only hear the creak of leather in her hair as Jareth’s fingertips continued their mesmerizing massage. It would be such a simple thing to close the space between them and feel his lips on hers, but she knew that nothing else would be simple after that boundary was crossed. Still, Sarah wanted it more than anything. Wanted him more than anything.

She wanted to fall into whatever this could be and let it take them deeper.

Jareth’s eyes were dark as he watched her, his lips parted in welcome. “Sarah,” he purred, breath feathering her face. “Breathe.” Fingers tightened in her hair, and Sarah let out a sharp gasp of surprise. His smile bordered on sinister, but there was warmth in his eyes.

Sarah felt on fire and frozen at the same time, overly aware now of trying to breathe normally while her heart was a battering ram against her ribs. Jareth’s hand on the back of her head held her there, suspended in the moment. His thumb brushed the shell of her ear, and she shivered.

Jareth stepped back from her when she made no move to kiss him and gestured toward the mirror. “Look for yourself.”

This was a familiar game he played with her, presenting her with a moment to choose and then floating away from her abruptly when she went with inaction. Jareth respected her and her choices—that much was clear after years of similar, though less heated, interactions—but he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to play with her at least a little bit.

Sarah had fed herself a myriad of reasons for why she hadn’t crossed into the point of no return, which was what giving in to what they both wanted would be. Out of all of her excuses, though, there was only one truth: Sarah was afraid that it would unbalance the friendship they had carefully grown.

It still baffled her that they had become friends at all, considering their history and all of the misunderstandings that came along with it. It had taken years to build the easy trust they shared now, and she needed that more than kisses.

Even so, her restraint slipped a little more each time she found herself trapped in a potent moment like this with him.

She twisted to look at her reflection, and her breath caught in surprise. Not at seeing Jareth’s distinctive designs on her eyelids, her sweeping brows, or the cutting contour of her cheekbones. Or all the glitter. She’d expected as much, but she hadn’t anticipated her expression.

“I look…” Sarah trailed off, something she didn’t typically do, but all her brain offered as she stared at her face was:

Aroused.

Needy for something within my reach that I won’t accept.

Like anyone giving me a cursory glance could correctly guess that I am soaking through my panties.

“Like royalty,” Jareth supplied, and for a brief moment, Sarah thought he had rescued her from naming her observations. Then he added, “You’ve also managed to look touch-starved and thoroughly fucked. Impressive.”

Sarah didn’t argue. It more than accurately summed up her appearance, and she liked that his tone was teasing again. Even though he never punished her for not meeting his advances halfway, it was still a relief when the ‘we’re good’ moment would inevitably follow after. Usually, it would come in the form of Jareth saying something blunt, disarming, and thinly veiled as a joke that wasn’t.

“I have, haven’t I?” Sarah agreed, looking thoughtful. “It must be my acting skills. That would only explain half of your assessment, though. I’ll let you wonder which half.”

She admired the unfamiliar seductive smile her reflection was wearing. It was an odd thing, she thought, to learn her face could produce such a smile that was pure siren song. Especially with Jareth still so unnervingly close in what Sarah was now sure was the smallest bathroom in the ever-expanding universe.

“You didn’t put color on my lips,” Jareth complained after catching his reflection. He began rifling through her lipstick options.

Sarah took the bag from him. “Let me choose. That Fanta Lip Smackers you were wearing at the end of my run was at least eighty percent of why I said the words, you know.” Sarah felt Jareth stiffen, and she froze for a moment—the sudden change in the atmosphere heavy. She almost regretted it. Almost. She continued looking through her lipstick collection before selecting a dark matte blue.

When she looked at his face, his eyes were chips of ice. He watched her coolly as she applied the color, and Sarah was overly aware of the turning wheels in his head that she had purposely set into motion. When she capped the lipstick, Jareth pressed his lips together expertly to spread the pigment, then cocked his head regarding her. “And the other twenty percent?”

“The ‘fear me,’ and ‘do as I say’ bits.” Sarah knew she had left out an essential piece of his plea, and it hung between them, unspoken but acknowledged by the narrowing of his eyes.

Love me.

“I see,” Jareth drawled, pulling away from her to lean against the doorframe. Sarah felt the abrupt absence of his hips between her knees in a way that made her wish she had paid closer attention to the feel of him there while it had lasted. “Not a single percent for a stolen baby brother?”

Sarah slid off the counter and headed into the hallway, ruffling his feathery head on her way past him. “I had already won. I’m not under the impression that what happened after had anything to do with saving Toby, and I wasn’t then, either.”

Chapter Text

Sarah sniffed but didn’t bother wiping away her heavy tears. They rolled down her cheeks in that silent-cry way, her unblinking eyes fixed on the TV. Jareth materialized in front of it, jarring her from her numb stare. 

After years of keeping her head on an anxious swivel for fear he’d creep up on her—a fear that was not unfounded, as creeping was a talent of his—Jareth had agreed always to make himself known within her line of sight. Sarah wasn’t easily frightened, but a heart could only take so many jump scares. He’d also stopped bothering with the general fanfare of it all; no more glittery pops and cracks to signal his arrivals and departures. The special effects had been for her benefit all along, a thing she may have never learned had he not simply forgotten to do it one day. 

“Good morning,” he trilled brightly, immediately fussing with her curtains and letting light into the living room. “Sarah, if you want to live in a dungeon, arrangements can be made.” 

Jareth turned to find her not on the couch, where she typically would be, but in the armchair. 

The Chair. The one she’d rescued from behind the dorms at the end of her sophomore year. The comfy, ugly, does-not-match-my-adult-decor-so-it-always-has-a-decorative-throw-or-tapestry-over-it chair. The place Sarah would plant herself and let sad roots grow down, down, down, until she was Sad Chair Sarah, and Sad Chair Sarah only.

“There was room for him,” she told Jareth, not for the first time. “Plenty.”

Jareth frowned and looked around the silent living room for context. He noticed the movie playing and sighed, turning it off with a decisive finger flick. 

“There was,” he agreed, meaning it. He sat on the far end of the sofa and studied her. “Why are you watching this emotionally devastating film with no sound first thing in the morning? Is this something you do that I should know about?” 

“I mute it before the music starts,” Sarah explained. The selective reply left her feeling more hollowed out than she already was. 

He nodded, understanding. “Does it help?”

“No,” she said, blowing a stray strand of DIY fringe out of her eyes. “I still hear it in my head, right on cue. It’s not the kind of song you unhear, I guess.” 

“It isn’t,” Jareth agreed.

They had seen the film on New Year's Eve several years before. It was nearly one in the morning when the movie finally ended. Midnight forgotten, they sat there with wet faces, pathetic party hats, and flat champagne. “These allergies,” Jareth had said dismissively as the credits rolled. Sarah, openly weeping at the time, knew neither of them was crying because of allergies. She’d been validated on his next visit when he’d slyly perused her Celine Dion CDs and suggested they ‘watch a film with that talented Decapitated fellow.’

Sarah watched him watching her. Looking and seeing for longer than necessary since her E.T. face in a blanket hood was the only thing visible. She noticed him glance at her new bangs and struggle momentarily to keep his thoughts to himself. 

Instead of commenting, he asked quietly, “Have you been to bed?” 

“No.”

Jareth nodded once—an I thought as much nod. He gave her another once-over, then patted the seat next to him on the sofa. A request and an offer. 

Pat, pat. 

She uprooted herself and shuffled over, plopping heavily beside him. 

“Sarah,” Jareth said. “What is this really about?” 

“Pete and I broke up.” 

“Who is—the podiatrist?” Jareth asked, surprised. 

“Yeah.”

“The boring one? The one you noticed because he was eating a toasted bagel with no butter or marmalade or cream? Dry, toasty, bagel man?” 

“Yep.”

“You were in a relationship?”

“Briefly.”

“With Pete, the podiatrist.”

Sarah sighed. “Yes, with Pete, the podiatrist of Pete’s Feet Podiatry.” She wanted to giggle at the name. She always did.

Jareth was quiet for a long time. “The nerve of him,” he finally said. 

She shook her head. “He didn’t do anything wrong. I broke up with him.”

“I meant the bagel,” Jareth said with distaste. “It’s a mouthfeel I didn’t want to imagine. But yet, I am. Thanks to Feet’s Pete.” 

“Pete’s Feet,” Sarah corrected, then cursed. “No, I mean, just Pete.”

“Did you date Just Pete to uncover whether someone who could do that to their own mouth has a soul?” 

“Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t be curious? But mostly because he’s a sweet guy.” She regretted it as soon as she’d said it.

Jareth held out his hands as if to bracket a name in lights. “Sweet Pete’s Feet. Oh, that’s perfect. I should have gone into marketing.” 

“It would be perfect if it didn’t sound like a nightmarish candy store with stages of unfolding horror. The kind you walk into thinking you’re just going to take a quick peek, only to realize all the candies are feet shaped because they are feet. No one ever leaves a place named Sweet Pete’s Feet alive. At least not without sweet feet.”

Jareth’s expression of shock morphed into one of villainous excitement. “You can be so deliciously macabre.” He tapped his chin, considering. “You’re right. Marketing,” he scoffed the word like it was the silliest of ideas. “No, I need to open a confectionery shop.”

“It’s disturbing how easy it is for me to conjure that image of you.”

“Not a boring image, though, is it?” 

Sarah shot him a side-long glare with no bite. “This again. Leave him alone. He’s fine, really. Nice.” 

Jareth pulled a face. “‘Nice.’” He spat the word like he couldn’t rid it from his mouth quickly enough. “Ew.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. Earlier that year, they had been enjoying lunch at a cafe when a patron began snapping their fingers to get the attention of a tray-laden server. Sarah had impulsively turned around in her seat and blurted, “Ew. Stop that.” Jareth was delighted at her comment and asked her to explain its meaning. It became a favorite word of his, one he made his own. She didn’t tell him that it had been a resurfaced habit from her teenage years that had slipped out in a moment of pure disgust. Some bubbles were better left unburst. 

“What? Nice is important. It’s…good.” 

Jareth blew an undignified raspberry before saying, “Treating you well is the bare minimum, Sarah. My concern is that ‘nice’ was the only word you could think of to describe a lover. Aside from the formerly mentioned ‘boring.’” 

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to tell me that. That's why I broke up with him. Well, that, and…”

“And?”

Her gaze cut to his, and she found him watching her intently. She let a moment of suspense build, her face as serious as she could force it. “He liked my toes more than he liked me.” 

Jareth stared at her until her face broke into a grin. His laugh was a bark, one of her favorite laughs. Head tipped back, Adam's apple bobbing in his long, exposed throat.

His eyes were sparkling when they found hers again. “They are good toes. I can see how they would be difficult to compete with.” 

Sarah huffed exaggeratedly and snuggled back into his side. “I compete with no one.” 

Jareth crossed his outside leg over the other, angling himself towards her so she could move in closer. She did. 

A comfortable silence settled. She could feel him studying her while her remaining tears dried. Her smile had faded, she knew, and she was left with an ache she didn’t know how to articulate to him. He wanted to ask. She could feel questions bubbling within him that he was holding himself back from asking. He gave her an encouraging little shoulder nudge instead. 

“I never missed him,” Sarah said, her voice almost a whisper. She didn’t know why it hurt so much to admit it or why she was telling Jareth. It felt unfair in a way that was indefinable and yet absolute. 

His slow breathing halted for a moment, just long enough for her to feel it. “Not until this morning, you mean?” 

“No.” This truth was heavy, and Sarah shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of it. “I don’t miss him. And I didn’t while we were dating, either.”

Jareth didn’t respond right away. They both watched his long fingers picking absentmindedly at the blanket near her elbow. He took a breath as if to reply but paused when he met her gaze. Something in his eyes shifted at whatever he saw there. After a moment, he asked, “Why does that hurt you?”

“It bothers me because I should miss the person I am seeing.” She felt the evasion pull behind her navel. 

“I understand,” Jareth said in a steady tone. “But why does that hurt?” 

A familiar warmth began to fizz at the edges of Sarah’s sadness, his pointed words reminding her just how clearly he saw her. It was a relief she wasn’t sure she deserved. 

Her hand snaked out of her blankets, and she started pulling at the loose thread Jareth had worsened. She was dimly aware of her lip rolling between her teeth and how intently Jareth was watching her. 

Though demanding by nature, he was patient when it mattered.

Finally, Sarah said, “I don’t know how to answer that. It just makes me feel empty.”

Jareth reached for her wrist and gently laid her arm across his lap. He paused, his fingers arched above her palm like a white linen spider. Sarah knew he was making it clear what he intended to do and giving her time to stop him. 

He’d watched her stroke the inside of her arm dozens of times, wrist to elbow crook. He made no secret of his fascination with the movement. She had initially explained it away as being meaningless but had eventually admitted it was a self-soothing technique that had become an unconscious habit. 

It wasn’t a deliberate decision for Sarah to accept this offer of tenderness from him. Her tense fingers unfurled and stretched, opening for him before she chose the action.

Jareth’s hand slipped into her palm obligingly, each finger sliding along one of hers until they were fingertip to fingertip. Sarah let out a shaky breath, and he paused again, cautious. After a moment, the full press of his palm was gone, replaced with the whisper of two fingers tracing figure eights against her wrist. 

Sarah’s next exhale was steady as she relaxed into the touch. She thought she could feel Jareth relax a little more, too. An unspoken understanding passed between them; this wasn’t Sarah’s surrender, not the kind that ordinarily sat so heavily between them. This was about comfort. 

His fingertips glided up her forearm to swirl lightly in the dip of her elbow. Sarah noticed his breathing was slow and even and realized it matched her own. It was surprisingly easy to allow this closeness with the pressure of it signifying anything more removed. 

“It hurts,” Jareth murmured soothingly into the blanket near her ear, “because you care so deeply. About everyone fortunate enough to be in your orbit.”

Sarah thought about this as his flattened hand smoothed down her forearm until he was palm-to-palm with her again. 

“I didn’t love him.”

“Not romantic love, maybe, but you cared enough to end the dalliance once you had accepted you couldn’t return his feelings. I know you. You love those you deem worth knowing and pour your whole self into them. Love is a visceral, living thing for you, and you drain yourself dry trying to water it.” 

A silent sob took her by surprise as his honest observations cut through the guilt she hadn’t realized she’d been clutching to so tightly. She let Jareth’s fingers slide back between hers again and felt the reassuring press of his chin on the top of her head. 

Sarah pulsed his hand with hers. Jareth squeezed hers back twice. 

They were skin-to-skin now, she realized. No linen barrier between wrists, palms, or fingers. It almost made her shake again in another sob, the intimacy of the embrace was so perfect. Protected in this moment when he would take it no further, and she didn’t have to decide. 

Finally, Sarah asked, “Is that bad?”

“No,” Jareth said quickly but hesitated before elaborating. His fingers slipped from hers to cluster at the center of her wrist. He let them radiate outward in all directions. He repeated the motion until it was a gentle rhythm. It reminded Sarah of the sun spilling light into her thirsty veins. 

“It’s one of your most stunning qualities, Sarah. Even bitter old kings can’t help but adore you for it.” 

His saccharine sincerity was almost too much, and despite how it made her stomach flip with nerves, she couldn’t help the weak smile from gracing her face. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ somewhere in there,” she observed. 

“But,” Jareth continued, “I think you get lost in it all. In others. In how you think you are supposed to make others feel.” 

“You think I forget how to feel?”

“No,” he said again. “I think you prioritize others over yourself. When you do consider your feelings, fear can rule your choices over what you truly desire.” 

Sarah sighed. “I have this nagging feeling you aren’t just talking about Pete.” 

“Oh, I’m not. Pete is only a layer.” His tone was sober. Not a hint of teasing. 

She looked at him, curious. “Explain.” 

Jareth settled back into the couch, biding time while he considered his approach in presenting whatever truths he was about to reveal. When he began, it was with a careful openness. “Some of your past partners weren’t as lovely as you insist Pete to have been. They took, and you gave. You agonized over being unable to give beyond your limit. Perhaps they loved you in their selfish ways.” He sent her an affectionate smile that set his eyes crinkling around the edges. ”What isn’t to love?”

Sarah felt a tightening in her chest at his warm crinkly eyes and the question—a confession that wasn’t. The promise of one during a different time, another conversation. 

His index finger painted broad strokes across each vein in her wrist as he resumed, “They never care for you in the ways you need. Or deserve. And somehow, you end up apologizing for it.”

Jareth waited for her to tell him to stop. Maybe he saw the sting of his words reflected on her face. She shook it away. “I’m fine. Go on.”

He took a deep breath, searching her face and finding her resolve. “The guilt clouding around you this morning was palpable. Again, over what you couldn’t provide for another. You allow yourself to accept these misplaced emotions of remorse over lovers while managing to ignore how any of it makes you feel. What it makes you want instead.” 

Jareth let that hang, suspended between them, until he saw it sink in. Fingertips danced across the quickening pulse in her wrist. His voice was low and gentle when he spoke again. “For as hard as you love people, Sarah, and hold them so close until you can’t hold them any longer, I don’t believe you’ve let romantic love touch you yet.” 

Sarah sucked in a sharp breath. Whether it was due to the new tickling of his finger tracing her heartline—or his truth that sliced straight to the quick—she wasn’t sure. 

Jareth gave her a long look, perhaps offering her a last chance to stop him. When she didn’t, he said, “Since you seem open to receiving my honesty right now, I’m going to be blunt. I suspect that is why you truly feel sorrow, Sarah. It’s against your nature to be selfish, and it’s against your nature to take risks. What has that left you with?”

Sarah flung her head back to rest on the back of the couch. The weight of it was crushing. Her watery eyes sought patterns in the popcorn of her ceiling that matched those Jareth drew on the inside of her elbow. 

It wasn’t a rhetorical question, but she knew he didn’t expect an answer. She gave him one anyway. “Meaningless hookups or shallow relationships that never fulfill me romantically.”

His fingers left her skin, and before she could mourn the loss, the pads were catching her building tears before they had a chance to fall. He made a soothing sound that somehow managed not to be a shush. “Yes. That in and of itself is fine, of course. But if it’s causing you pain, it’s worth paying attention to.” 

Sarah’s hand trailed his instinctively and pressed his palm to her cheek. A broken laugh slipped from her throat, and she asked, “When did you become so…” She searched for the right word before settling on “sagely?” Another laugh followed. 

Jareth looked initially pleased and then feigned offense at her laughter. “I’ll have you know, I have always been wise. You are simply selective about what you share with me. I am proportionately cautious about what advice I offer.” 

Sarah’s sad smile faded, his words hitting her in a way she hadn’t expected. More guilt replaced the guilt she had just allowed herself to let go of. 

A thumb brushed new tears, and he tipped her face to encourage her to look at him. She met his gaze reluctantly, afraid that she would be unable to stop the sobs that threatened to break. When their eyes locked, she felt calmed by the concern in his expression. “Those guilty eyes again.”

“It doesn’t feel fair to talk with you about these things,” Sarah said, knowing she was being vague. She just wanted to gain momentum so she could begin to unravel the tangle of her emotions. She tried again. “Jareth, I know we haven’t really talked about—” She paused when she felt his thumbs still, then the rest of her words spilled out in a panicked rush. “I mean, not directly. We’re experts at talking around it, but…” 

Sarah gestured with her arm helplessly as if to illustrate the point she was trying to make without words. She could feel the pleading in her eyes. 

“Sarah,” Jareth said, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. His fingers threaded with hers again, and he let their hands fall back into his lap. Grounding her. “I can handle it.” 

She slumped slightly with the relief of not needing to explain herself further around this topic. She was grateful for the strokes of his thumb across her knuckles. 

Jareth held Sarah’s gaze, ensuring she knew he meant it. She felt a barrier around her heart crumble as she accepted his words, knowing they were true. He must have seen it in her face because he let the hint of a smile stretch into a real one that reached his eyes. “Is that why you avoid me while you have lovers?”

“Yes.” 

“Because you’ve deemed it to be unfair otherwise?”

“Yes.”

“To whom?”

“To everyone,” Sarah admitted. A confession that was part of a bigger one yet unspoken. 

But it seemed enough for Jareth in this bubble-wrapped moment. He only nodded and squeezed her fingers. She felt him detach from the intensity of the conversation, releasing her as well by doing so. When he spoke again, his tone was light. 

“So, when did you know it wasn’t fate?” 

Sarah blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“Pete,” Jareth supplied, smoothing over the furrow in her brow with two fingers. 

“Oh,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “Shut up. I never thought it was fate. We didn’t have much time to see each other. When we did, I wasn’t excited to plan dates with him. That felt like a pretty big red flag.”

“What kind of riveting dates did he propose, I wonder? Sitting around to watch paint dry together?”

Sarah snorted. “You and I have done that very thing.”

“True, but that was less of a date than it was recovering from the fatigue of painting every wall in your apartment a different color because your energy"—he paused to make air quotes—"’felt weird.’ Also, we did have that divine charcuterie board, and the blanket on the floor made it all rather picnicky.”

“It was a tarp on the floor, which would have been fine if we’d opened the windows. We didn’t think about the fumes.”

“We did not,” Jareth conceded. “But you were lucky to have my help on that mission. I shaved off at least ten percent of your overall time spent.” 

Sarah laughed, a genuine laugh. Jareth hadn’t been as efficient a helper as one might expect a magical being in charge of managing an entire kingdom to be. While Sarah completed wall after wall, Jareth was stuck in the minutiae. She’d gone to look for him after noticing she hadn’t seen him in a while—a realization that was always accompanied by an ‘uh oh.’ 

As she'd searched, she found secret corners all over her house with intricate paintings of various sizes. A complex labyrinth design over her kitchen window, a crystal that looked like it was rolling along the baseboard in her hallway alongside her as she walked. She’d finally found him crouching on the ceiling of her office, painting an honest to gods staircase to nowhere. 

Days later, she’d discovered a tiny peach painted on the bottom of her fruit bowl. She had half-heartedly scolded him for that one—because, well, the peach was a whole thing that required a lot of unpacking she wasn’t willing to do. But mainly because the paint wasn’t food safe. 

She’d put it on the table by her front door, and it became where her keys lived, along with any other item that didn’t have a home. That was perfect for Sarah since she existed in a world where everything always had a place, or nothing did. It went from being some old fruit bowl she could care less about to The Bowl. A part of a secret ritual only she knew about. Her fingers sought out the raised paint each time she reached for her keys and let them linger there, tracing the peach-shaped message. Pressing his love into her fingertips. 

“So,” Jareth’s rumbling voice coaxed her back to the present. Blunt nails scratched lazily up and down her arm, demanding the return of her attention. “Not excited for dates. He couldn’t keep up with you?”

Sarah hummed. “He was fine.” She searched for a generous word. “Knowledgeable enough.” 

Jareth’s fingers stalled their movements suddenly, and she looked over to catch his horrified expression. “I do hope that’s true, at least, considering he can’t even moisten a bagel.”

“I hate you so much,” Sarah interrupted, though she was laughing. The punch she aimed at his arm was less effective than she’d hoped, with her punching hand still trapped in her blanket burrito. 

He was all unapologetic smugness. “You love me.”

Sarah could admit or deny it; it didn’t matter. He would know. She leaned her burrito blanket body into him, E.T.-hooded head finding his shoulder. “I do.”

She let him curl her in. He held her there in a long squeeze. “Tell me that again on a different day.” 

“It’s not a secret, Jareth.” 

“Tell me when you know what it means.” He booped her nose when she opened her mouth. “And not today.”

“What’s wrong with today?” Sarah asked, curious, though she had no plans of elaborating. 

Jareth motioned around, including the TV, the curtains, The Chair, and a broad gesture in Sarah’s general direction. 

“Oh,” she said. Her head found his shoulder again. “I broke things off a week ago. Things got busy at work, and I went on autopilot. I was fine until yesterday. It was my first day off, and I wasn’t prepared to have nothing to do but think and feel. It’s alright to dedicate a day to wallowing once in a while.” 

“You’re telling yourself that,” Jareth said. “I’ve always been in support of a good wallow.” 

Sarah smiled. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, though. I’m glad you’re here. I’m sorry I’m no fun today.”

Jareth returned the smile. Fingers slipped between blanket and cheek. “What, precisely, is going on under here?” He coaxed the hood down, letting her choppy hair tumble forward. It framed her face haphazardly, and Sarah felt a blush creep up her neck at his grin. 

“Edgy,” he noted lightly with twinkling eyes. The warm crinkles were back in the corners.

“You hate it,” Sarah complained. 

“I love it,” Jareth corrected. Not a lie, but a truth stacked with other truths. 

She leveled a severe look at him. “You love chaos. This,” she gestured at her hair, “is chaotic.”

Jareth’s grin widened into a crescent moon. “Chaos suits you.”

Sarah sighed. “Can you fix it?”

He chuckled, teasing the layers of her hair between his fingers. “I can. Tomorrow. For now, you need rest. I’ve glamoured it for you temporarily to carry you through this…transition period.”

“You what?” Sarah twisted to look at her reflection in the large mirror behind the couch. Her hair was large, permed, and sticking out in every direction. “Wow. I’m pretty sure you’re fucking with me right now, Goblin King. But,” she tilted her head this way and that. “I look like Marc Bolan. I’m kind of into it, honestly.” 

Jareth laughed, her commentary harkening to their many dance parties centering T.Rex’s ‘Dandy in the Underworld.’  “You would,” he said, affection coloring his tone. 

The T.V. clicked on with a casual twist of his hand. The soothing timbre of David Attenborough narrating the mating habits of various birds of paradise chased away the melancholy of sinking ships and hearts. Nature documentaries were Sarah’s favorite thing to fall asleep to when too many stimuli crowded her busy mind. 

“Rest,” he insisted, drawing her in close. 

Sarah let her eyes flutter closed. When they opened again, it was to see the underneath of Jareth’s chin. She blinked up at him, confused at the shift in perspective. Her head was in his lap. 

He must have felt her awareness because he glanced down at her immediately. “Good morning,” he cooed at her, smoothing her new curls away from her forehead. “Evening, really.”

“Hi,” Sarah said, her voice froggy. She cleared her throat as her stomach gave a wail of protest at its emptiness. 

Jareth’s lips twitched. “I thought you might be hungry.” He nodded to a takeaway bag and what looked like a frosty milkshake on the coffee table. “It’s not homemade, obviously. Forgive me for cheating.” 

Sarah couldn’t help the rush of affection for him. She sat up and flung her arms around his neck, awkward from her position, not caring that she was fully in his lap now. Jareth seemed surprised by the gesture. After a moment, he folded her into an embrace. 

She pulled away enough to look at him. “Stay tonight.”

A flipbook of emotions flashed behind his eyes as he registered her request. His response wasn’t what she had expected or hoped for. 

“Not tonight.”

“Why?” Sarah asked, stung by the perceived rejection. 

“You know why,” Jareth said, gingerly disentangling himself from her. “But I will see you tomorrow if you’ll have me.” 

“I’ll have you,” she said a little too quickly. She cursed herself for the smirk that slid across every angled feature of his face. 

He tsked as he unfolded his long limbs and climbed to his feet. “Come, come, Sarah. Do be careful not to appear so eager. I may start to question your intentions.” 

“Ugh,” Sarah groaned. “Stop torturing me and get out of here already, glitter boy.”

Jareth sent her one last toothy grin and burst into an entirely unnecessary explosion of sequins and feathers.

Chapter Text

The mental checklist Sarah hoped to accomplish before Jareth took over her day was finally dwindling. She needed to finish the dishes, tidy up the living room, get dressed…

Sarah’s heart supplied an extra tha-thump when she glimpsed the kitchen clock. Jareth would be arriving in an hour. She felt energized, much better now that the previous day was over. She’d feel fantastic once she got through everything she needed to do, but her spidey senses raised a suspicious flag over her questionable time management. 

She picked absently at the sludge drying in her eyebrows and scowled at the green residue beneath her nails. With all the puttering around the house she’d been doing in an attempt to present herself as tidy and fine, she’d forgotten about the mask. Add washing her face to the list that was turning out to be less dwindly than she’d believed. 

Escaped curls clung uncomfortably to her skin. Sarah scrunched her face to relieve the tight sensation, feeling the mask crack satisfyingly. Green tea flakes fell to her clean kitchen floor. Damn. Depuffing a cry-face was messy and unenjoyable, she decided. 

She registered Jareth’s sudden appearance at the same time she heard his shrill shriek of surprise. Sarah instinctively screamed, too, searching the kitchen in a panic for danger. 

“You have been afflicted!” Jareth exclaimed, transporting himself within inches of her without bothering to take the two steps the distance required. 

“What?” Sarah yelped, terrified. Her hands flew to her face. 

Jareth’s eyes bulged in horror when green crumbled away at her touch. When Sarah felt the texture of the mask, it all made sense. She dissolved into giggles. “Jareth, it’s okay,” she said, dodging his concerned fingers. The adrenaline from the mutual screaming had her feeling giddy. “It’s just a cosmetic product.” 

Jareth’s hand dropped, and he gave her a long appraising look before saying, “I somehow do not believe you.” 

She rolled her eyes. Rolling greens in a sea of green. “It washes off.” 

He released an exaggerated sigh of relief, gesturing to her sink in an implied request to prove it. “Thank the gods for that.” 

Sarah’s sigh matched his, resigned as she was now to accomplish her checklist out of order. She rinsed her face and could feel Jareth watching her intently as if to ensure she was, in fact, still Sarah under there. 

She peeked over at him while she patted her skin dry and smiled at his expression. Her smile quickly twisted into a self-satisfied smirk she hadn’t planned. “I didn’t know you could scream like that.”

She intended to be sly. Just a light ribbing. She realized her error before the jab was out of her mouth. 

There was an unmistakably elated spark in Jareth’s eyes as he let her squirm for a beat beneath the weight of the trap she had set for herself. Sarah recognized the leer that gradually replaced his relieved expression. The way he loomed over her was familiar, too, his arm above his head as he leaned into the pantry door. 

Uncomfortably familiar and excitingly close.

“I wonder what your basis for comparison is,” Jareth said, his intent gaze belying his casual tone—the tone of someone pondering the migratory patterns of sidewalk brownies. 

Fraggin’ aardvarks , Sarah thought and almost laughed again under the influence of her crashing cortisol. She reined herself back into the moment, unwilling to allow her strange intrusive thoughts to divert her. While she’d never returned to the Labyrinth, she hadn’t fully left either. It took effort sometimes not to retreat there, even with the King of the Goblins strategically maneuvered into her personal bubble. 

Especially then. 

Jareth observed her with curious amusement as he waited, all questioning brow and tilting head. 

“I mean,” Sarah tried to backpedal, feeling the attempt fail as her words fell from her lips. “I didn’t know you could scream at all.” 

He patted her head, smirk stretching beyond what should be allowed. “I could let that one slide.” A statement, not an offer. 

“You could,” Sarah agreed, hopefully. 

“I don’t think I will, though. It would be entirely uncharacteristic.”

Sarah let out a long breath of surrender. “It would be,” she agreed again and gestured in the universal sign of go on, get it over with .

Jareth considered her briefly, his attention a quick flick up and down. “Another time, perhaps.”

Sarah poked him in the sternum. “How like you to keep that in your back pocket.” 

“You’ve stared at my ass enough times to realize I don’t have back pockets,” Jareth commented breezily. “Even as a teenager, nothing but giant lily pads adrift in a virginal pool for eyes.”

Her finger prodded him again. “You are disgusting.” Her tone was light despite her accusatory words and narrowed eyes. “You got off on it.”

Jareth didn’t bother to look offended and shrugged. “Should I have advised you to stop your gandering? Would that have been more appropriate? I did consider mentioning your ogling, Sarah, but I worried you would simply turn to dust and blow away from embarrassment.” The pout he pulled was wicked. “That would have spoiled all my fun.”

Sarah ignored his taunting and busied herself with drying the last of her dishes. She thought about what he’d said. What it would have meant for her to be called out at that age. 

By him. 

“I’m glad you didn’t do that. I remember actively peeling my eyes away from you. It was a conscious effort—but I don’t think I knew what it meant then. That’s probably for the best.” She paused and glanced at him. “I would have been more ashamed than embarrassed.” 

Jareth looked taken aback. His suddenly pensive demeanor surprised her. She had fully expected smugness.

“Why ashamed?” he asked, his voice padded with a sudden softness.

She considered the question while she fussed with the coffee maker. The declaration had hit her as truth before she’d internally articulated its meaning. 

“There’s a difference between embarrassment for being caught and shame for why I was looking in the first place,” she explained. “I didn’t have anyone to talk to about attraction, and I didn’t understand. I mean, aside from what I read about in books. It seldom ends up well for the heroine, you see. She always gives something away.”

Jareth didn’t respond immediately. When Sarah’s eyes cut to his, he was frowning. “You seem disgruntled,” she noted, her arched brow adding a question mark to the statement. 

“I am.” 

Sarah bristled uneasily. “With me?” 

“No,” he assured her. “With myself.” 

Her budding defensiveness dissipated. “For what?” She asked, bewildered. “You didn’t make me stare at your—at you.” 

The corner of Jareth’s lips kicked up briefly on impulse at her last-minute revision, but his countenance remained solemn. “I suspect we both have held on to a perception of what happened that day. Or what could have. Our memories do not match those of the other.” 

Sarah gave him a hard, wary stare. “We’re not just talking about me gaping at you, are we?”

“No. At least, I’m not.” He scanned her face before continuing. “I’ve learned I can’t make you speak about anything you don’t wish to. I wish you would talk to me about this, Sarah.”

“Later?” she proposed brightly, pressing a cup of coffee into his hands: cream, seven sugars, and a splash of vanilla extract. “I need to get breakfast started. I’m hungry.”

Jareth sighed, used to her rebuffs around their initial meeting, parting, and almost everything in between. “What you need is something aside from this morose music.” He meandered over to her stereo and ejected her Fiona Apple CD. Sarah watched him slip it back into the sleeve of her CD binder and flip past the page labeled ‘Moody Babes’’ and land on “Diva Gods.” His eyes lingered on Celine Dion, and he shot her a side-long glance. “Perhaps not this.” 

Sarah laughed and then noticed the time on her stereo. “Wait, why are you so early?” 

Still flipping through her CDs, Jareth said, “I’m never early, Sarah.” His voice was a drawling chastisement. “I was exactly on time, as always. Your clocks are faulty.” 

“It’s impossible for all my clocks to be wrong,” Sarah pointed out. “You’re on Underground time.”

Jareth scoffed. “It doesn’t work quite like that, as you know.”

Then it hit her. “Shit. Daylight savings time. I forgot.”  

“I don’t know what that is, but I’m pleased I remembered,” Jareth crowed, pausing his perusal of her CDs on a page labeled ‘Mixes.’ He grinned as he slipped ‘NOW That’s What I Call Music! 7’ from the case. He brandished it in front of her as if in warning before popping it into the stereo. 

Sarah groaned, but her smile gave her away. Besides glam rock, the chaos of a mixed CD with random modern music from every genre was Jareth’s standard preference for a dance party. She’d stopped buying iterations of the NOW albums years ago, but Jareth insisted on gifting her the newest versions every year as a rerouted gift to himself. This one had not been broken in yet, and he merrily hit ‘play,’ and then, ‘shuffle.”

“You would shuffle a mixed CD,” Sarah said, filing it away as another thing she loved about him. She laughed as the beginning of ‘Ride wit Me’ by Nelly spilled from her speakers, and Jareth shimmied his shoulders at her. “This is one of those songs I know every word to, but none of them are correct.” She stopped to think about it and laughed. “Most modern songs, actually. I never know the words. I just make them up.”

Jareth made her prove it, naturally. He chuckled at her impassioned improv. As the music faded, he applauded while she bowed. “As talented a lyricist as you may be, I don’t think you’re what the music industry is looking for,” he remarked gently with the air of someone breaking crushing news. 

Sarah feigned devastation, letting her face crumple in exaggerated disappointment. It morphed into a grin when Lifehouse’s ‘Hanging by a Moment’ started up. “But have you seen me dance?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows like she had a secret weapon.

“Yes,” Jareth replied smoothly. “I have. Have you been withholding talent?”

She sent him a mock glare. “Ye of little faith,” she complained, spinning in a wobbly pirouette before launching into a full-out interpretive dance. He joined her as they acted out dramatic slow-motion heartbreaks and fainting spells. Jareth had mastered miming hanging on by an actual moment by the end of it. 

As the song transitioned to ‘Don’t Let Me Be the Last to Know’ by Britney Spears, their bodies instinctively swayed to the sensuous tune. Sarah executed a series of chassés across the kitchen, and Jareth mimicked her movements in the opposite direction. She did her best to ignore the lyrics and the fact that this was obviously a slow dance song. It became increasingly difficult as she listened. 

My friends say you're so into me

And that you need me desperately

They say you say we're so complete

Sarah hand-jived and did the Charleston like she couldn’t tell Jareth’s attention tracked the words. They had clearly piqued his interest, as had her reaction to them. She danced on, incorporating moves that she was reasonably sure were just yoga sun salutations. 

But I need to hear it straight from you

If you want me to believe it's true

I've been waiting for so long it hurts

I want to hear you say the words, please

Jareth was altogether transfixed now—on the lyrics and the blush spilling across her sweaty skin that had nothing to do with the YMCA. He was circling her as she danced, his eyes dancing with her. 

Don't, don't let me be the last to know

Don't hold back, just let it go

I need to hear you say

You need me all the way

Oh, if you love me so

Don't let me be the last to know

As it turned out, her fourth-grade gym teacher had been right in predicting square dancing would come in handy someday. She’d been understandably skeptical. Unable to stand the awkwardness of Britney crooning about unrequited love while she trudged through yet another promenade and do-si-do. Sarah pushed past Jareth and made a beeline for her stereo. 

“This song isn’t for me,” Sarah said, tapping the ‘next’ button. An acoustic guitar signaled the start of ‘This I Promise You’ by N*SYNC. “Even worse,” she lamented, her finger poised to skip again. 

Jareth snatched her wrist away and placed it on his shoulder. “Leave it,” he coaxed, threading his fingers with hers as boy band ‘oooohs’ serenaded them. 

He tugged her in close, his hand splaying at the small of her back. Sarah was surprised by how quickly she folded into him. Her breath caught as the lengths of their bodies aligned in a new way, their skin hot and separated only by cotton and linen. They were both breathing hard from their antics, but Sarah was acutely aware of just how ragged her breaths were compared to Jareth’s. 

She shook her head to dislodge the tendrils of hair that adhered to her sweaty face. He was grinning at her when she peered up from beneath her frantic bangs. 

“That hair suits you, wild one,” Jareth commented.

“Wild?” Sarah snorted, though the endearment thrilled her. “I am not wild.” 

He leaned in close, his forehead nearly touching hers. “But you want to be.” 

Her eyes flashed a warning at him, but she took the bait anyway. “And how would that turn out for me, do you think?”

Sarah was still out of breath and was alarmed to notice Jareth was not. Color still suffused his skin, but he seemed otherwise all too collected when he said, “I wouldn’t pretend to know, considering I have been so misguided in my assumptions thus far.” 

The strangeness of the statement broke her from the moment. Her brow rumpled, and she pulled back fully to look at Jareth. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jareth began as they waltzed through her kitchen and into the living room. He halted with a pained sneer as the glitter and sequins he’d littered there the night before crunched under his boots. His eyes tore from hers to toss a disappointed look around the room. “Really, Sarah. How can you allow yourself to live under these conditions? Such a mess.” 

“Don’t distract me, J. Tell me what you were going to say.” 

Jareth changed direction unexpectedly, and Sarah struggled to keep up with the sharp turn. He tsked at her. “Now you want to talk?”

Her eyes narrowed at him dubiously. “That’s hardly fair to ask since I don’t know what you’re hedging at.” 

His chuckle was a deep rumble that reverberated from his chest into hers. A new warmth sank low in Sarah’s body. Jareth had slowed them into a sway. Nothing more than the shifting of weight within a standing embrace. She fought to keep her pulse steady, sure it pounded visibly near her throat.

“Alright, Champion. How’s this for fair, then?” Jareth leaned in close again, erasing the distance with a full press of his forehead to hers. “If you need to flee the conversation, I humbly request you not involve chairs or mirrors. Words will suffice. You’re adept at those, too, as we have learned.” 

Sarah let out a reedy laugh that sounded more strangled than she would have liked. “Thanks for the out.” When it became clear he was waiting for verbal acquiescence to continue, she added, “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

He studied her, and she knew he could feel her trepidation. It was almost fear, but she stamped it down. Sarah squeezed Jareth’s fingers and sent him an attempt at a reassuring smile—though it teetered like a Jenga tower after a misguided block removal. 

Convinced enough by the gesture, Jareth pulled back from her and said, “I want to discuss that night.”

“Which night?” Sarah asked numbly, knowing precisely which night . 

Jareth shot her an unimpressed look as if the question was an insult to them both. It was, of course. She knew it. 

“The night you, a fifteen-year-old, wished away your little brother to me, the adult Goblin King.”

“Oh. That night,” Sarah muttered. “I suppose that would be permissible. Though it hardly matters now.” 

Jareth looked almost hurt. “The very foundation of our acquaintance hardly matters? It does. I assure you.”

Sarah’s sigh was tinged with guilt. It mattered, and she knew it. To pretend otherwise made her feel like a fraud in his arms. “Alright. Tell me what you assume I don’t already know.” 

“Perhaps it’s not about telling. I should have been listening instead.” Jareth’s eyes were contemplative as he searched her face. “On the other hand, there are things I feel you should hear from me.” 

She studied him, scouring his opaque preamble for meaning. “You’re being cryptic, and you know I’ve puzzled through enough riddles for a lifetime.” 

Jareth was silent for a moment. He looked uncomfortable, unnerving Sarah. “Now you’re making me uneasy,” she said. “Say something.”

“I don’t like the idea of you feeling ashamed,” he said, his words coming out in a sudden rush that was atypical of him. “That was never something I intended for you.” 

Sarah, unimpressed, couldn’t help but laugh. “It absolutely was.”

“It wasn’t. Though I see why it would seem that way.” Jareth’s expression was unreadable, but there was no tinge of ridicule in his words. He meant them.

“Are the years of relentless mockery all flooding back at once, Goblin King?” She tripped over her feet, and he pulled her back in. She noticed that he didn’t draw her in closer like she would have expected. He gave her space while they revisited the long-ago origin story that cast long shadows on their present, friendship, and whatever future either of them may or may not ever admit to wanting. 

“Embarrassment is different from shame, as you so eloquently explained to me earlier,” Jareth said quietly. “I admittedly had not considered it. Shame isn’t an appropriate feeling to place on a child, and I apologize. I didn’t make it easy for you that night.”

“Or any other,” Sarah acknowledged. She did her best to brush off his words, but they burrowed into her heart a little. “You didn’t actually do anything, Jareth.” 

“I know that,” Jareth said—still so calm—but the frown lines etching deeper around his slash of a mouth spoke to his displeasure. “But I am not convinced you know I wouldn’t have.”

Sarah swallowed past a lump that suddenly formed in her throat. She cleared it, but her voice was still a croak when she said, “I’m not sure how you want me to respond to that.” 

“Forget how you think I want you to respond,” Jareth hissed, sounding almost angry. His expression smoothed when he saw Sarah balk at his tone. He tried again. “I just want you to tell me the truth. Tell me what you thought then and what you think now.” 

Sarah inhaled deeply and released the breath while she debated. 

She could abandon this conversation if she wanted to. 

She did want to. 

But curiosity tugged her onward. “At the time, I didn’t know. Not really. I was playing the part I thought I was supposed to. I had one desire. Suddenly, I had more than one, and that was….”

Jareth watched her closely. “That was…?"

“Frightening,” she finished, stunned at the word. 

“I see,” Jareth said. “Did I frighten you?”

“Not so much.”

He pouted, and Sarah chuckled at that. “What I mean is, it wasn’t you that scared me. It was how I felt about you. You were sex personified before I understood any of the implications. I didn’t understand the power imbalance.” 

“That is precisely why this conversation matters. You didn’t understand, but I did. And I did not act then, nor would I have. It’s important to me that you know that. And believe it.” 

Sarah stared at him hard, aware he couldn’t lie.

“You don't believe me,” he said. There was no accusation, but there was a hurt he had no right to feel. 

Sarah felt a surge of unexpected bitterness. “You were seducing me, Jareth. You can’t honestly deny that.” 

To her surprise, Jareth looked ready for this challenge. “I don’t deny it.”

Something about the admission broke her. Tears started to build in her eyes, and she wasn’t sure if they were from anger, sadness, or relief at hearing the truth she’d avoided for so long. 

Jareth noticed her heavy blinking and hurried into an explanation. “I don’t expect you to understand this now, and I certainly wouldn’t have expected you to then, but I played a role just as you did. Seduction is part of who I am. It’s part of the game. Distraction is in my nature, as you have pointed out many times. I recited my lines and brandished my body about you, but it had nothing to do with you.”

Sarah recoiled as if he had slapped her in the face. She felt her color drain and fought to keep the burn of his words from showing. “Well,” she spat. “That sorts that out.”

“It doesn’t,” Jareth said calmly. “There was a spark of curiosity then, Sarah. I won’t deny that either. I expected I would be defied someday in my long life, but not by a mortal teenager. That spark has shifted into a burning, tormenting thing, but that isn’t how it started. It started with you as a child under my protection and me, an adult who knew better.”

“The peach dream—” Sarah started, unable to acknowledge his confession of feelings as they related to her now. 

“Was almost exclusively your creation,” Jareth finished. “Your imagination was threaded through nearly every piece of that fantasy. I did take liberties with one small variable, however. Tell me, Sarah. In all your recollections of that dream, did you ever wonder why I would put you in that dress? Surely, you know I have better taste.” 

Sarah’s feet stopped as she considered his question, and he urged her to keep moving. His hand tightened at the small of her back. “Or why I didn’t hold you like this? I could have. You would have let me.” 

“The dress was the same as the one the dancer in my music box wore,” Sarah answered. “I figured you just borrowed it.”

“Oh, I did. In a moment of sheer panic. You should have seen the dress you imagined yourself in.”

Sarah raised a brow. “Do I want to know?”

He grinned wickedly at her. “There isn’t much to describe.” 

A new flush crept up her cheeks. “Perfect,” she muttered. “That’s perfect.”

Jareth chuckled and leaned in, sensing her anger thawing. He nuzzled his nose near her temple. “At the time, it wasn’t ideal.” 

“So you put me in that dress? Why, if you could have chosen anything else.” 

“I could have put you in a gold bikini and chains if I had wanted to,” he agreed. 

“I should have never let you watch Star Wars; you overly identify with the villains.” 

Another chuckle tumbled from his lips and vibrated the sensitive hairs at her nape. He pulled back to look at her, and despite the mirth on his face, his words were serious. “If I were as villainous as you have painted me to be, I wouldn’t have purposely put you in a dress that kept you firmly rooted in childhood.” 

“With room for the gods between us,” she added, beginning to understand. 

He nodded. “In stark contrast to the present, as you may have noticed.” 

“You asked me to stay in the end,” Sarah said, unwilling to fully let go of what she had assumed about him for so long. 

This time, Jareth didn’t laugh. He studied her closely. Finally, he said, “No. I didn’t, Sarah. You’ve hinted at that being your perception before, but that isn’t what happened.”

“It is,” she insisted. “You said—”

“I said what? To stay with me in the Underground for all eternity? That you could never leave?”

“No, but—”

“No,” Jareth concurred. “But again, I understand why it came across that way. That was a script, Sarah. Lines I had never been forced to say because I’d never faced having a Champion before. I cannot express how unwilling I was to have one at the time, what, with my previously untarnished record.” 

Sarah’s stare was hard as it bore into him. This was a new hurt, as much as it was another relief to the worries she’d held on to. “So, you would have tricked me into staying with you just to avoid me being your Champion? Was I a disappointment?”

He did laugh at that. Like Sarah’s interpretation was utterly ridiculous. He sobered quickly when more hurt flashed in her eyes. “Hardly, Sarah. You have never disappointed me. I would not have kept you, regardless. Had you agreed to whatever you thought I was offering at the time, you would have revoked your rights as Champion. Nothing else would have changed. Toby was never yours to give.”

“WHAT?” Sarah choked, pulling out of his arms. The anger she had felt before bubbled over into a rage. “You’re telling me it was all for nothing?”

“Was it?” Jareth let the question dangle dangerously, laden with implications. “Did you gain nothing from the experience?”

She fumed. She stormed. She imagined smoke pouring out of her ears in cartoonish rage. “Please don’t patronize me. I don’t need your life lessons and never asked for them.” Sarah’s practiced ‘please’ clashed with how she bit out the words. 

His eyes glinted with something before it vanished. Didn’t you, though? When you wished for me?

Sarah continued before Jareth could speak the words that rang in her ears despite being left unspoken. “And how could you keep this from me until now?” There was a little less anger in her voice. More hurt. “That feels like a betrayal, Jareth. A big one.”

“You’re right. You don’t require my lessons now, but you may have then. Either way, it wasn’t my decision. It was yours. I had to follow through.” He looked at her angry face and sighed. “I shouldn’t have kept this from you. You’re right about that too.”

“Why did you?”

“Would you have been open to discussing any of this before now? I’ve tried, Sarah.”

She wanted to shut him down and tell him that, yes, she absolutely would have been willing to talk this through. As she let it percolate, she knew that wasn’t true. “I’d like to say yes, but I don’t know if I would have heard you out.” 

Jareth smiled a smile that managed to be both warm and sad. He crooked two fingers at her, inviting her back into his space. The gesture was innately obscene coming from him, but she went to him anyway, letting him snake his arm around her waist even tighter than before. 

Like he wouldn’t let her go now that they’d begun to bridge the misunderstandings that had kept them apart for so long. 

They swayed together momentarily before Sarah realized the song had shifted back to Britney Spears. He shrugged innocently when she cut her eyes at him. They settled into a slow pace, and Sarah let her thoughts drift as she replayed the conversation. She was pulled from her reverie when Jareth spoke. 

“I suspect that even without me accusing you of lusting over me, the shame of it caught up with you eventually. I didn’t realize I was benefiting from that shame by teasing you. I don’t like how that makes me feel.” 

“Thanks,” she said and winced. Then she clarified, “For a long time, yes. I did feel shame. It was confusing. It didn’t fit into my ideologies of how a hero should behave.” 

“You carried shame over something you did not do. Something I did not do.” 

“It sounds stupid,” she started to explain.

“It doesn’t. It makes a lot of sense. I wish I had known.” 

Sarah frowned at him suspiciously. “What are you up to? Stop acting like you’re figuring me all out.”

The fine lines around his eyes deepened with a hint of mischief. “I would never profess to have you figured out.” He searched her face before asking, “Are you still confused?”

“You know I am. But no, not in the same way. I don’t want to talk about that right now, though”—her gaze flicked to the wall over her couch—”and I’m fond of that mirror.” 

“Alright. Can I say one more thing?”

Sarah let out a frustrated huff, though she was primarily annoyed by how curious she was about his final word on the subject. “Fine.”

Jareth chuckled. “So gracious.” 

As he leaned his face close to hers, she felt his words whisper against her cheek. “I told you that my actions in the Labyrinth had nothing to do with you. I don’t want you to misunderstand me. My reasons for being in your life now have everything to do with you.” 

Sarah grinned at that, more widely than she’d felt generous enough for only seconds before. She couldn’t help it. It felt good to hear, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed to hear it. She let go of Jareth’s hand and slipped both arms around his shoulders. Standing on tiptoe, she buried her smile in the crook of his neck. She leaned into him, gathering him tightly, allowing herself to hold him for the first time. 

In a way that differed from the hugs they had shared in the past or the comforting side-cuddles of the night before. 

His hand at Sarah’s back had stilled. Just as she was beginning to wonder if she had utterly misread the moment, his thumb found her spine and traced a path down. It dipped in an indentation near her tailbone and pressed there lightly. The hand she had abandoned cupped the back of her head. His fingers tangled there, but he didn’t hold her any closer than he had been. 

“Hold me back,” Sarah said, face still safely hidden. “Please.”

He complied with a relief she could feel, as if he had been waiting for permission. His fingers constricted at her nape and clutched her there. She could feel his pulse; her cheek pressed to his throat as it was. The thrumming of it quickened. She wanted to press a kiss there.

His other arm encircled her fully. Returning her hold. 

Of all the dances they had shared, only one had ever really mattered. That dance and what had occurred in the short hours afterward had left a wound that hadn’t been cleaned before scabbing over. 

What they were sharing now mattered more to Sarah than anything else had, though it could hardly be called a dance at this point. They barely moved their feet, rocking each other in the wake of what had finally been said—and in anticipation of what hadn’t. Sarah wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Jareth could have restarted the song several times for all she had been paying attention. All that mattered was his smell everywhere, the warmth of his skin, his fingers in her hair. 

Jareth must have been distracted, too, because the song finally changed. S Club 7’s ‘Never Had a Dream Come True’ began, another cozy slow song. Maybe he wasn’t as distracted as she’d assumed. There weren’t typically more than a handful of ballads on each of these annual mixes. She squeezed him briefly and was still smiling as she pulled away to look at him. 

He grinned back at Sarah when he saw her expression as though he hadn’t been sure what to expect. 

Sarah’s mouth spread into a grin, and she asked, “Have you given up on shaping this clumsy lump of clay into a competent dancer?” She felt her eyes sparkling at him in a way she’d have never allowed before, and she did nothing to stop it. 

Jareth’s grin echoed hers. “Never."

Sarah’s hand was back in his so fast she barely registered it before he spun her out of his arms. He caught her in a low dip upon her sudden return. 

“See? You’re a professional,” he told her, his voice low as his face hung precariously near hers. 

Sarah laughed. “I had nothing to do with that.” 

“Very well,” Jareth said, righting her again. “Try to learn by leading.” 

He switched their hands: her right in his left. Jareth’s grin was impossibly wide. He looked like he anticipated a protest. 

Sarah felt impulsively determined to prove him wrong. Unfortunately, she was also wholly unaware of their broader surroundings, because the wild abandon in which she spun him sent Jareth barrelling into the coats hanging in the entryway.  

Sarah stared at the glove left in her grasp, momentarily stunned. “Oops,” she said and laughed. “Are you ok—” 

She froze when she looked up at Jareth. He was a few feet from her now, grimacing as he rubbed a shoulder blade with a newly naked hand. 

“Sarah, what on Earths are you hoarding behind these coats?” He tutted at her as he rifled through outerwear, bags, and other hanging items. Jareth was always on her about letting things collect in places they didn’t belong. He was right, of course. She was very out-of-sight-out-of-mind when it came to object permanence. Hence, The Bowl by the front door. 

She didn’t have to wonder why Jareth never said anything about that . Her fingers itched to trace the tiny peach at the bottom of it to ease her nerves. 

“Wait,” Sarah blurted, bounding over to him. 

She was too late. Jareth was already turning back around, looking very pleased. She didn’t want to look at what he held in his hand. 

She already knew. 

When she allowed herself to look, her dread ebbed.

It was just a bottle of champagne. There was nothing scandalous or life-alteringly embarrassing about that or about the gaudy red lace thong tied to the neck of the bottle with an equally gaudy ribbon. 

Wait. 

No. 

No. No. No. 

She forced her eyes to his. His beautiful face was contorted into a nearly demonic grin. He toyed with the thong, looking thoughtful. He unfolded an attached notecard and splayed it between two long fingers and his thumb, the movement somehow vulgar. 

Sarah knew better than to assume he would read the card quietly to himself. 

“‘’Hi Sarah,’” Jareth read aloud. “‘Thanks for participating in our annual pleasure party gift exchange!’” His eyes cut to hers and held them for a long moment before returning to the note. “‘We look forward to your Climax Club membership.’”

When he searched out Sarah’s gaze again, she was looking past him at the tote bag he had retrieved the bottle from. When she felt his attention back on her, she snapped her traitorous eyes away. 

Jareth stared at her, then slowly turned again to follow where her line of sight had landed. He peered back at her, his smile a wild thing. 

“My, my, Sarah,” he cooed. “What have you been up to?” He hooked his finger in the lacey thong and tugged it, letting it spring back against the bottle with a lude snap. 

Sarah didn’t say anything. All she could do was hope he hadn’t noticed the visible lumps remaining in the bag and how her eyes nearly watered with the effort of not glancing at them again herself. 

“You’re not going to tell me?” Jareth looked at the bag pointedly and back at her. “I am very close to launching an investigation.”

Well. Damn. 

Chapter Text

Silence squeezed in around them, made worse by Jareth’s exaggerated display of pained patience. His arms were crossed, lips pressed firmly together, and his eyebrows looked in danger of vanishing entirely in his hairline. 

Sarah sighed in surrender. “Open that,” she ordered, nodding toward the champagne and motioning for Jareth to follow her back into the living room. “And I’ll tell you.” 

Jareth made no move to follow her. “See,” he said with a disappointed pout. “I was hoping for more of a show-and-tell scenario.” He flicked a hand at the bottle, sending the cork soaring into the tote bag. Sarah was sure he was trying to emphasize his complaint, but it was hard to take him seriously when the cork ricocheted cartoonishly and nailed him in the upper thigh. 

She couldn’t help but laugh as Jareth cursed and rubbed his leg. “Serves you right, Nosey McNoserson. Bring the bag with you, if you must. But let me give you a bit of a preamble before I show you.”  

Jareth snatched the tote bag and weighed it thoughtfully like a child with a gift on Christmas Eve when they think their parents aren’t looking. He gave it a little shake and trailed behind her, his bruised thigh quite forgotten. “This is going to be good, isn’t it?”

Sarah sent him a sober look. “You have no idea.” She gestured to the sofa on her way to the kitchen, returning with champagne flutes and a carton of orange juice. 

“I have many ideas.”

“They are all wrong,” Sarah said breezily, sitting beside him and handing him a mimosa. He clinked his glass to hers when she raised her own. “Here’s to messy entryways and forgetting to put really, really dumb shit away after an ill-planned business trip.” 

Jareth cocked his head at her. “You haven’t been on a business trip for two months.” 

“Exactly,” Sarah confirmed. 

His observation served as a reminder of how much more time they had been spending together. The way in which he so easily recalled the events of her life and what she shared with him warmed her. There had been a time, not long ago, when that feeling would have made her uncomfortable. Now, it made her want to let him in closer, to tell him more. 

She wondered what had changed.  

“Soooooo.” Jareth dragged the word out like it was its own paragraph. “This intriguing mystery object-”

“Objects,” Sarah corrected, resolute at this point to roll with it all because he wasn’t giving her much choice. She’d rather own it than let herself stew in awkwardness. 

“These objects”—his eyes crackled like she had added another branch to the fire within them—“have just been cheerfully sitting in a sack in your foyer for two months?” 

“It would seem that way, yes.” She took another sip and eyed him roguishly over the rim of her glass. She could turn this around—toy with him a bit for a change. “One could call my ability to completely forget about it impressive, but the real feat was figuring out how to fly home with it.” 

Jareth turned to sit facing her, tucking his legs beneath him—criss-cross applesauce. “You’re actively attempting my early expiry at this point,” he accused. “My investigation is still pending, don’t forget.”

“Early expiry?” Sarah queried with a quirked brow. “You’re so unfathomably ancient I try to avoid thinking about it.” She tapped her temple. “Fragile mortal psyche. Anyway, cool it on the threats, Lanks.” Sarah took another long drag of her mimosa and wondered how miffed Pandora would be if she learned of the abandon in which Sarah was wrenching open her box. 

Jareth smiled at the nickname, one he had at first protested half-heartedly. He’d been called worse things than Lanky Bastard, he’d told her once. Sarah knew that was as good as him admitting he loved it. 

She smiled back at him, swatting his hands away from the tote as he prodded the lumps experimentally. 

“As you know,” she began, “I was in Los Angeles for a conference a few months ago.”

“Where you met Pete’s fleet of saccharine teets,” Jareth supplied helpfully. 

Sarah managed a glare through the smile that tugged at her lips. “Yep. Your memory is positively pachydermic.” 

Jareth tossed his hair proudly and signaled for her to continue. 

“On one of the nights I was out there, my co-worker Sylvia invited me to a white elephant at her apartment. I…” She swallowed thickly, sipped, and started again. “I didn’t know it was a passion party event. The vibe there turned out to be kind of culty, so I didn’t stay long. It was very, ‘If five of your friends buy five dildos, and then each of those five friends buy five dildos, blah, blah, dildo referral bonus tree, blah, entrepreneur, blah.’”

Jareth looked like he might implode from the suspense. “I understood half of that at best, but it was enough for me to be painfully intrigued.”

“I didn’t realize it was a kink toy roulette gift exchange,” she added by way of explanation, knowing how little she was revealing. “I feel bad for the poor, disappointed soul who got my scented bath salts.” 

“Sarah, I am currently expiring,” Jareth lamented, feigning a Shakespearean faint. “Farewell.” With that, he disappeared. 

“That’s too bad,” she said with a regretful shrug, reaching for the tote bag. “I was just getting to the good part.”

An unnecessary crack sounded on the other side of her as Jareth reappeared, seizing the bag from her hands. “Give me that, you evil thing.” 

She let the tote transfer to him and, with it, any hopes of living a single day without hearing about its contents ever again. 

Jareth withdrew a crushed velvet pouch of a horrendous cotton candy pink shade. A fuchsia ribbon cinched it closed. Colors Sarah would have never chosen. 

Jareth pulled a face. “Ew.”

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed with a giggle. “I know. It gets better, though. I have to say, I made out like a bandit compared to almost everyone else there. White elephants can be pretty cutthroat. There were several trade attempts.” She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. 

Sarah was sure she hadn’t blinked, but the pouch was suddenly open and sitting between them on the sofa. Jareth held a clear bottle in his hand, tipping it this way and that. They both watched the viscous liquid inside spill back and forth. 

“Lubricant. Oh, my,” Jareth drawled, unimpressed. “This is quite a prize.” 

“J, skip the dry bagel joke I know you want to make and keep looking,” Sarah ordered, though she could feel the indulgent smile on her face. 

Jareth smirked at her. “You don’t know for a certain fact I was planning any such jest.”

“If you weren’t, you would have said so. But you were, and you can’t lie,” Sarah pointed out matter of factly. “My lifespan could fit into a blink of your creepy eye, and this is how you’re wasting it?”

He laughed and opened the pouch again. His mirthful expression drew into a scowl of confusion as he attempted to disentangle a leather harness. “You do not have a pet.”

Sarah snorted. “It’s for me, idiot.”

If Jareth’s head tilted any more severely, it would snap. “I…see.”

He did not see. That much was evident as he poked an exploratory finger through the ring.  

“I am unclear why you need a new hole.” 

“No, Jareth, that’s not—” He looked so genuinely perplexed that Sarah burst into laughter. “That’s where the attachment goes.”

Jareth beckoned expectantly. “Please provide me with said attachment.”

Sarah fished the final item out of the bag and relished the slap of silicone against his open palm. She laughed again when he instinctively gripped the dildo like his life depended on it before it could bounce out of his hand. 

He looked at it for a long moment as it bobbed and eventually stilled. Then he threaded it through the harness ring, studying it. A slow smile stretched across his angular face. 

“Put this on immediately, ” he demanded, thrusting it out to her. 

“Absolutely not.”

“Please.” He pouted, glittery eyes locking with hers as his tongue painted a long stripe from root to tip. “Did you let him touch you like this?” 

Sarah made a face and flicked the dildo so it booped him lightly on the nose. “Absolutely not,” she repeated through a laugh. 

Jareth narrowed his eyes at her. “But you’ve worn it.” 

She could deny it, but she knew it would be pointless. “I tried it on in my hotel. Alone.”

He scooted closer to her, and Sarah wasn’t sure he was even aware of it. His excitement was a barely contained buzzing she could feel in her body. 

“Oh, Sarah,” he crooned, drawing out her name like it was his favorite sin. “It’s perfect for you.” 

"You think so?" she asked with an arched brow.

“A bit of a power reversal kink, I think,” Jareth commented, a finger tapping thoughtfully on his lip. “I do wonder where that came from.”

Sarah scoffed. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, please.” 

The corners of his lips curved. “If I were to have taken a Freudian approach, I would have suggested—” 

“Don’t even say it,” she said. “His work has largely been discredited. And if we’re just throwing around people’s kinks here, let’s not forget your forbidden fruit kink.”

Jareth barked a laugh, delighted. “A kink we share, perhaps.” 

“Perhaps,” she replied noncommittally. 

Jareth looked mollified for a moment before rekindled eagerness sparked in his eyes. “Please put it on. You’ll be the unrivaled topmost favorite of all my beloved champions.” 

Sarah stood with a smirk and brandished the strap-on at Jareth threateningly. “I’m your only beloved champion. The default topmost favorite.” 

She stepped into one of the leather loops with a stirrup-panted foot. Her hand reflexively found support on his shoulder as she reached down to pull up the second loop. Jareth watched her straighten and adjust the straps over her hips, shifting the dildo over her mons.

When she looked up, she was startled by the lack of a smile to match her own. Jareth’s quiet assessment burned through her. Feeling suddenly all too exposed, she moved to take an instinctive step back. Jareth’s hands were suddenly holding her in place. He locked eyes with her and slipped his thumbs beneath the harness at her hips. The pads stroked over the cotton of her leggings. 

Sarah’s breath lodged deep in her chest as they watched each other carefully. Jareth seemed unnervingly calm. 

“Do you like this attention from me?” he asked with a gentle curiosity in his tone that mirrored his touch. 

“I do,” she admitted, though it was difficult as her body prioritized her pounding heart over breathing. 

Jareth pressed into the dips of her lower back, and she gasped. 

“Good,” he said, his voice a low, praising purr. “But do you want it?” 

Sarah stared at him, taken aback by being asked so directly. She wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t want to answer him—there was just more than one truth. 

She went with, “I don’t not want it.”

“Well,” Jareth said with an air of relief. “That’s something.” 

A hand slid from hip to shaft and squeezed at the base. He pulled her closer, bringing her between his knees. 

Sarah tracked his hand as it stroked the length in time with a caress at her hip. It unnerved Sarah as much as it excited her. His eyes dropped down to the strap-on and flicked back to hers.

“Have you ever wondered what it would feel like?” Jareth leaned in and pressed his lips to the tip. “To have this done to you? We could try that, too, you know.” 

Sarah broke from her numb stare. “Too?”

He leaned back against the couch cushions. She followed him forward, noticing only after that he hadn’t tugged her along. When her legs hit the edge of the couch, she fell forward, bracing herself against his shoulders again. 

A flash of a satisfied smile split Jareth’s face. “It’s possible I haven’t made myself clear,” he said, his face so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath. “Let me remedy that.”

His typically over-bright eyes were heavy-lidded as they skimmed every inch of her face. His gaze hovered over her lips for a long moment. Sarah was sure Jareth was going to kiss her. It felt impossible that he wouldn’t. Her lips were parted and moistened, and she realized she must have licked them in anticipation. 

Instead, he said, “I want you. In every way, I want you. Fuck me the way you think I deserve to be fucked. Fuck me like you want to be fucked. Fuck me however you wish.” Jareth’s hands slid up her arms and grasped her elbows, bending them slightly to lean her closer. “But you will initiate it, or no deal.” 

Sarah snorted but didn’t move away. “Oh, we have a deal, now? I wasn’t aware.” Her hand had slipped to cup his face as she considered him. “What about kissing?” she asked, her thumb brushing his lower lip. She smiled when he did not attempt to hide his shudder. “Is kissing a part of this deal?”

“The same terms apply,” Jareth said, his tone both playful and sensual. 

It felt natural to crawl on the couch and plant her knees between his thighs. She did so before actively deciding to. His fingers found her hips again as he watched the dildo bounce with her movements. She wanted to swallow the small groan he let out. 

She was pulling his face to hers when a loud bang startled them both. Their eyes flew open and looked toward the front door, where the first bang was followed by several more. 

“Sarah!” came a voice from behind the door. “Are you home? Is Jareth there? Did you make french toast?”

Jareth and Sarah stared at each other for a long beat, under a silent agreement to pretend they were unquestionably not there. 

The knocking came again, a lighter staccato. “Jareth! You said we could practice juggling. I know you’re in there.”

“It appears your protegee has arrived, as per your invitation,” Sarah whispered, stifling a giggle. 

“Who gave the infant a driver’s license?” Jareth’s head fell against the back of the couch in defeat. 

There was another knock before it abruptly stopped. “Oh, wait,” said the voice. “I have a key.”

“NO!” Sarah and Jareth yelled simultaneously. 

“Tobes, hold on a sec!” Sarah added with a hint of hysteria in her voice as she struggled out of the harness. 

A key rattled in the lock threateningly. “Do you guys need a countdown?” Toby shouted through the door. “If you’re finally an…item…or whatever, first of all, ew.”

Jareth grinned at that as he helped Sarah hide the last of the items in the tote. He hastily stashed it under the sofa as the door flung open. 

“And second of all, cool. I guess.” Toby walked through the entryway and looked between the two of them suspiciously. “Why do you two look like I just walked in on you burying a body?” 

When neither Sarah nor Jareth said anything in reply, Toby went on, “Aaaaaaanyway, where’s the cinnamon egg bread? And why are you listening to S Club 7?”

Chapter Text

Loud, hypnotic drumming. A pulse that thumped and thumped. Hers? His? It was hard to tell with Jareth’s heart newly stuffed into her ribcage. Her bones were unused to having so much to protect. They stretched painfully to make room. A perfect stretch, a perfect pain. 

It was overwhelming, a sensory storm—almost too much. The creaking leather of searching fingers. Salt on her tongue and something else. A shared moan spilled back and forth between open mouths. 

That drumming, still. Louder, urgent. Their bodies pushed and pulled in a rhythm that matched its demanding beat. His scent clung to her, all forest and moss and stone. She could smell herself on him, too. Her shampoo, her sheets, her cunt. 

“Perhaps this is an inopportune time to remind you of my unfailing punctuality,” Jareth observed from somewhere in the void. Somewhere not in her arms, not inside her. Somewhere that was else. 

Sarah frowned, unwilling to surface from the nebulous tides of feeling and touch. She chased after fading flutters, half-lucid and desperate to find release before she—

“Wake up, sleeper,” void Jareth sing-songed. His beautiful baritone juxtaposed harshly with what was promising to be a sadistic, decidedly unsexy jingle. 

More frowning, her whole face making the effort. This grating, needling Jareth was an unwelcome replacement for the one she’d shared heated whispers with only moments before. Kisses she wanted to remember.

“Sleeper, wake up,” grating, needling Jareth continued his terrible tune, though he was less voidy now. He was a few feet away—yet somehow directly in her eardrum. Sarah buried her face into her pillow and cupped the sides over her ears. Oxygen be damned. 

His song, only slightly muffled and no less intolerable, carried on. “Wake up, wake up! You’ve promised me cakes and company!” 

Cakes. No promises had been made, but he always wanted cakes. Had she been dreaming? Was she still? Dream Jareth wouldn’t waste time on cakes or aggravating songs.

“Sleeper, sleeper.” All peaks and valleys. Drawn out e’s and r’s. Each syllable was the thrust of a rusty saw over her rusty pipe nerves. A confirmation that, yep, she’d been dreaming and no longer was. 

A dream she already missed. A dream that Jareth was pouring nightmare fuel all over. 

“Stop calling me ‘sleeper.’” Face-in-pillow as she was, Sarah’s complaint was a stifled growl. 

Silence. The kind of silence that stage whispered, I refuse to acknowledge anything you say until you face me. Unsolicited serenade resuming in 5, 4, 3, 2… 

The cool air on her skin was a relief as she turned to meet his waiting grin. That impish, gloating grin she knew would be there. 

“It’s creepy, and I hated it. I hated every second of it,” she said hatefully, though her spite sounded forced to her own ears. He was where she wanted him to be. A warmth was already rushing through her like it always did at the sight of him. 

In her world and barely fitting in it—square peg, round hole—but here. Real.  

Jareth hummed. “The tune is versatile. We could think of a different word.” It didn’t take him long. “Wake up, precious,” he sang experimentally, testing the sound of it. 

“Jareth, look at me.” An order.

He already was, of course. He always was. 

“In my eyeballs,” she specified. 

Blown-out pupils slid to earnest greens. He looked too pleased with himself, all teeth and glee and concealed cards. 

Sarah pointed at him, aiming a nearly visible laser beam of I mean this from fingertip to chest. “Never again.” 

Not a request. Non-negotiable. 

Jareth shrugged an ambiguous shrug and smiled an ambiguous smile.

She was smiling back at him. She wondered if she’d been smiling the whole time. Probably. Damn him. 

Her cheek sought a cooler pillowcase corner. “You’re early, Goblin King,” she said, hoping it was true but suspecting it was not. Sarah had never been praised for promptness. Her concept of time was a slippery thing. Jareth was the moon, the tides, and time itself. Her odds weren’t great.

“Am I?” Jareth’s knowing smile told of a secret shared between them. “Did I come too soon?” The smile pinched into a disappointed pout.

His sleeve swept back with a practiced flourish like it was a thing he did. The big reveal was a gaudy watch. It looked out of place and ill-fitting around his gloved wrist, made worse by how demonstrative he was being about it. Peering with exaggerated scrutiny at what Sarah imagined were tiny numbers. 

“Ten o’clock. You slept in,” Jareth declared. The watch disappeared as his hand dropped to rest on his hip, which he jutted forward to emphasize his reprimand. 

Sarah followed the movement. That stance. That hip jut. Her attention drifted in a slow perusal. A thorough inventory, just to ensure things were in their proper place. 

They were.

Her hips moved, unconsciously seeking friction from something she held tightly between her thighs. A pillow, its presence now uncomfortably still against wet flesh. Her fingers smelled of her own arousal. 

Oh, no. No no no. 

Jareth tsked at her sympathetically, missing nothing. “Really, Sarah. You are in a state.” 

“I was asleep,” she said. It was both obvious and true, but not enough. Not something he’d let her get away with. 

“Oh, I know,” he agreed too quickly. “And enjoying what must have been a pleasant dream. Hair matted to sticky skin. Cheeks and mouth flushed with blood.” He paused, his face all large, punishing smile. “My name on your lips.” 

“Liar,” she told him, the denial squirming unpleasantly in her belly. 

His smile threatened to crack like thunder in a sudden summer squall. “Never.”

“Voyeur, then.” 

“I did wake you,” Jareth pointed out, “I could have lingered.”

“True,” Sarah allowed. “A feather in your chivalry cap.” 

He considered her, his head a tilted axis planet with a golden halo ring. “Would you have expected me to?” 

“To what?” She asked, distracted by the urge to rub her legs together just a little bit . Just enough to ease the discomfort of his absence between them.

“Linger.” A test.

Her answer was an easy one that she gave without hesitation. “No. I wouldn’t.” 

Jareth nodded, pleased.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he announced, heading to the door with purposeful strides. He hovered there, looking at her. Seeing. Just shy of leering. His eyes glittered darkly, daring her to ask him what he could possibly mean by that .

Sarah nestled back into her bedding. She wasn’t going to cling to a sliver of hope that Jareth was just letting her catch a few extra z’s, but she did make quite a show of getting cozy that bordered on performative. Just in case.

Jareth smiled indulgently. Patient and biding. “I’ll be downstairs. Take all the time you need.” Fingers drummed on the door frame. Silence. And then, “Oh, and Sarah?”  

“Hmm?” She murmured noncommittally, hoping her feigned sleepiness was believable. 

“I am not an opportunist.”

“Right,” she said in her real, awake Sarah voice. Her eyes found his. “I know that.”

An understanding passed between them. An acknowledgment of trust. 

Jareth nodded again and pivoted to leave. He paused. Fingers drummed again. “Oh, and Sarah?”

She sent him a flat look, unimpressed. “Are you just going to ‘Oh, and Sarah?’ me into an early grave? Is that the plan?”

He smiled. He waited. Even with a foot in the hallway, he still managed to take up most of her bedroom. 

“What is it?” she asked, giving in, though she knew the question set him up. 

“Think of me.”

Chapter Text

"Something I can help you find, sir?" Sarah called out in her best customer service voice.

She stepped around the camping gear accumulating on her patio and found Jareth rummaging with abandon in her outside closet. He stood with his back to her among tackle boxes, a tent, sleeping bags, and other equipment she hadn't seen in years. He had also gotten into her Girl Scout era mementos, she noticed with remorse. Her beloved non-uniform bucket hat perched precariously atop his boisterous hair, and her green vest and beret had been laid out for future comment.

Jareth turned to her in a focused flurry, the slightly too-small denim hat shifting half a degree with the movement. "Yes. You can show me where you've hidden the cookies. I've uncovered evidence," he added, motioning to the Girl Scout attire.

"J, I don't keep desiccated cookies outside with my badges," Sarah informed him. "You're a logical thinker, but there's a concerning disconnect when your sugar lust is involved."

"Sugar lust." The phrase rolled around on his tongue sinfully as he tasted it. He smirked. "Accurate."

Sarah swooped the hat off his head and ducked beneath it. She tugged the brim down as if keeping the sun from her eyes on a particularly punishing hike. It felt cozy—like slipping on a favorite version of herself.

She reached for the vest and ran her hands over the badges fondly. "I don't think I told you I was a Scout," she ventured as she traced each tiny accomplishment.

"Not a word." Jareth tipped his head and considered her. "Though you do purchase the cookies dutifully every year."

"The signs were there," Sarah alleged, but she wasn't sure. She flipped through her memories to find one of reminiscing with him about fire building, survival strategies, or anything related to utility knives. She came up short and added uncertainly, "Scout, through and through."

Jareth hummed in disagreement. "Sarah, that uniform was shoved so far back in this closet; I'm tempted to think you were trying to spirit it away to Narnia."

"No," Sarah told him, a little too quickly for her liking. "Narnia can't have it. I just want to be selective about when I am reminded. That's all."

"I see," Jareth said. He grimaced like he regretted saying it. Like he didn't see, didn't know what to say, and hadn't anticipated treading upon a nerve.

Sarah's hand fell away from the green canvas. She hadn't meant to let this take a heavy turn.

"It's okay," she reassured him with a smile, determined to lighten the mood again. "I'm taking this hat, though."

"I found it," Jareth complained.

She shrugged like the law of hat ownership was cut and dry. "It's mine."

His hip jutted in the way Sarah loved. "You'd forgotten all about it."

"It was my favorite hat," Sarah announced, dancing away from his grasping fingers.

"You'd forgotten it was your favorite," Jareth pointed out. "Imagine how it feels. It deserves a head that favors it anew."

"Fine," Sarah relented, plopping the bucket hat back onto his head. "We'll share it. You can wear it for now."

Jareth preened, satisfied. He didn't argue.

Sarah looked at him in the poorly fitting hat and couldn't help but feel warmed by him. By his pestering and his ceaseless interest in uncovering all things Sarah. She didn't have to share more with him, but something about the frantic hair sticking out from beneath that frayed brim made her press on.

"My mom was a Scout, but she wasn't involved in it anymore when I was a kid. I had a fantasy every year that she would be my troop leader." Sarah felt a sad smile sneak along her face. "She was the ultimate cool Scout. She knew everything." Sarah paused at seeing the puzzled expression on Jareth's face. "Did I lose you?" she asked.

Jareth looked relieved to be checked in on. "I have no context for Girl Scouts other than their dependable selection of seasonal confection."

"Good one," Sarah praised, smiling at his poetry. "Girl Scouts do all sorts of things. But my favorite part was the wilderness training and survival skills."

Jareth's eyebrows shot to his hairline, and Sarah felt compelled to convince him. "You know I love camping, at least, right? That's not a secret."

His nod was reluctant. "I know you are a person who has camped." He gestured to the array of camping and fishing equipment around them. "I didn't know it was a secret hobby that required an entire secret closet."

Sarah laughed nervously. "It's not a secret anything. I love camping. I am, in fact, an expert camper." She was proud of that, and she hoped it showed.

She picked up her backpacking bag from the floor and rifled through it briefly. A dull ache replaced a hollowness in her chest that Sarah hadn't acknowledged was there.

Jareth leaned against the closet doorframe, observing her curiously as she hung the bag back on its hook.

Sarah settled against the opposite frame—mirroring him.

A leather boot slithered forward to rest against her slippered foot. Sarah sent Jareth a quick smile and tried to keep it on her face longer than it was willing to stay.

"You're sad," Jareth asserted bluntly. He nudged her ankle to make up for it.

"I do feel a little sad when I see this stuff," Sarah confessed. "I hauled it all here when I moved in, and I haven't used any of it—minus the lanterns coming in handy a time or two when the power has gone out. I don't know anyone who likes camping."

Jareth was quiet for a moment. His expression warmed with new affection when he inquired, "Toby doesn't leap at the opportunity?"

Sarah's eyes rolled. "I tried once. He spent the whole night sporadically yelling, 'Hey, bear!' as a precautionary measure. Camping is not his thing."

"Hey, bear?" Jareth asked, confusion and amusement battling for dominance on his face.

"Yeah," Sarah answered casually. "Some say yelling pleasantries at a bear will deter it from delivering a horrendous death chomp. You can remember that if we ever go camping." She meant it more like a threat than an invitation.

Jareth considered her for a moment from beneath the lip of the hat. "I'd like that," he told her.

Sarah stared at him, surprised. She couldn't imagine him roughing it with her in the wilderness. The idea would have made her laugh if it didn't make her feel so unnervingly exposed.

"Trust me. You wouldn't. Bears are gnarly," she cautioned.

"Not the bear-induced demise, Sarah," Jareth clarified with a not-to-be-dissuaded ankle bump. "Camping. With you."

Sarah studied him, his leather-protected fingers, silk shirt, and cream linen breeches. "You like the idea of it, but you would probably hate it in practice. You'd have to rely on me to do everything because I wouldn't let you use magic."

Jareth shook his head. "Now that I am armed with, 'Hey, bear,' I can relax knowing our safety is assured. Yes, I'll be the bear point person. You can do the rest of the heavy lifting. It's sorted."

She ignored that and warned, "There are a lot of insects."

Jareth, unruffled, ran a gloved finger along the artery of his throat. "They wouldn't dare sip upon my royal blood."

Sarah huffed at his narcissism. "And beasties," she continued, waggling her fingers like claws and baring her teeth. "Not just bears."

"I live with Goblins, Sarah." He gave her a bored look. "I rule them, in fact."

Her eyes narrowed. "You'd get dirty."

Jareth looked momentarily unsettled before his eyes narrowed right back at her. His eyebrows shifted suggestively. "So would you."

The way the words rumbled out of him made Sarah feel like she could use a shower, camping or not.

"Reallydirty," she continued, then added, "Filthy."

A flash of panic flitted behind Jareth's eyes. He didn't have a rebuttal to that, it seemed. He may spend his days among grimy goblins, but Jareth took pride in keeping himself impeccably clean. After a flustered moment, he asked, "Why are you challenging me on this?"

The defenses Sarah hadn't realized she had put up melted. A wave of guilt replaced them as she saw the hurt etching along his sharp features.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I get you're trying to be supportive. I didn't realize it was such a sensitive thing until now."

"You don't need to be sorry," Jareth assured her, returning the bucket hat to her head like he understood the comfort it provided. His hand lingered there, a steady pressure on the top of her skull—another comfort.

Sarah gave him a half smile from beneath the brim. The hat smelled vaguely of sunscreen and citronella.

She breathed in the familiar scent, gathering strength she didn't know she needed to tell him the rest. "Camping as a kid with my mom was rare but magical. Just her, me, the wilderness, and everything she could teach me about how to survive in it. It was the only time I felt like she saw me. I could show off what I had learned and prove I'd remembered what she had taught me the season before."

Jareth's eyes shined with interest as he listened. His hand on her head felt warm and grounding.

"I miss it," Sarah shared. "I need to separate the wilderness from her. It's fine they existed together in my past, but I don't want to push something I love out of my life because I'm waiting around for something that will never happen."

Jareth was quiet. His head tilted and tilted and tilted.

Sarah pulled her lip between her teeth and chewed. Her heart was suddenly skipping beats. She took a steadying breath and said, "I know a place where you can't tell the sky from its reflection when the water is still. You might like camping if you saw something like that."

Jareth beamed at her wildly and ruffled the hat on her head. "Is it far?"

Sarah grinned back at him, his enthusiasm catching. "A day trip. It's still early. We could leave this morning and spend the weekend."

Her stomach danced up her esophagus. 'The weekend' was a nebulous invitation. It could mean one night or two. But either way, it involved a sleepover in a tent with Jareth. She would have been nervous about this not too long ago. Afraid of what could happen and what it could mean.

Jareth clapped his hands once, immediately onboard. "What does one wear camping? Oh, and I must remember to check in with the goblins." His face fell a bit. "Teacake has never been without a word from me for two whole days."

"Teacake?" Sarah asked, her eyebrows skyrocketing.

"You'll find out soon enough," Jareth assured her.

He'd confirmed it. Two days and two nights together. Sarah had an idea of what she was signing up for, but she was perfectly willing to let herself pretend she didn't.

Two whole days

Maybe she was a little nervous, she admitted to herself. But she wasn't afraid.

Chapter Text

The car smelled of the firewood they had just picked up. They were a straight shot to the campground from here. Excitement prickled at Sarah's skin, but she was too entertained to start her engine. Instead, she hid her smile behind her convenience store coffee and eavesdropped.

He was being so weird.

She didn't want to miss whatever this was promising to be.

Jareth was hugging his legs in the passenger seat—his feet tucked in. A crystal balanced atop his knees, and he peered into it, looking like an owl waiting for its moment to strike.

She could feel his patience palpably dwindling as an impenetrable goblin blundered on and on in an unsolicited recounting of his daily duties. The goblin's monotonous droning and earnest, glazed-over expression had so far proven impervious to any of Jareth's commands—commands that had turned into interruptions, then yelling, and then back to sharp little barbs hoping to catch.

So far, none of them had.

The top of a tiny helmeted head periodically popped in and out of frame. Scaly hands grasped for the crystal and missed with a series of audible 'oof's.

"Lem," Jareth snarled, not for the first time. He buzzed with agitated static. "Put. Flit. On."

Sarah's grin widened at his adopted telephone lingo.

"And then I shined the throne, Highness," the goblin called Lem boasted. He sniffed a trail of snot threatening its way from his overactive nose and charged on. "I polished all the bits and bobs, especially the knobs, and—"

Jareth ran a hand over his face. "Lem, I don't care about any of this. I'd sooner sit on a dirty bit or bob than I would through another moment of your dreary day. Pass the crystal to Flit."

"I picked all the feathers up off the floors," Lem bragged, oblivious to Jareth's simmering ire. "Cleaned them the best you've ever seen."

"Lem," Jareth ground out, skittering on the edge of yelling again.

Sarah tensed, ready to cover her ears. When he'd raised his voice before, Lem had simply adjusted his volume accordingly to match, unbothered.

Lem puffed up proudly. "The cleanest feathers in the Kingdom."

Jareth forced a smile that cracked like non-oven-safe cookware at five hundred degrees. "Lem. If you don't answer this directly, you will be polishing knobs in the bog."

Sarah snorted from her seat in the audience, and Jareth shot her a sour look.

Lem was silent—finally affected. His mouth hung open, and his eyes darted this way and that with uncertainty.

Jareth seemed relieved to seize this blessed moment of quiet and opened his mouth to speak.

"The bog's got knobs?" Lem broke in, sounding very put out. "If I knew, I'd've been polishing bog knobs this whole time."

"LEM!" It was a scream. Thunderous and reverberating.

Lem was thankfully quiet after this outburst, seemingly so bamboozled by the newly introduced concept of bog knobs that he was struck speechless for what Sarah suspected was the first time in his life.

"How are the animals?" Jareth asked, emphasizing each word crisply and distinctly as if binding Lem to answer in full.

Lem looked wary of the question like the answer was obvious, but he dared not respond incorrectly. "It's chicken tonight, again, Highness. It's always chicken, and it's always delicious."

Jareth growled through his teeth. "I didn't mean for dinner, Lem, I meant—" He stopped. The fizzing energy building to a crescendo around him dampened a bit as he collected himself.

He started again. "Lem. Give the crystal to Flit. Now."

Sarah watched, engrossed by this glimpse into Jareth's home life.

The crystal lost focus as a skirmish broke out between the two goblins on the other end.

"You heard him!" came a new, imperious voice as the crystal custody battle petered out.

The image cleared, settling on the grumpy face of a small goblin with a no-nonsense air about her beaky features. "Hmph!" she grunted, hip-checking the much larger Lem to little effect. She leveled Jareth with a scorned expression. "Some of us don't know our place."

Jareth's posture rearranged immediately upon seeing Flit—relaxing here, tensing there. Gone was the frenetic humming, but the air wasn't left flat when it fell away. Something new and warm clung to him. He wasn't exactly smiling at Flit, but he did seem relieved to see her.

He also seemed to be bracing himself.

Sarah noted Flit hadn't greeted Jareth formally. She hadn't addressed him at all. There was a familiarity between the two that had Sarah unconsciously leaning forward to witness more of their interactions.

Jareth's eyes darted to Sarah's and caught them, dancing there for a moment. Sarah knew what this meant. He had the mischief bug, and Flit was about to be on the receiving end of it.

"Flit." Jareth began, his tone sober, "I'm afraid I won't be returning home this weekend. I'm off to have a lovely time facing certain death at an untraceable location in the Aboveground wilderness."

Flit groaned in an exasperated way that Sarah felt in her bones.

"You'll be off to do no such thing," Flit told him—half informing, half begging. Like she hoped he was joking but suspected he wasn't.

Jareth sighed regretfully. "Ah, you see, Flit, I'm already off. In the midst of offing. Offed. Nothing to be done about it."

"You'll be the death of me," the little goblin grumped in a murmur meant to be heard, tossing her helmeted head. "Can't keep you out of trouble if you're all the way out there—up there—whichever or whatever it is you'll be."

Jareth softened, sinking back into his seat. "I'll be back in two days. Once I've quite burned myself out on the whole risking life and limb for a damsel thrill."

He winked at Sarah, a quick little slice just for her.

A long silence stretched. One enlarged, orange eyeball filled the crystal and swiveled shrewdly in all directions—a goat pupil hunting for whomever Jareth had winked at.

"Who are you with?" Flit finally asked, her squeaky voice dragging the question out like an unoiled door on rusty hinges.

Sarah's hand flew to her mouth, and she giggled through her fingers. She wasn't sure what was funnier; this canny little goblin's controlling demeanor or the fact that Sarah dodged her searching eye like a teenager caught at lover's lane.

"I do require a personal life, you know," Jareth scolded before rushing on. "It's called camping, Flit. Above folk do it for recreation. It's not as dangerous as I painted it to be."

"The why is the part I'm missing," Flit groused, unhappy with being made a joke of. "You're not one to go foresting around out of owl form."

Jareth made a show of pondering the question. "For love. Why else?"

Sarah didn't see if he winked at her this time. Her eyes cut away before he could snare them, and she felt a flush creep up her neck. Jareth reached across the car and nudged her shoulder—compulsively determined to complete the connection she had shirked.

Sarah smiled up at him. He smiled back and turned to a decidedly unsmiling Flit.

"Flit, I'll need you to feed the animals and provide them with water. Be sure to shut the doors to the balcony after nightfall. Open them again after sunrise."

Flit nodded. "Yes, yes. They've already been fed. I'll mind the balcony, and"—she cupped a conspiratory hand over her mouth in the wrong direction—"I'll personally keep Lem out of your chambers."

"Good," Jareth replied before asking, "How is she?"

She wasn't sure who he was asking about, but his tone had turned so suddenly that it surprised even Sarah. There had been something imploring about it. His body had shifted, too. It seemed to unburden him just to get the question out. Like it was what he'd been waiting to ask all along.

A curious expression waited on Sarah's face should Jareth happen to glance back her way.

Flit seemed to know exactly who Jareth was referring to. "Oh, you know Teacake. That cat wouldn't dare have a bad day." Her beaky mouth twitched with something like an affectionate smirk. "She knows you wouldn't like it."

"Wise girl," Jareth agreed fondly. "Is she," he searched for the right word. "About?"

Flit squinted. "About? She's as about as she ever is. She doesn't leave your chambers. As you well know. Why are you asking a question like that? Is she about…." The little goblin sucked her beak at Jareth disapprovingly.

"Flit." Jareth leaned his face impossibly close to the curved edge. "Place the crystal near her face so she can perceive me."

Flit looked dubious. Whatever she saw in Jareth's expression had her pinching the bridge of her beak in exasperation. "You're serious," she stated—deadpan.

It wasn't a question, and Jareth didn't bother answering her.

Flit assessed him, seemingly deciding whether challenging him on this would expend more energy than indulging him. After a long beat, she reached her conclusion and released a prolonged, nasally breath that was so relatable Sarah almost forgot she wasn't supposed to be laughing.

Flit moved out of focus. The crystal was jostled this way and that, accompanied by her indignant muttering.

"…whatever His Majesty commands...death of me…."

The image eventually resolved on a patchy-furred black cat with a missing ear and an impressively steady supply of saliva on her chin. Rattling breaths infiltrated the car in mystical surround sound as the crystal rolled to rest near her face. Large, milky eyes were made all the more round by the fish-eye effect of the crystal. The tip of her tongue protruded, poking in and out of her mouth in various stages with each breath.

Sarah gasped. She'd never seen anything like this cat and was immediately obsessed.

Jareth's head snapped over at her sharply. He didn't speak the warning, but it drilled directly from blues to greens.

Not a word.

"Oh my GOD," Sarah mouthed at him.

"Drive," he mouthed back, two syllables instead of one. Dry-vuh.

Teacake didn't mouth anything. She gazed through the crystal and purred.

Sarah hadn't seen that look on Jareth's face before, that particular way his mouth curved at the cat's contented sounds. Something she was too distracted to entertain compressed her insides, packing them in much too tightly.

Jareth let the curvy smile linger on his lips as he gave the cat another adoring once-over.

Teacake's expression could be interpreted as adoring to match, though she looked through Jareth rather than at him. It seemed clear that she perceived him, her purr taking on a supplementary rumbling depth when he cooed at her.

"I can smell you from here, you stinky beast," Jareth accused. "I bet you're stinking up the whole castle."

Teacake said nothing to deny or confirm this but doubled down on her purrs as if proud of his observations. The drool, an impressive rivulet before, was now a torrential weather event.

Sarah was beside herself, watching this unfold. Jareth was a cat dad. Full stop.

It was all she could do not to squirm in her seat to get a better look at Teacake. And Jareth's face. His fucking face was too much.

Jareth shifted his body to block her view like his moment with Teacake would be more meaningful without her interfering.

"Are you being a good girl?" he asked the cat conversationally like he anticipated a reply.

The purring abruptly stopped.

Jareth frowned, bringing the crystal close in concern. "Tea?" he wondered aloud, his lashes nearly fluttering against the sphere.

A wretching hack bit through the car, followed by a series of sounds signaling gastrointestinal distress. Jareth jerked the crystal away from his face, giving Sarah a view of Teacake's rolling cloudy eyes as what promised to be a rather impressive hairball worked its way up her throat.

"Flit!" Jareth declared, breaking from Cat Dad voice. Goblin King again. "Tea has had enough."

Magnified goblin claws swooped the crystal away at what sounded like a crucial moment.

"Hold on, hold on!" came Flit's put-upon voice from the ether. "No one else'll mop up this mess."

Sarah and Jareth were treated to the magically amplified ambiance of Flit's cleaning and general bustling about. Teacake had ended and begun rounds two and three.

Jareth released a long breath and held the crystal away from him, covering it with a palm. Sarah noticed that It did nothing to dampen the noise, and her lip was numb between her teeth from biting back a grin.

He finally met her waiting eyes. "Must you be so meddlesome?"

"Meddlesome?" Sarah's bottled-up energy fizzed over into laughter. "I didn't even say anything!"

Jareth tsked impatiently. "Yes, but you"—he gestured to demonstrate something flowing from his chest—"exuded."

"I exuded?" Sarah's laugh was rolling and rebellious now, beyond her authority. She was so pent up from the car ride and from having to stay quiet for so long.

"Exuded," Jareth confirmed, chuckling despite himself. His hand gestures took on a lewd fluidity. "You were exuding rather frivolously all over my personal conversations."

Sarah was wheezing. It was too much, made worse by Flit's occasional groans and gripes from all directions.

"Lanks," she said, catching her breath. "I just learned that you have been hiding Teacake, an absurdly cute cat who has completely bewitched you. And now I'm bewitched, too. I think I held my shit together pretty well."

Jareth's eyes were glittering as they held hers. His mouth opened, but whatever he was about to say was cut off abruptly by Flit's voice charging back in at full force. The busy-body goblin was a jarring contrast to the serene, drooling cat, and Jareth's fingers peeled away from the crystal one by one as if reluctant to reveal her again.

"I wish all of your guests were as sweet as your Teacake here," Flit remarked in clipped tones.

Sarah arched a brow. The comment seemed out of place, considering Flit had just been on Teacake clean-up duty. There was an accusatory slight nestled in the compliment, but Sarah suspected it had nothing to do with Teacake. She'd gotten the impression Flit was equally smitten with the cat.

"They are residents. They are not guests," Jareth hissed in a because-I-said-so way that did not welcome defiance.

Sarah's brow shot up further at Jareth's testy reaction. He'd also felt the dig in Flit's comment, but she wasn't sure why it had riled him.

"I have to say it," Flit pressed on, too flustered by some yet-to-be-expressed grievance to crumble beneath Jareth's glower. "Curd has tested my patience. I can only take so much!"

Jareth breathed out heavily, seeming to understand where this was going. "She's angry with me that I'm leaving. It's expected that she'll act up a bit," he offered.

Flit gaped at him, looking as though she was quickly approaching whatever end of whatever tether had been holding her up thus far. "How would she know you're leaving?" she blustered. "I didn't even know you were leaving!"

"She knows," Jareth confided sagely. "She has that knowing way about her."

"Respectfully," Flit seethed, forcing disrespect into each syllable. "Curd spends half her time trying to kill you when you are in the castle! The only reason she'd rather you be home is so she could finish the job."

Jareth smiled at that. "She keeps me on my toes," he noted admiringly.

"She keeps me sleepless, is what she does," Flit complained, sounding truly exhausted. "Searching staircases for marbles has become part of my morning and afternoon schedules. She's worse than the goblins."

"You are a goblin," Jareth pointed out helpfully. "I'll have a word with her when I return." Jareth's tone wasn't unkind but did not invite argument either.

"Have a word!" Flit shrilled. "For goblins' sake…." Her horizontal pupils leveled at Jareth. "She reminds me of another feral young beast who once terrorized these halls. She reminds you, too, and that's why—"

"She's a raccoon!" Jareth defended.

Sarah almost spit coffee all over her console. She covered her coughs and tried to lock bulging eyes with Jareth, but he studiously ignored her.

"A raccoon that needs discipline," Flit went on, unwilling to back down, before delivering her final blow. "Just like all feral things!"

"Don't." It was a warning, command, and plea all in one.

Flit rolled her goat eyes, but her sharp intensity eased. When she spoke again, it was with a long-suffering softness that can only come from putting up with someone as long as they've been around to be put up with.

"Well, you just have a grand time out in the who-knows-where braving mortal peril and all that," she told him, bitter-soft.

"I'm immortal, Flit," Jareth informed her. His voice was flat. Whatever playfulness he had brought into the conversation was gone.

"Yes," Flit agreed astutely. "But Sarah isn't."

Sarah—still recovering from her spluttering—froze. She had been perceived. The acknowledgment of her presence hung there. She fought against her throat's relentless contractions, eyes streaming, and she just wanted to laugh again.

An orange eye zoomed in close again and pinned Jareth in a suddenly private communication meant exclusively for the two of them. Flit's strident voice fell to a stage whisper. "You'll be a gentleman," she instructed reprovingly. "As I taught you." It was an added threat that may as well have been an or else.

Jareth recoiled. "Personal life, Flit," he reminded her brusquely before saying, "I must be going. I've illuminated Sarah enough for one day, and I'm concerned I've spooked the poor woman. She looks remarkably unwell."

"Right, right," Flit groused dismissively. "Personal life, boundaries, and all that. Off with you!" Her goblin claws were back, shaking the crystal hither and thither. "You're going to have to undo this thing, though, because I don't know how to—"

The crystal vanished.

Jareth hugged his shins to his chest again, cheek resting on his knees.

Sarah started her engine, deciding to let Jareth brood out the window and reflect unbothered for a while. She desperately wanted to unpack that call home. It took everything in her not to bombard him immediately.

She couldn't stop herself from glancing over at him nosily, though, and he must have felt it. His unhurried head rolled until his eyes snagged hers. "You're making a study of me, Sarah Williams."

"I have questions," she admitted as she pulled onto the road. "So many questions."

Jareth sent her an ambiguous smile. "I'll answer them. But not now."

Sarah's stomach sank. "Sure." She regretted the hurt in her voice. He didn't owe her anything, but still. It stung to be shut out when she shared so much with him.

"Sarah." Jareth's full attention was on her; she could feel it burning a hole through the side of her face.

She hummed an acknowledgment.

"I like that you have questions," he told her. "I could better answer them if you were to visit me."

Sarah's fingers briefly tightened on the steering wheel as a familiar cocktail of curiosity and apprehension trickled through her veins. He'd hinted at this before, poked, and prodded her about visiting him. He had never outright invited her. Even now, she knew he was being generous by not including a date and time to commit to or reject.

It was a temperature check. A quick pulse.

To her surprise, the idea of visiting the Goblin Kingdom didn't grip her with the same fear it had in the past. She was having a hard time remembering the root of those fears now as Jareth relentlessly moved the passenger window up and down with a childlike fascination. His proposition and gloomy mood were both ostensibly forgotten.

Sarah clicked the window lock button—freezing his window halfway down to match hers so her eardrums didn't explode—and drove on without a word.

Jareth switched tasks, unruffled, picking through the CDs they had brought with them. "We haven't even started this one," he commented excitedly, the road trip spirit moving through him. He popped in a disc labeled 'Road Trip Mix #2'

Sarah eased back into her seat as the tune of Carole King's 'You've Got a Friend' warmed her from the stereo. A favorite of theirs. She felt herself relax, fingers plunking out the familiar piano notes against her steering wheel.

She caught Jareth in the corner of her eye. The wind from the open window tugged his wild hair into a golden aura that surrounded them both—filling the car with him. He was posed, his lips pursed, ready to serenade her.

Sarah glimpsed her reflection in the rearview, lungs filling through her smile, ready to sing back.

Chapter Text

Jareth set the tone for the weekend by delivering a preliminary "Hey, bear!" out the window as soon as they pulled into the campsite. Sarah was glad to see they were the only campers there. Her secret spot was hers to share with him alone. They unraveled from their seats and stretched in the fading sun of late afternoon. Jareth was lankier than ever, balancing on tippiest-toes, arms overhead, urging the long drive from his achy muscles. Sarah watched him and giggled with pent-up energy from being crammed behind the wheel for so long.

It felt good to laugh. They hadn't exchanged many words on the tail-end of the trip, alternating between reflective quietude and musical outbursts. That was fine, but Sarah was bubbling with anxious fizz—and endless questions. She had so much she wanted to ask him, so many things she hadn't realized she wanted to know, needed to know.

Jareth took a deep breath through his nose as he took in his surroundings. "It is beautiful here," he told her. "And it smells"—he searched for the right word—"unique."

She laughed again. "It's a pond. You can't really get around that stagnant water smell. It won't be so bad when the breeze comes through in the evening."

"Oh, dear, an impending chill," Jareth exclaimed with faux concern. "However shall we keep warm?"

It wasn't the first time Sarah had imagined sharing body heat with him, and the thought of it set free an unruly fluttering of wings in her abdomen. She tried to ignore the suggestive curl of Jareth's lips, but it was becoming more difficult the closer they drew to confronting their sleeping arrangements.

She tapped a mock contemplative fingertip to her chin. "Let me think." Cartoon lightbulbs sparked in her eyes. "A-ha! We'll set up on higher ground where it's dry enough to build a fire." She framed the word with her hands like it was a novel concept. "That should keep us warm."

"Genius!" Jareth crowed, grasping Sarah's shoulders and giving her a ferocious congratulatory shake as if she'd circumvented their inevitable glacial demise.

"Experienced," Sarah amended, shoving him away with a grin. "I've put my tent in too many places I've later regretted," she explained before hoisting the tent and sleeping bags over her shoulders and setting off to find a spot to set up. "Come on."

"I trust you to make my first time something I don't regret," Jareth told her sternly, following behind with an awkward armful of lanterns, firewood, and an ice chest.

Sarah quirked a brow at him over her shoulder.

"My first time in a tent," he clarified, nearly losing one of the lanterns.

"I see," Sarah said, her whole face a smirk that she did nothing to hide. "I'll make sure it's something to cherish."

"So generous," Jareth hissed. He scowled at Sarah when he realized they had spoken the phrase in unison. His lips pressed and rolled together in that brewing-up-a-comeback way.

Sarah trudged onward, letting her smile linger even as she felt him glaring a salty hole through her back. "This is perfect," she said as they entered a clearing. "We can put the tent here." She dumped her stuff in a level area shrouded by a rainbow of sugar maples. "We'll be able to see the pond down below from our sleeping bags."

When she turned and saw the intensity with which Jareth was staring at her, Sarah knew she was in for it. He glided closer, impossibly noiseless on the leaf litter like an owl on silent wings. "How romantic," he drawled. "Snug as two bugs in a rug." He stopped a breath away from her, his smirk stretching competitively wide.

"Rugs," Sarah corrected, her heart beating like a wild, caged thing. She could feel her smug expression slipping with his nearness, but she refused to let it fall. "We each have our own sleeping bag," she reminded him.

"And they each have a zipper," Jareth pointed out. "Extraordinarily customizable." His teeth flashed in a too-sharp grin.

Determined to maintain some semblance of the upper hand, Sarah stepped forward. She pressed her open palm to his chest and leaned in just a little. "Did you come all this way to fuck me in a giant sleeping bag?"

"I'd let you fuck me in the pond if you wanted, and I think you know it," he told her, tapping her temple where she did, indeed, know it.

"I didn't mean where we—" Sarah started to say before snapping her mouth shut.

Jareth hummed happily. "I know," he admitted. "Really, Sarah. Allow me my fun."

His hands slipped up her shoulders. Fingers kneaded needy muscles that responded to his touch without her say-so. But she didn't settle under his hands. Sarah coiled and uncoiled and coiled again. He felt it, for his fingertips stopped pressing, and instead, his hands cupped in a grounding squeeze that held and held.

When he spoke again, the teasing edge was gone from his voice. "I'm here to help you find lost love," he confided. "And, perhaps more selfishly, I'm here because you're going to be happy this weekend." Squeeze. Hold. "I want to see what your face does when you're truly happy."

Jareth smiled at her in that way that let Sarah know she had been released—free to move about the campsite like he hadn't just had her snared. But Sarah had never wanted to kiss him more than she did then. He was already pulling away, and her fingers tightened in his shirt reflexively. He looked down at her hand for a moment, something like surprise on his face. When his eyes rose to meet hers, a grin was spreading across his sharp features. "Let's make a home, Sarah," he said, his voice low. "Tell me what to do, and I promise I will do exactly as you say."

"We'll see," Sarah told him dubiously, though she somehow believed him. And she liked the way his promise sounded. A warm buzzing pulsed as his words turned over and over while they started to unpack.

She had set up camp more times than she could count, and she'd never considered it a particularly intimate act. And yet, working together to create a shared space for the weekend was undeniably personal. And the air was so still—the atmosphere unnervingly quiet.

Where was the frenetic cacophony of song that invariably exploded just before sunset? Where were the insects? The bullfrogs? Her red-winged blackbirds?

Jareth allowed Sarah to instruct him without comment. His face looked almost smug while he did so, hammering this and tying down that. Their knuckles brushed as they threaded the poles through nylon loops. He wasn't wearing gloves. She caught his eye, and he smiled at her, his bare hands a show of commitment to this roughing-it thing. The sleeves of his linen shirt rolled past the elbow, exposing the lean, corded muscle of his forearms. Sarah tracked the flex of tendons in his wrist—how they pushed hidden veins to the surface. She wanted to press her open mouth there.

It might have been the sweat that started it. Sarah craved the salt of it. That barely-there sheen at his temples and brow.

And then it was the teamwork: the you-push-that-way and I'll-pull-this-way of it.

His eagerness did her in. Jareth had made no protest about giving up his magic and seemed content with Sarah in charge. And to make it worse, the tiniest of knowing smirks clung to his lips as he followed her orders.

Sarah was so distracted as she built the fire that she forgot to give a proper demonstration. Flames caught the wood and held firmly—the last of the kindling smoldered to ash, its job done. She stared into the fire for a long moment, willing her thoughts to clear. When she finally looked up, she found Jareth perched on the hammock they had stretched between two oaks nearby.

Only Jareth could perch on a hammock, Sarah thought.

He made no effort to hide that he'd been observing her fire building. "You really would just… not die out here. Without magic," he marveled, looking genuinely impressed. "Remarkable."

"I used a tampon to get a fire going once when I was really in a jam," Sarah reported, ignoring a familiar tug of nausea.

"You're lying," Jareth told her. "Terribly. Even if I couldn't taste a lie on you, you would never use the phrase 'in a jam.'"

"You got me, Gangles," Sarah confessed before unfolding from her crouch by the fire and making her way to his hammock perch. "But I carry one with me just in case." She forced severity into her voice. "And so should you."

"I always do," Jareth assured her, slipping into the hammock and indicating a Sarah-sized space beside him.

Sarah laughed and climbed in. "So prepared," she praised, stretching with a squeal at the thrill of her new weightlessness, her legs dangling with his. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the familiar smells of the old forest and the pond below. "Are you sure you weren't a Scout?"

"I doubt it," Jareth said. "But I can't be sure. My boyhood was so long ago; I'm unconvinced it happened."

"You don't remember?" Sarah asked. She couldn't be sure if he was joking, but she felt her eyebrows knitting together all the same.

Jareth appeared unexpectedly pensive as he looked down to toy with the laces of his shirt. Delicate veins webbed across his lids, making him appear alarmingly mortal. Sarah watched his lashes flutter against his cheeks, unfairly dark despite being spun from silver-gold thread.

When he glanced up and caught her expression, he licked the pad of his thumb and smudged out the crease between her brows. "They don't have Scouts in the Underground, Sarah," he said with the patient exasperation of someone who has explained this a hundred times.

"Shut up," she told him, but her voice was gentle. "I meant your childhood."

Jareth's thumb slid down the bridge of her nose before he gave the tip a brief pinch. "I know," he acknowledged, and a smile slipped through.

But it wasn't a happy smile, nor was it altogether sad. Whatever it was, it hovered there over Jareth's face as he slipped his boots off and tucked his feet in. When he opened his mouth to speak, Sarah thought he would elaborate, but instead, he said, "Be barefoot with me, Sarah."

She shot him an incredulous look. He was being evasive, and his commanding tone was such a juxtaposition to his earlier performance of submission.

His happy-sad smile melted at the look on her face, his eyes glittering with the dare.

"Fine," Sarah conceded, deciding not to press him. She unlaced her sneakers and peeled her socks off. "Enjoy my road trip stench."

Jareth chuckled as she tucked her bare feet in beside his, stretching her toes indulgently as the edges of the swing folded in, cradling them in their private cocoon. They tipped back in a full recline—their knees and ankles pressed together comfortingly.

Sarah inhaled deeply again, but all she could smell this time was Jareth. A light tang of sweat clung to him from the day's heat. It was reassuring, somehow, but it also stirred something primal in Sarah that had her wanting his smell all over her. Her smell on him.

Her eyes locked on his bare feet, long and pale. Sarah had never seen them before, and they suddenly seemed more precious a reveal than his hands. How had she never wondered about them? "Your feet are fucking cute," she blurted. "Jeez, Louise."

Jareth stretched out a well-manicured foot for them both to admire. "These?" he inquired with feigned humility.

She laughed. "Put those away. You're going to hurt someone."

"As you command," Jareth said obligingly, looking pleased with himself. He nestled the foot in between hers.

Sarah cursed internally when her breath caught at the intimate contact—and again when Jareth sent her a sly smile. She felt compelled to portray a bravery that belied the blush creeping up her neck. She allowed the bottom of her foot to brush lightly over the top of his. Like she couldn't be bothered. Like they did this all the time. A couple of casual foot cuddlers.

He raised an eyebrow at her, impressed. Sarah held his gaze for a long moment before they both broke into giggles.

"Why are you laughing?" she asked him.

Jareth toed at her ankle with a cute toe. "I'm happy," he confessed. "Why are you laughing?"

Sarah's smile threatened to split her face in half. If this was what happiness looked like on him, she wanted to see it there, always. "I feel like a little kid in a fort with my favorite person in the world."

"Worlds," he corrected, stretching contentedly in the fading sun with a lion's groan and a lion's teeth and a lion's mane. An arm fell around her shoulders. Sarah could smell moss and lichen on him as he nuzzled the top of her head. When he spoke again, his lips were in her hair, his voice a low purr. "Nap with me."

Sarah let Jareth enfold her. Her arm and leg curled around him instinctively. They breathed in only each other and made no secret of it, their bare feet a languorous slide. Sarah wanted to press her body closer even as it was all she could do not to be lulled into a dream. She wondered if his heart thrummed as insistently as hers. She burrowed her face a little closer to listen, but it was difficult to hear over the growing din of the insects. And bullfrogs. And birdsong.

And the rumbles of Jareth's stomach.

"It's time for dinner," Sarah grumbled unhappily, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"The nerve of you to tell me what time it is," Jareth groused. "I didn't see a badge denoting punctuality on that vest."

Chapter Text

The breeze Sarah had promised flirted with the ends of their hair, coiling together raven and silver-gold strands. Life thrummed around them. Reeds rustled, critters skittered, and insects and frogs called out desperately for love. A dark silhouette etched patterns across the bright surface of the rising moon that approached fullness on the horizon.

Sarah watched Jareth track the owl's movements from where he sat beside her near the bank. "If you want to take wing, I won't mind," she told him.

He smiled wistfully and rested his head on her shoulder. "She wouldn't like it. Her babies are nearby,"

Jareth smelled like cinnamon and the fading warmth of day. Sarah wanted to bottle it. She pressed her cheek to the top of his head and leaned into him. They were quiet for a time, the sounds of the night lulling them into a peaceful calm.

"You were right," Jareth murmured from the crook of her neck. "The way the trees frame the reflection casts an illusion of continuity between water and sky."

"Do you like it?" Sarah wondered aloud, taken aback by the nervousness edging into her voice.

She lifted the bottle of cinnamon whiskey they'd been sharing to her mouth and let it flow past her lips. She'd been hesitant to buy the liquor, preferring wine, but it was the only thing they could find that wasn't bottled in glass at the last stop on their drive. She was glad now for the pleasant tingling that warmed her skin against the chilled air.

A moon-white hand snaked out to clasp her ankle. "I love it," he announced, giving her leg a shake with each over-enunciated syllable.

"I'm glad," she told him with a grin. "Thank you for getting me out here. I probably would have never been back otherwise."

Jareth uncurled himself, and his eyes sought hers. A smile stretched when he saw her expression. "I should be thanking you for allowing me to come."

Her chest tightened with a sudden emotion she felt emboldened to share. She wondered if it was the influence of the whiskey as she admitted, "I'm happy you're here so we can make new memories together."

For a flash, Jareth's eyes were brighter than the moon and all the stars in the sky. His lip found its way between his teeth, where it grew pale under the pressure of his bite. He pushed her outgrown fringe away from her face and stared at her hard.

Heat spilled across Sarah's skin; she was sure he could feel it beneath his probing fingertips.

"What a honeyed tongue you possess," Jareth cooed at her, his freed bottom lip flooding with color again. "I never knew."

Sarah scoffed dismissively even as her heart skipped a beat. "You don't bite your lip," she pointed out. "Copycat."

His thumb brushed over her chin and pressed there lightly. "Perhaps I enjoy the pain of it," he mused, his smirk a twisting challenge.

She ignored it, though his touches sent pulses of pleasure along her nerves that she couldn't blame on cinnamon whiskey. Her gaze dragged away from his mouth to watch the owl cut across the evening sky. "I'm so glad you found a new vice," she remarked lamely, but she was thinking about his earlier words. They pulled and poked in a way she didn't like.

Jareth's head tipped in her peripheral vision. "Then why do you look like I just told you that you dreamed up Sondheim, and you'll forget it all within an hour?" he asked.

Sarah forgot herself and laughed at that, but it faded quickly, replaced by a knitted-brow frown. "I don't have a honeyed tongue." She spat out the phrase like she couldn't bear the taste of it. "You make it sound like I've never said a sincere thing in my life."

His other hand moved over her sweatpants from ankle to knee, where it rested comfortingly. "You're always sincere," he told her. "But you aren't often so free with your feelings."

She pinned him with an accusatory look. "You know everything about me."

"I'm learning," he said, giving her knee a squeeze. "I do know you think pizza without pineapple isn't pizza."

Sarah laughed. "I stand by that."

"As do I," he agreed before continuing. "I know you like the smell of gasoline, wet pavement, and old books handled by mysterious strangers."

"Mmm," she concurred. "Not at the same time, ideally, but those are the very best of smells."

Jareth leaned in close and gave a performative sniff to her forehead. "Debatable," he declared with a grin.

"Wow," Sarah exclaimed, letting her eyes grow wide with pretend shock. "Intense."

"Oh, yes, I know you like your personal space," he lamented with a forced frown. He moved as if to pull away before gluing himself to her side even closer than before, both arms wrapped around her bent leg possessively. "But I also know you enjoy when I invade it."

She snorted. "If that's true, I'm afraid what else you know."

His grin melted into something warmer, crinkles finding their places at the corners of his eyes. "I know you can't be trusted with scissors after a breakup," he advised, letting his cheek rest on her knee.

"That was one time!" Sarah argued though she was laughing again. "And I needed a trim."

Jareth squeezed her trapped leg, and she felt his rumbling chuckle all the way down to her toes. He studied her for a beat before saying, "I know Mozart lights you on fire, Brahms makes you cry, and Beethoven does both."

Sarah's laugh died in her throat as her heart slowed and sped back up two-fold. They'd never discussed how music influenced her moods. He could only know from paying attention, from being uncannily perceptive about everything she did. The observation was unexpected, and it touched her so deeply it almost hurt.

She was brought out of her thoughts by the gentle rocking of her leg. Back and forth. She'd been swaying with him, she realized, though she didn't know for how long. She'd wandered off to follow the owl again, letting her emotions flow into the pond.

Jareth's gaze was warm when she found him patiently waiting, his voice soft as he spoke his next words. "I can know all that, Sarah, and still not know what you're feeling."

The laugh she barked out rang with forced nonchalance. "It's not like you brandish your feelings around," she countered, hating herself for how defensive she sounded even as she bracketed 'brandish' with spirit fingers.

Jareth's stare pierced through her—his starlight eyes almost begging for truth. "You know how I feel," he told her.

"How could I possibly know?" she protested, balking under his reassuring hold even as the dishonesty in her question made her stomach twist with unease. She knew.

"You know," he repeated, unshakably calm. "And you know I want to tell you, regardless. But they would be wasted words if you're not ready to hear them."

"I thought you didn't want to know," she replied quietly, thinking back to the day he'd found her crying to a muted sinking ship. "I tried to tell you."

"You don't believe that," he observed with a knowing smile. "And we can both agree your admission was ill-timed."

Sarah felt the corners of her lips lift and asked, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he confided, his cinnamon smile spreading. "But perhaps save declarations of love for another time. I'm above forcing that out of you, at least."

She shushed him, though blood rushed in her ears, and her mouth ran dry. "What, then?"

Jareth released her leg and sat up to face her. Criss-cross applesauce. "What do you feel?" he inquired, his head on a tilt.

Sarah spluttered around a mouthful of whiskey. "Now?"

"Sure," he said at the end of a feigned long-suffering sigh.

"Well." She dragged out the word while she thought about it. "Sort of buzzed, but not really. Full of hotdogs and marshmallows."

"You feel"—Jareth paused for effect—"full of hotdogs." His eyes rolled like she was a lost cause. "Is that the deepest you can reach?

"Fine," Sarah huffed, turning to mirror him and crossing her legs. "Why don't you ask what you really want to know?"

"Alright," he acquiesced, inching closer. His palms cupped her kneecaps encouragingly. "What do you feel with me?"

Sarah sucked in a gasp she tried to hide. She wasn't surprised by the question but was shocked he had actually asked it. His thumbs stroked as she searched for the right word. "Magnetism," she finally divulged, wanting to shove it back down her throat as soon as she'd heard herself say it.

Jareth's brows drew together like he was trying to decide whether or not he liked her answer. "Can you tell me more about that?"

"It's like…" she trailed off before shaking her head. "I don't know. It sounds silly."

"Try me," Jareth implored, his thumbs pressing lightly into muscle. "I'm fairly understanding for a moody old King."

Sarah considered him nervously. Her lip slid between her teeth, and she let herself chew it despite how Jareth followed the movement like a raptor stalking prey.

"There's a polarity to us that somehow makes perfect sense," she told him, relieved to have begun her confession. She took a steadying breath, and then she said the hard part. "I'm pulled to you, J. Sometimes, it's almost painful."

His hands stilled while conflicting emotions whirled in his irises. "Why painful?"

She closed her eyes and listened to the cattails brushing against each other in the languid breeze. It centered her, somehow, drawing out the truth she hadn't yet acknowledged from deep within. "When I'm not around you, I want to be," she answered. "When I'm near you, part of me is dreading when I won't be again."

Jareth's hum was both sympathetic and unsatisfied. "But that's not all, is it?" he urged softly, fingers smoothing again. "There's something else there. Something that pinches and nags and holds you captive."

When her eyes opened, they didn't seek his. She focused on the image of the pond-sky and tried to find the words to explain a fear she didn't want to speak out loud—to breathe life into. She could feel him staring with those pleading eyes, and she buckled under the pressure of it.

"I've wondered if it's just a you thing." The admission spilled from her mouth before she could find a more delicate way of phrasing it, and Jareth's fingers tensed around her knees.

"What do you mean, a me thing?" he asked, sounding cautiously curious.

Sarah broke her gaze away from the water to send Jareth a patronizing look. "I mean that you're a breathtakingly beautiful ethereal being with the sole purpose of tempting me and every skill and spell available at your fingertips to do so," she stated with the air of someone explaining a brutally obvious fact. "Dummy."

To Sarah's surprise, Jareth didn't preen at her compliments or take her banter-bait. Instead, he grimaced. "Spells?"

Her stomach sank at the hurt that painted his features. She didn't like that look on his face at all, so she abandoned her attempts at levity. "I just assumed that it was built into you. Like how ceaselessly distracting you are and how I feel sick whenever I try to lie to you."

Jareth was silent for a long time; his lips pressed tight into a firm line as he considered his reply. When he spoke, his voice was serious but tender. "Sarah," he said, in that tone someone takes when delivering news they know will be hard to swallow. "My magic holds no influence on how distracting you find me or how comfortable you are with telling me a lie."

Sarah stared at him. "Really?" she commented flatly after a heavy silence.

"Really," he confirmed, swooping in to press a kiss to her temple. "It's an us thing." The words were a whispered promise against her ear. When he pulled away, his smile was twinkling and dangerous. "I know because I feel it too."

"You do?" she managed as her throat constricted and her eyes began to prickle. She banished the urge to cry but let the happy fizzing feeling linger.

"I do," Jareth confessed with a half-smirk. "Though it makes sense that you thought I could be toying with you."

"Why would you say it like that?" she admonished, pulling a face.

"Because I do toy with you," he reminded her, eyes dancing with mischief. "Openly. Often."

Sarah laughed and let her eyes roll. "Constantly, you mean." Her hand came up to cradle his cheek. "But not like that."

"No," he assured her, smiling into her palm. "Never like that."

When she returned his smile, she felt a heavy weight slide off her shoulders. She hadn't realized what a burden it had been to carry her fears around like it was her job. She felt lighter, a little proud of herself, and grateful she had shared.

"You know," she ventured, stroking his cheekbone before dropping her hand to her lap. "I think this is our best date yet."

Jareth grinned wide, mouth full of serrated stars. "I think you're right," he agreed, raising the bottle to the moon in a toast before taking a swig and passing it to her. "Much better than charcuterie and paint fumes."

Sarah laughed, relieved that he was joking again. "That wasn't so bad."

He shuddered and shot her a disbelieving look. "You turned a shade between puce and blueberry I hope never to see again."

"Yeah, well, that part wasn't ideal," Sarah conceded. She took a sip of whiskey and added, "But I love that I get to see our art every day."

Jareth's eyes lit up. "Do you?"

"Yours, specifically," she clarified. "I don't think I've ever told you."

"You haven't," Jareth corroborated with a smirk. "I assumed I was rather a hindrance."

"No," Sarah said and smiled. "Not a hindrance."

His fingers flexed and slid down her calves. He leaned forward slightly and purred, "I like it when you tell me things I don't know."

She lifted her hands to Jareth's shoulders and pushed him back gently. "I can do better than that," she promised, letting her fingers tangle in the hair at his nape.

"Can you?" he challenged, excitement rolling across his face.

"Oh, yes," Sarah told him coyly. "I'll even tell you a secret."

Jareth ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Delicious," he hissed. "Do tell."

She laced her fingers behind his neck and leaned back to level him with an appraising look. "Every morning, I drink my coffee under the labyrinth painted above the kitchen window," she supplied.

Jareth inclined his head.

"You know that," Sarah acknowledged. "But you don't know how much trying to solve it has taken over my routine."

His head tipped back with a laugh that rocked Sarah forward.

"You know how much work burns me out," Sarah went on. "And after work, sometimes I'm too uninspired to paint."

"How dreary," Jareth noted, frowning at the turn she'd taken.

"It is," she said, though she was smiling at him. "But I feel hopeful when I see that staircase to nowhere."

He looked at her dubiously. "I hardly see how a staircase to nowhere would inspire anything aside from existential dread."

"It reminds me that you don't always know where you're going. It's about the process. The journey. The adventure," she explained. "The fuckin' ride, man!" she added, flopping down on her side and tugging Jareth with her.

He laughed and followed, stretching beside her on the blanket. "Inspiring."

"And then there's Big Brother, my tiny, constant companion," Sarah said, letting her arms slip from his neck. Her hands hovered in his hair and rolled the ends between pinched fingers.

"Big Brother?" Jareth questioned with a raised brow.

"Yeah. BB. The Crystal. You know, the one who rolls along the floorboards and follows me around my apartment?" Sarah reminded him.

Jareth looked both amused and mildly uncomfortable. "I think you may be personifying it more than you should."

"He's like my own personal haunting." She shrugged. "I've grown attached."

He chuckled. "As positively darling and unalarming as that sounds, I think I'll inspect it all the same. Just in case."

"Leave BB alone," she scolded. "He stays."

Jareth pulled a pout and rolled onto his back. "If only you were as pleased with my stone fruit reproductions."

Sarah was quiet as she lay beside him. She could feel a playful smile tugging at her lips.

He nudged her foot with his. "Oh, is that the secret, then? That salacious little peach is your favorite of them all?"

"Yep," she admitted with another shrug. "That's the secret."

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "I was joking. You are not."

"I'm not," Sarah vowed. "I don't leave the house without brushing my fingers over it in a very specific way."

"Show me." It was as much a command as it was a request.

She reached moon-limned fingers to the sky and demonstrated. Her eyes slid closed as she traced the delicate outline of a peach. First, the stem in a downward stroke, and then the flesh. Left lobe. Right.

Jareth lay his arm across her lap, and she looked over at him with an arched brow.

"Let me feel it," he said. A request this time.

Sarah encircled his wrist lightly with one hand and outlined the peach again on his palm with the other. It was Jareth's eyes that fluttered closed then as she carved out the downward stroke of the stem. He hummed while her fingertips engraved the fleshy lobes over his heartline.

"What do you feel?" Sarah asked with a voice barely above a whisper.

His other hand lifted to touch his mouth. "I feel nectar on my lips. My tongue," he told her as she drew the shape again—Down. Left. Right. His fingers trailed a path from his mouth to his throat. "It's dripping down my chin."

And for a moment, Sarah could see rivulets of peach juice running in parallel with the veins in his neck, skipping over the thrum of his pulse. She wanted to smooth it away with her tongue as much as she craved being covered in it.

His eyes opened and locked with hers. Whatever he saw on Sarah's face must have pleased him—his serene expression melting into a smirk that dripped with heat. "You want to taste it, don't you, Sarah?"

She did. She wanted. And there was a heavy heartbeat or two where she almost could before it was gone.

Jareth waited. He waited and leered and smirked his peach juice smirk.

Sarah was rooted to the ground. Her mind raced with imagery of sticky shared kisses, of tasting, but she felt too frozen to move.

When she didn't respond, Jareth sighed and rolled himself to his feet. His hand extended to hers, and he had that we're good look on his face. "Bedtime, then," he said cheerfully.

She felt more regret than relief as she let him haul her to her feet, her lips suddenly dry and lonely and boring. "Definitely," she agreed before sending him a small smile. "Let's go zip some sleeping bags together."

Chapter Text

The fire had reduced to embers by the time they made it back to the campsite. Sarah soaked the remaining cinders and stirred the sopping mess of it with her boot, explaining to Jareth the importance of responsible fire dousing. They tidied up the grounds and did one last thorough search for any missed food or trash.

"Are you sure you didn't leave any snacks in the car?" Sarah questioned him, not for the first time.

"Positive," he assured her confidently.

"Good," she said, crossing it off her mental checklist. "Let's brush our teeth and call it a night."

Jareth paled.

"You didn't bring a toothbrush?" Sarah asked, forcing a serious oh no expression even as a playful smile tugged at her lips.

"I…did not," he admitted. "I usually just"—he gestured with a wrist flourish—"you know."

"Well, you're going to be a real treat to be around for two days," she teased.

Jareth's lips pursed in a pout, his hand on jutting hip. "Either we are leaving immediately, or I am allowed magic for this one task," he whined.

Sarah grinned. "I'm giving you a hard time. I brought you an extra one." She shouldered her backpack and grabbed the bags destined for the bear box. "Come on. We'll want to brush away from camp so the smell doesn't attract beasties."

"Glamorous," Jareth commented sarcastically, though he sounded relieved he wouldn't have to suffer through the indignity of projecting less than favorable breath for a whole weekend. He took the bags from her and followed her back down the hill.

"Have you done this before?" she asked once they had tucked into an alcove of trees at the other end of the pond.

"No," he answered warily, eyeing the shiny new toothbrush she held out to him.

Sarah demonstrated wetting her bristles and squeezed a conservative dab of toothpaste onto the brush. "You only need a little—"

Jareth enthusiastically unleashed a thick squirt of toothpaste along his bristles, and Sarah hid a smirk, opting not to intervene. She'd warned him.

She started brushing, and he mimicked her, hesitantly at first and then more aggressively. His eyes went suddenly wide as his mouth swiftly filled with more foam than he knew what to do with, making him go from looking feral to rabid in a heartbeat.

Sarah laughed and handed him a washcloth, motioning for him to relax and take breaths in through his nose. He did, panicked eyes locked on hers as he dabbed furiously at his bubble machine mouth.

"Ith tho minty," he complained around his toothbrush, "Tharah, I can't…."

She rinsed her mouth and spat into her empty water bottle. "You can," she said assertively, failing at concealing her grin. "Don't forget to brush your tongue at the end. Or it was all for naught."

Jareth's eyes bugged in horror. "My—?!"

"Yup. Breathe through your nose," she coached aloud this time, rubbing his back.

He rolled his eyes and groaned, making no effort to hide his resentment as he drew in a nasally breath and frantically brushed his tongue like finishing was his ticket out of purgatory.

Sarah tried not to laugh as he gagged into his washcloth. For a timeless Goblin King, he could be so damn relatable.

"Here," she said, handing him the water bottles.

Jareth snatched them greedily, turning his back to her in a harumph as he rinsed and spat. "Expect me to be quite put out with you for the next five minutes or so," he advised her sternly when he finished. "That was utterly humiliating."

Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. "Oh, come on. You know your mouth feels amazing."

He leaned his head away from hers grumpily and huffed, but she could see him running his tongue along his teeth appreciatively inside his closed mouth. He smirked when he caught her looking from the corner of his eye. "And you know you want to find out for yourself."

"I walked right into that one," she acknowledged, ruffling his hair as she slipped away.

They didn't speak as they dumped their trash and food in the bear boxes and trudged back up to their campsite. Jareth's challenge lingered between them, mingling with the tension from their earlier conversations by the pond that drew closer to the surface the nearer they got to the tent. Sarah's stomach somersaulted as it came into view, illuminated with lanterns from within. The only light source at the campsite, a suddenly embarrassing beacon of the promise she'd made him to zip their sleeping bags together. Why had she done that? It was impulsive. It had felt right in the moment, and only part of her regretted it as they entered the clearing.

Deciding not to make a fuss about it, Sarah unzipped the tent flap. She kicked off her boots and motioned for him to do the same. "Hurry up before the bugs fly in," she ordered. "And bring your boots inside, or you'll find things in them in the morning that I imagine you don't want sharing living space with your cute feet."

Jareth slipped his boots off and followed Sarah into what she had sneakily done her best to set up as a cozy sanctuary earlier that afternoon. A lantern hung overhead, and two smaller ones were tucked in the corners. A queen-size self-inflating mattress pad was already unrolled onto the floor, covered with a fluffy duvet. Pillows lined the back walls. Sarah had hidden Jareth's favorite throw blanket—the maroon chenille— in a pillowcase for the journey, and it was now folded in view near the sleeping bags.

She couldn't help but flush when Jareth's sparkly eyes found hers. "I didn't question all the pillows when we packed the car," he said with a warm smile. "But after having camped with you for half a day, I'm starting to suspect you don't ordinarily treat yourself to such extravagance."

"I don't," Sarah confirmed. "I'm a sleeping bag and rolled-up sweatshirt-for-a-pillow girl."

His arms were around her so fast she would have thought he had used magic to transport himself if she hadn't known better. "Thank you for this," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You didn't have to."

"You're welcome," she told him, snaking her arms around him and leaning into his embrace. "It was fun setting it up."

"And for the toothbrush," Jareth mumbled into her hair, giving her an extra squeeze. "Though I am positively loath to admit it, my mouth does taste astonishing."

Sarah laughed against his chest, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her. "That was just as much for me. I'd rather not have a Hotdog-breath King as a roommate for two days."

"Your altruism does have its limits. Noted," Jareth commented, releasing her with a wide smile. "Now, how do zippers work?"

The zipping of the sleeping bags was more of a fiasco than it needed to be, as it wasn't a two-person job, and Jareth insisted on helping—managing to snag the material, Sarah's sweatpants, and the web of his hand in the zipper along the way. Once they'd finally maneuvered them together, they laid the whole thing atop the duvet. While Jareth fluffed and arranged the pillows—paying particular care to hers—she grabbed her flashlight. "Only one thing left to do," she mused as she turned off the lanterns.

"Oh? What's that?" Jareth asked with interest.

She could hear him slipping his legs into the sleeping bag while she fumbled in the dark. "Shadow puppets," she revealed, not bothering to hide the childlike excitement in her voice as she slid in to sit beside him. She switched the flashlight on and handed it to him. "Hold it like this."

Jareth grinned back and took the flashlight, pointing the beam at the wall as she had demonstrated.

Sarah ran through the basics first: Dog, bird, wolf. Then she showed him some of the more complicated ones: Bear cub, elephant, goat.

He oohed and ahhed along, the perfect audience. When she finished, she took the flashlight and motioned for him to try.

Jareth shrugged nonchalantly and flexed his fingers. At first, the shadow on the wall didn't look like much more than a lump. "Rock," he supplied.

She laughed. "Breathtaking."

His hands shifted into something that walked bipedally, its large, horned head shaking back and forth. "Rock-caller," Jareth said with a smile.

"Woah," Sarah exclaimed. "How are you doing that?"

Jareth chuckled, leaning into her shoulder. His hands contracted, lengthening into a squiggly noodle. "Worm," he said as the shadow sprouted three boisterous tufts of hair. "It's always worth sticking around for tea, you know. You might get directions."

"Aw, that little scarf. So cu—" Her words died in her throat, and she shot him a dirty look. "Wait, are you serious? He would have told me how to get to the castle?"

The worm shadow nodded vigorously, and a pleased smile stretched across Jareth's face. "Oh, with utmost immediacy."

Sarah cursed, and he laughed, the shadow on the wall expanding as his hands shifted again. "I forgot to warn you about these before. Is it too late now?" he queried as a slimmer bipedal figure holding its head danced cheerfully.

She bumped her shoulder into his. "Are you cheating?"

"I'm a trickster, dearest one," Jareth reminded her, booping her nose in that infuriatingly condescending way. "It might occur to you that I have used a shadow puppet or two in my time, with and without magic."

Sarah huffed even as her belly flip-flopped at the rare endearment, and Jareth laughed at what she imagined must have been a bewildered expression on her face.

"Of course," she said, trying to keep her tone light, but she could feel the corners of her lips tugging downward as she switched on the lantern beside her and clicked off the flashlight. His emphasis on the word 'trickster' had made it sound like a title, not just a description. She had an uneasy feeling she was missing something.

He gave her a long, hard, calculating look. The way the lantern on the floor threw harsh shadows across his angular features made him appear nearly wicked when he asked, "You do know I am fae, don't you, Sarah?"

The truth of what Jareth was had always been a carefully guarded mystery to Sarah for reasons she didn't understand. She'd assiduously avoided asking, just as she was now desperately attempting to control her reaction. She must not have been doing a thorough job of it because a mischievous grin was stretching across his face.

"That checks out," she said before he could say more. "I mean, I assumed you weren't human. I've met fairies, and you're rather gangly and less bitey." She ignored the salacious just-you-wait expression Jareth sent her at that last observation, and she gave him a mock once-over. "And I'll admit, you're too pretty to be a goblin."

A heaviness settled in her belly despite her joking. The news wasn't a shock. Fae was near the top of the list of beings she had suspected him to be. But the fact that she hadn't allowed herself to know for certain until now almost hurt.

Jareth chucked her chin lightly. "What's that look on your face about, then?"

Sarah turned to him in their usual fashion—and he copied her—criss-cross applesauce.

"You're like…." she trailed off, searching for the right words. She winced internally but pressed on anyway. "My diary."

Jareth raised a humorless eyebrow. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, it hadn't been that. "Your diary," he repeated flatly.

"My secret keeper," she clarified.

"Your ghost-writer autobiographer," he drawled. "You'll forgive me for being less than flattered."

"My point is, you know me better than anyone," Sarah confided. "I wish you were as good at sharing secrets as you are at keeping them."

Jareth sobered. He was quiet for a moment while he considered her implied meaning. "You know me better than you think you do, Sarah," he said, his voice low.

"Do I?" Sarah pressed, unsure of herself and not liking the feeling. "Sometimes, I'm positive that's true. I'll know what you will do right before you do it. I'll feel the words in your head before they come out of your mouth. But there are fundamental parts of you that I don't understand."

Jareth's hands slipped beneath the sleeping bag and clasped her sock-covered feet. "You may not have known the words, but it couldn't have passed your notice that I am tricky, Sarah," he pointed out, not unkindly. "It doesn't mean anything more than what you have already seen. I promise you that."

She chewed her lip as he spoke and bit down when he promised. He was right. What he was hadn't come as a surprise, nor had it really presented anything new to process. He was Jareth. It hadn't been more complicated than that for her in a long time, and it didn't need to be now. A modicum of relief chipped away at her unease, but there was more underneath that nagged and needled.

Jareth's hands moved away, and he leaned back on them to peer at her. "What makes you think I have secrets?" he asked, his expression guarded.

"You're evasive," Sarah told him, though it felt somehow unfair even to her own ears. "When I ask you about personal things. Or home."

His eyes grew shadowed as he watched her, and Sarah thought he was going to deny it before he let out a resigned breath. "I know," he said quietly.

Sarah's eyes started to sting unexpectedly at his admission. "Why?" she asked, looking down in an attempt to hide the emotions she knew played across her face.

"I worry," Jareth confessed. He looked like he wanted to say more, but his lips pressed into a firm line, stalling whatever words may have been building behind them.

"Do you have something to hide?" she wondered aloud, hating the anxiety sharpening the edges of her voice.

"No," he assured her. "It's nothing like that."

"Jareth," she pleaded. "You're making me nervous."

He looked at her hands, twisting the material of the sleeping bag so hard it threatened to tear. He leaned forward again, back in her space, and covered her hands with his. "I misspoke," he stated. "I'm not worried. I'm afraid, Sarah. Of being too much. Too real for what you've allowed yourself to imagine me to be."

Sarah's stomach twisted. She opened her mouth to reply, but something in his eyes begged her to wait, to think his words through with care. She searched her heart for any truth to his fears and didn't like what she found. She couldn't deny that she had avoided asking him questions about his life until recently, and she'd never explored her own fears that had kept her from doing so. But how could he worry about being too much when he was everything?

"What do you mean, too real for what I've imagined you to be?" she asked, studying their hands, where his very real fingertip traced figure eights between her knuckles.

Jareth's heavy gaze tugged at her. When her eyes rose to meet his, he said, "Let me ask you something, Sarah."

"I did just ask you something," she pointed out, wanting to roll her eyes but fighting the instinct when she looked up and saw the deep lines etched between his brows and around the corners of his downturned mouth. "Go ahead."

His large hands wrapped around hers securely. "You do know I am real, don't you?"

Sarah was trying not to let her frustration get the best of her. She'd requested he explain his evasiveness, and it felt like he was just doubling down. She slipped a hand from beneath his and pinched his upper arm, perhaps a little harder than necessary.

"Ow!" Jareth shrieked, snatching his arm away.

"You're real enough," she confirmed, then reached out for his abused limb despite her agitation with him. Her hand smoothed over the cotton of the sweatshirt he had borrowed—her favorite Pixies hoodie.

Jareth watched her fingers soothe the pinch. When her hand moved away, he looked up with wary eyes. "Real enough?"

Sarah was surprised to see genuine hurt sinking into the lines of his face, and she hated seeing it there. She scooted towards him, sliding her hands under the sleeping bag. They met long, bare feet, and she wrapped her fingers around them in what she hoped was a reassuring hold. He was so good at this part—the comforting touches—the holds. She wondered absently when it had started to feel so natural for her to return them.

"What's this about, J?" she implored, softening her voice. Her thumbs rubbed along the arches of his feet encouragingly. "Please. Spell it out for me."

To her dismay, he instead asked her another question. "Do you think I would trap you Underground?"

Sarah's hands stilled in shock at the turn of conversation. "What?!"

"Do you think I would steal you away and hold you prisoner in my castle beyond the Goblin City?" he clarified.

She couldn't help but snort at the absurdity of it. "No." She squeezed his pinky toes for emphasis.

"I thought not," he said. "You trust me." It was a question as much as a statement, and it hung there, indicating he waited for confirmation.

Sarah sent him an impatient look. "I'm currently feeling a bit messed with, but yes, I trust you."

Jareth searched her face for a long moment, and Sarah's heart gave a sudden squeeze at the enormity of his impending words before he spoke them. "Then why won't you visit me?"

Anxiety clawed back up her throat, and she felt almost ill from the pressure of the question that always sat heavily between them but had never been asked so directly. She could hardly remember what it had felt like to question his intentions; it had been so long. She wasn't afraid of being spirited away. She was afraid of seeing him. All of him, in his element, and all the things that could mean.

"I think I see what you're getting at," she admitted, though still unsure how to answer his question. It was only fair, she thought, since he'd avoided all of hers.

"Do you?" His voice was quieter than she had ever heard it.

Sarah took a deep breath and clasped his heels—as much to steady herself as to reassure him. "You're more real to me than anyone ever has been," she promised, meaning it. "I want to know you. You deserve to be known, Jareth."

He slithered into her lap, wrapping his arms and legs around her in an anaconda squeeze so tight it nearly relieved her lungs of breath. His nose burrowed into her neck as he clung to her, and his voice was thick with emotion when he spoke. "Know me, then, Sarah. As more than mere fantasy. More than an imaginary friend."

Her arms slipped around him and pulled him close. "Imaginary best friend, you mean," she corrected helpfully, smoothing his frantic hair out of his face so she could look at him.

Jareth chuckled against her shoulder, catching her eye. "Shut up."

Sarah sent him a guilty smile. Jareth felt so vulnerable like this, so spread open to her, and her heart pounded wildly at the feeling of all the places he pressed against her—and all the places he almost did. He smiled back at her, and they stayed like that, suspended, for a long moment.

Overwhelmed with affection for him, she lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, stroking the shadowed hollow. "Hey," she said, breaking the silence. "I'm not going anywhere, Jareth."

She felt him melt at those words, and she regretted not giving him the relief of having heard them sooner.

"Sarah." Her name was a whisper against her throat as he held her impossibly closer.

The hairs at her nape prickled as a shiver she couldn't hide coursed down her spine. "I'm sorry I made you worry that the reality of you would be too much for me," she told him.

His lips ghosted along her jaw as he rumbled a low, appreciative purr. Sarah fought another shudder and continued. "I'm sorry I made you fear I'd run if you became more tangible."

Jareth squeezed her tightly as if to emphasize how extraordinarily corporeal he was. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he assured her. "Thank you for talking to me about it."

"I'm glad you told me," she said, finding that it was the truth.

He pulled back to look down at her, hands laced behind her neck. "So," he hedged, eyes sparkling. "Tell me. What would you like to know?"

Sarah took a deep breath and broached what had bothered her since their conversation in the hammock. "I want to know about your childhood. Was it really so long ago that you don't remember?"

Jareth sighed. "I have lived a long time, Sarah," he declared, that strange expression she hadn't liked from the day before back on his face. "I have few anchors to early memories."

"Anchors?" she coaxed. "What do you mean?"

He looked pensive as he idly played with the fine hairs at the back of her neck. When he didn't reply right away, Sarah reached for him again in an impulsive endeavor at comfort she wasn't sure he needed. Her heart gave an extra thuh-thump when his eyes changed. They were the same blue, dark in the dim light. His pupils were still offset. But new crinkles appeared in the corners as her fingertips smoothed away his happy-sad smile.

"I mean," he said as he watched her with crinkly-corner eyes. "That no matter how far I drift or who I grow into, they tow me back to who I have been."

"Flit?" Sarah inquired hesitantly, recalling his puzzling dynamic with the motherly goblin. Her thumb swept his jaw, still soothing, even though the smile that wasn't a smile was gone. "Have you known her since you were a child?"

Jareth nuzzled into her tender touches and chuckled. "Flit would tell you, and anyone who would listen, that she raised me single-handedly."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Did she?"

He considered the question, his head tilting. "She must have. I don't remember a time without her," Jareth acknowledged after a long moment. "And Teacake," he added fondly.

"Teacake?" Sarah asked, surprised. "You've known Teacake since you were a child?"

A real smile stretched beneath her palm. "My mother was Teacake's guardian," Jareth elaborated before reconsidering. "Or, Teacake was my mother's guardian. I'll never know. No one remembers."

Sarah wasn't sure if she wanted to frown or laugh at this news. "Has she always been so…."

"Ancient? Decrepit? Perfect?" he supplied, grinning wider with each word. "As long as my memory serves, yes."

"That's….wow." Sarah's expression must have been something to behold because Jareth laughed. "And your mother?" she asked. "Do you remember her?"

"No," Jareth replied with a surprising matter-of-factness. "She was the Goblin Queen. My father was her consort. They faded soon after my birth."

Sarah felt her brows pull together. "Faded?"

"They gave up their immortality," Jareth rephrased.

Sarah studied him as she turned over this new knowledge.

"I know what you're thinking," he advised playfully.

Her finger pressed firmly to where his third eye would be. "Finally ready to fess up that you can read my mind?"

Jareth's grin was impossibly wide now, lamplight glinting off pointed teeth. "I don't have to. It's written all over your face."

Sarah arched a brow. "What am I thinking then?"

"You're thinking"—his voice raised an octave in a purposely inaccurate Sarah impression—"poor maybe-baby-Jareth, raised by a goblin and a cat alone in an upside-down castle. How drab."

"No, actually," Sarah said, deciding not to brawl with him over that impersonation, considering the seriousness of the subject matter. "I don't know enough to know if I should feel sorry for you. And you wouldn't want me to, anyway."

"What's going on in here, then?" Jareth asked, cradling her head in his hands and rocking it gently back and forth.

"I was thinking," she mused, stroking his cheek again. "You're such a good friend. It's hard for me to understand how you became so…."

Jareth turned his face and gave her palm a quick kiss. "How I became so what?" he questioned with a hint of a smirk.

"Thoughtful, kind," Sarah answered, ignoring the blush she knew warmed her cheeks at the feeling of his lips back on her skin. She waited for him to gloat, but his face remained neutral as he waited for her to continue. "Patient," she added with a secret smile.

His lips curled upwards, and they shared the secret-smile for a moment, the meaning of it no real secret at all. Then Jareth said, "I've been witness to how poorly people can treat each other for centuries. I know what being a bad friend looks like."

Her gaze floated away as her hand fell from his cheek. She wasn't sure why, but his answer didn't satisfy her. It didn't explain why he bothered, why he took such care with her.

Jareth caught her wrist. "Sarah," he demanded in that look-at-me way.

Sarah's eyes met his again, finding an odd expression on his face that she couldn't quite place. His hand slipped into hers, and she let him thread their fingers.

He busied his other hand in her hair for a moment, neatening it while he considered his words. "You're something too, something important," he told her.

"I'm your Champion," she reminded him, feeling the slyness in her smile.

"Always," Jareth swore, digging his fingers in her hair and mussing up what he had carefully tidied. "But you're more than that."

Sarah chuckled and shook her hair out of her eyes. "An anchor?"

"No," he insisted solemnly, tucking the strands behind her ears like he wasn't responsible for their disarray. "You don't remind me of who I've been. Time didn't matter before, the now-and-the-then of it all." He held her gaze and brushed a kiss over their joined knuckles. "In knowing you, I am learning who I am. Who I want to be."

She leaned against his chest and breathed him in, letting her emotions roll through her freely. Her throat felt suddenly very tight, and she vowed if she started to cry, she would let it happen this time. His heart drummed a near-frantic beat against her forehead. She scooped him closer and left her arms there, low and cradling.

"There's more you need to hear from me." Jareth's voice was muffled in her hair as he nuzzled the top of her head. "Things that have been true for some time. Things that must be said, though I suspect you already know."

The near thunderous beat of his heart matched hers, and her breath caught with anticipation. She swallowed. "Hmm?"

"I've known you in a morning-through-evening microcosm. I want you in the spaces between," Jareth confided, voice dropping low. His lips were warm at her temple when he said, "I want to know what makes you feel good." Sharp teeth grazed her earlobe. "What doesn't." A kiss there.

When Sarah hummed again—her head tipping to give him access—it was involuntary and accompanied by a rush of arousal. Her hands tightened around his hips as she heard the sound, vibrating with her own lust. The small, agonized noise Jareth made told her he had heard it too. Felt it.

Jareth pulled away, pushing her shoulders back gently as he went. When her eyes lifted to his, she saw that they were deep pools of flickering blue. "I've wondered for years if you would seek me out in your sleep if I were to lay next to you."

Sarah's heart lurched. "I reach for you in my dreams every night," she confessed. "You're always there. It can be hard to know what's real when I wake up to you waiting for me."

"Are dreams enough?" His hands squeezed her shoulders and held. "Wanting, reaching for someone equally wanting, willing, and right here?"

She sucked in a ragged breath, and Jareth loosened his grip when she stiffened beneath his fingers. Her heart was beating impossibly hard. Her mouth moved soundlessly as she worked through a million variations of 'of course dreams aren't enough but-'

When she didn't respond immediately, Jareth disentangled his limbs from hers and slinked into the sleeping bag. He casually grabbed a pillow, buried his face into it, and groaned.

Sarah winced and slipped in after him. Spying the maroon chenille, she pulled that in, too, and tucked it around them both.

Jareth sighed and hooked his ankle around hers. He turned his head enough to tell her, "By the Gods, Sarah. You are not forbidden fruit."

She rolled to her side to see him better, raising up on her elbow. "Jareth—"

"You are not fruit!" he insisted, matching her posture.

"I know I'm not fruit!" Sarah said indignantly, with more fierceness than she had intended.

For a moment, She thought he would climb with her, speak just a little louder and with a bit more bite. Instead, he cleared his throat. The apple there bobbed with emotion she didn't often see. Sarah's last declaration seemed to echo improbably between the thin tent walls as he stared at her.

I'm not fruit! I'm not fruit!

"Sarah," Jareth ventured, his voice thick. He cleared it again. "I fear you worry I am some swashbuckling rogue who will vanish into a glittery cloud of maniacal laughter once I've, as you've so delicately described it, fucked you in a giant sleeping bag."

His words turned over in her mind, finding holds in soft spots she had done her best to ignore. "Feathers, then, maybe."

"Feathers," Jareth repeated tonelessly, his brow a question, his head on a tilt.

"Could be feathers, not glitter." Sarah was trying for levity, but she could see by his unimpressed expression that he was having none of it. Before he could say anything else, she said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't make light of it. But you've got me all wrong. I hate being misunderstood, especially by you."

"You deserve to be understood, Sarah," Jareth told her. "I want to understand you. And not for some sexual long-con."

"I know that," she said quickly. "I promise, I know that."

Jareth let out a relieved breath. He studied her for a long moment and said, "You do not owe me anything. But if you want me to understand you—his knuckles grazed her cheek—"start by telling me how you feel."

Sarah reached for him, letting her hand press against his chest. His heart beat hard and encouraging beneath her palm. "I'm afraid," she admitted—the single-word confession confirming what they both knew to be true. Her fingers tensed, a tangle in his sweatshirt. "But not of you. You're not my villain, Jareth. You're my home. You're my anchor."

A hand covered hers and pressed it closer over his thrumming heartbeat. Sarah watched the hard lines around his mouth and eyes soften. "Tell me more about that," he urged.

She chewed her lip and tried to think how to communicate a deep-rooted anxiety she hadn't allowed herself to put words to until now. Finally, she said, "Time works differently for me, Jareth. The now-and-the-then of it. That's all I have."

His heart skipped a beat beneath their joined hands, and his fingers tightened over hers. He stayed silent, watching her, but something darkened his expression.

Sarah took a shaky breath and let it out, pulling her hand away to run it over her face. "I'm not good at this."

Jareth tugged her wrist away and kept it clasped firmly between them. "I'm not asking you to be," he reminded her. "Please don't stop now."

She slid down on her back and tucked her elbow under her head. The wrist Jareth held crossed awkwardly over her torso. When he scooted closer to slacken her arm, she pulled him flush to her side, their hands falling over her ribs.

His hair fanned her cheek as Sarah turned to look up at him. "I've known you longer than I haven't. You're who I've been, who I am, and who I want to be. You're everything to me."

"Oh, Sarah," Jareth murmured. His head dipped low, and she felt him feather kisses along her hairline. He lingered there, breathing her name with each kiss.

"How can I risk that changing?" She asked. Her throat was closing again. She swallowed hard before revealing what kept her heart in an iron cage. "Just for the-now-of-it, but what about the-then? I'll get old. I'll die, and you'll have to watch."

She heard Jareth's breath hitch and was suddenly overwhelmed with grief. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she told him, hearing the pleading in her voice and doing nothing to hide it. Tears spilled freely, and his mouth chased them down her cheeks.

"No," he insisted, lips reassuring her with each whisked-away tear. "No, no, no."

"I know it's unfair," Sarah said, not caring that she'd used the word she usually avoided around him at all costs.

Jareth pulled back to look down at her. His gaze was full of affection and concern as he smoothed tears and rogue strands of hair from her face. "It isn't fair," he agreed, without any hint of mockery. "To either of us."

"I'm sorry," she said again, compelled to somehow take responsibility for denying them both what they wanted.

"No." Jareth's voice was firmer this time. Their hands over her ribs were heavy and grounding. "I'm sorry for my question. We have more than dreams. We have each other. As we are now. As we have always been. As we will be. And it is enough, Sarah."

A small sob escaped her as she unbent the arm from behind her head and slipped her hand into his hair. "I need you to hold me," she told him. "Put your weight on me."

He searched her face for a moment, for what, Sarah couldn't say. Her fingers tightened at the back of his head, and she tugged him toward her. "Please."

Jareth crawled over her hesitantly until he was holding himself up with an elbow on either side of her head in a plank, his legs bracing awkwardly on the outsides of hers.

"Don't be weird," Sarah said, maneuvering her legs to the outside instead and wrapping her arms and legs around him. "Crush me."

He let her pull his full weight down on top of her. His arms rested on the pillow framing her head in a halo. His fingertips massaged her scalp as he nestled his nose into her neck. "Like this?"

She rubbed her hands along the lean muscles of his back. "Like this," she agreed, feeling tension melt away under the pressure of his body. "Thank you." She kissed his shoulder.

Jareth hummed and gave her head a tight squeeze.

They lay like that for some time until Sarah's tears had stopped, and her breathing had lulled into a slow, lazy rhythm. When she yawned, Jareth lifted his head to peer down at her. "Can you sleep?"

Bleary eyes cracked open. "I think so," Sarah mumbled before letting them drift closed again.

Warm lips caressed her forehead. "I'll get off you now, so you can breathe while you do that," Jareth suggested.

Sarah nodded sleepily, and he chuckled as he unhitched her limbs from around himself and arranged them into optimal slumber position. There was a vague awareness of him clicking off the remaining lantern and fluffing a pillow. She was only half conscious when he settled in beside her, and his feet slipped in between hers when she instinctively turned her body towards him. Time cradled them strangely as the forest and the pond beyond it bathed them in sound. Sarah hung in liminal space, sure she was dreaming, when she heard him whisper that name from long ago. "Precious, I hope you still reach for me."

Chapter Text

The music of the forest that had carried Sarah off to sleep rocked her in its hold throughout the night. The dawn was suddenly bright behind her closed eyelids as cheerful birdsong dragged her back into consciousness. She lay disoriented for a nebulous stretch of time before becoming aware of the sensation of fingers flexing between her own. Warmth stretched across her side, and she could hear gentle breathing near her ear. She opened her eyes and looked down, melting a little to see Jareth's head nestled beneath her chin. His silver-gold hair framed his sleeping face, and his dark lashes fanned sharp cheekbones as his eyes moved delicately through a dream behind his lids.

As the previous night poured back into her mind, so did an overwhelming affection for him. Jareth was as lovely in the filtered morning light as he had been the night before—loving her as best he knew how. And more than that, he felt good, pressed to her. Familiar. As if this was one morning among hundreds in which they had awoken like this.

Sarah's heart quickened as he began to stir. Finding her fingers already in his hair, she stroked his head while he murmured wordlessly into her neck.

Jareth abruptly stilled mid-stretch. The arm spanning her torso and the leg possessively linking them together lay lax on top of her once more, but she could tell by the change in his breathing that he was awake. She could almost feel the wheels in his head turning as he slowly realized where he was and who he was holding. She smiled as his chin tipped up, and his sleepy, blinking blue eyes sought hers.

"Hey, Bear," he said after a beat, assessing her with a seriousness that contrasted so dramatically with his frantic bedhead that Sarah laughed in spite of herself.

"Veto," she told him simply before embarking on a mission to smooth his hair.

"Didn't like that one?" Jareth asked, mischief flashing in his eyes. "So, Bear-ah is off the table as a nickname? I was thinking, 'Hey, Bear-ah' was—"

Sarah groaned, though her smile didn't waiver. "Absolutely not."

"Sarah Bear, then." He sounded decided, as if arriving at the moniker had been a collaborative choice. "It's settled."

She hummed noncommittally, untangling a knot and starting on another before deciding it was a bigger project than one hand could properly address at the moment. When she tucked the unruly mass of it behind his ear, it immediately sprang forward, his lion's mane somehow shaggier than ever. He watched her, amused, as she patted the side of his head. "You know what? It's perfect as it is."

"Thank you for your concerted efforts, regardless of its questionable perfection," he said, a smile stretching.

Sarah smiled back at him, her palm resting against his face. "So," she ventured. "We're snuggling, apparently."

Jareth squeezed her fingers. "Apparently."

Her maybe-dream from the night before whispered his words back to her.

Precious, I hope you still reach for me.

She scanned his face. "Did I—"

"You did." Jareth brought her hand to his mouth, and her breath caught as she followed the movement. She released it in a small sigh as his lips brushed her knuckles. "Your hand was searching. When it found mine, you pulled me to you."

Her gaze lifted from his lips—still ghosting kisses across her skin—to his eyes. Eyes that waited for her, encouraging her to acknowledge that she wanted more. Perhaps even while awake.

"I see you, Goblin King," Sarah told him sternly. "You think you're so slick with the barely-there kisses. Well, I've got news for you." She paused to lift their hands to her mouth and pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb. "You are. It's lovely."

She stretched and rolled to her knees, crawling to the tent flap to unzip the opaque lining. It was warm in the tent already, nearly uncomfortably so.

"But you were just dreaming," Jareth supplied.

Sarah looked over her shoulder at him as she maneuvered the zipper around the door. "I wasn't going to say that."

He said nothing, but there was a challenge in the curl of his lips.

Sarah met it with her own cheeky smile. "I'm not dreaming now," she pointed out as she crawled back toward him.

Jareth sighed and pulled back the top of the sleeping bag, inviting her to fill the space between his outstretched arms. Sarah settled at his side and rested her head on his shoulder. Her arm slipped across his torso, and she laced her fingers with his. Jareth's foot hooked around her calf, urging her to stretch it over his thighs. She did, scooping him closer with her leg and molding herself to him in a near-perfect imitation of how he had held her through sleep.

He kissed her forehead, and his lips hovered there as he asked, "How are you feeling this morning?"

She considered the question, taking inventory of her body. Her feelings. "Loved," she confided.

"You are," Jareth told her before peppering her hairline with kisses.

"I know," she said, squeezing him close. "And so are you."

In this way, Sarah found the strength to name feelings without speaking the words. She'd tried once before and knew this wasn't the time to try again. He deserved his own moment, unshadowed by her heartbroken tears.

"Thank you," she said instead. "For everything."

"I'll always take care of you, Sarah," Jareth swore, his lips moving in her hair. "Tell me you know that."

"I do," she promised, pulling their hands to rest over his chest so she could examine his long fingers. "I've known that for a long time. I just didn't see it."

Jareth stroked her hair, and Sarah could feel him watching her as she stretched out each of his digits for perusal.

"Jareth," she asked, her brows pulling together as she looked up at him. "How can I take care of you?"

"You already do, Sarah Bear," Jareth told her, stretching her furrowed brows apart between a thumb and forefinger. "You're honest with me. I won't ask for anything else from you."

Part of her wanted to argue, to tell him he should ask more of her. That he deserved to. But she decided to allow herself to receive this permission from him. Permission to not owe him anything other than the truth.

A gentle breeze flowed through the tent, and they sighed simultaneously as it cooled their warm bodies. They lay in comfortable silence for a time while she played with his hand—pinching each fingertip.

"Such a sleepy thing," Jareth commented quietly, and Sarah realized she had dozed off. "You're so sweet like this."

"I like to think I am always sweet," Sarah mumbled against his shoulder.

Jareth chuckled. "You would, would you?"

"Mmm," she agreed. "How long was I out?"

"A little over an hour," he informed her, the hand in her hair stroking idly. "I kept a dutiful watch."

"Best bear point person around," Sarah declared, propping up on her elbow and smiling down at him. "We should get up."

Jareth pouted and tugged her back down. "Don't take this moment from me."

"Come on," she urged, resisting his clutching. "It's about to get unbearably hot in here."

"Empty promises," he groused with a smirk.

Sarah ignored that, but she could feel the sly smile back on her face. She rummaged in her duffel bag and told him, "You can get dressed in here. I'm going to find somewhere to change."

"How very puritan of you," Jareth said after a dramatic sigh.

When Sarah returned to the campsite a few minutes later, she was greeted by curses and the sound of Jareth floundering with the tent flap zipper. "Let me out of this infernal prison!" he demanded. "It's hotter than the surface of the suns in here."

She unzipped the tent, laughing as he spilled out of it in a huff. "I did warn you," she reminded him.

Jareth glowered at her as he clambered to his feet. His light linen shirt clung to sweaty skin, and Sarah felt overcome with a sudden urge to peel it off him and taste the salt.

"Well," he said, tugging at the bottom of the untucked shirt and flapping it to encourage airflow. "I can't wait for the fire-building tutorial you undoubtedly have in store for me." His eyes narrowed. "Since you were so distracted yesterday."

Sarah rolled her eyes at the dig. "No fire this morning. We aren't staying close enough to the campsite."

He lifted a brow. "Oh?"

"I'm taking you somewhere special." She shouldered her backpack and took his hand. "Let's go."

Jareth trailed behind her down the hill. They stopped at the bear boxes, and Sarah stuffed snacks into her bag before handing him a poppyseed muffin. "This will have to do for breakfast since we aren't cooking."

They ate their muffins and brushed their teeth, Jareth with his back to Sarah as he did so. She noticed with a satisfied smirk that he had matched her toothpaste-to-bristles ratio this time.

He took the backpack from her as she led him to the mouth of a trail. "It's mostly uphill in this direction, but it's not too far," she advised. "It'll be nice and easy on the way back."

They'd been climbing the path for about thirty minutes before Jareth stopped. "Is that running water I hear?"

"I thought you might want to bathe," she supplied with a knowing smile.

"Good gods, yes," he said with a happy groan. "Though I do enjoy your current aroma. Stirs something primal in me."

Sarah blushed as they trekked closer to the sound, and the terrain changed as they went along. Instead of crumbling terraces of shale and tree roots, large limestone boulders kept them company. Berry bushes began to crop up, some soft and flowering, others thorny and menacing. Moving behind Jareth, she rummaged in her backpack and withdrew an empty thermos. "Help me pick some."

She pointed out the various kinds as they went, taking particular care to note the poisonous varieties. The container was full of blueberries, huckleberries, raspberries, and blackberries by the time the path opened up to reveal a crystalline pool cradled by smooth limestone. A small waterfall trickled over the rocks on the far side, feeding the pool with clear, fresh water.

"This is my spot," she announced, setting the berries on a rock near the water.

Jareth gazed around, wide-eyed. "It's beaut—" his words caught in his throat as Sarah wasted no time peeling off her shirt. He exhaled when he saw she was wearing a bikini top. "...iful," he finished, then added, "I have come woefully underprepared."

Sarah grinned as she stepped out of her shorts. "Don't worry," she told him. "I sneakily acquired a bathing suit for you at one of our stops." She dug in her backpack and handed him a pair of turquoise swim trunks plastered with neon yellow bananas. "Surprise."

Jareth pinched the article between thumb and forefinger as if it might bite him. "You're joking."

"Not in the slightest," she answered cheerfully, turning her back to him. She heard him sigh resignedly behind her and chewed her lip at the sound of his clothing hitting stone. "Decent?" she asked after a moment.

He made a rude noise. "Not the word I would have chosen, but I am appropriately covered for your delicate gaze."

When she turned around, she nearly choked on conflicting reactions. Jareth looked both stunning and absurdly anachronistic in his trunks. She'd never seen him shirtless, and he was more alluring than she had imagined.

He planted his hands on his hips and grinned wickedly at her as he asked, "Is that a banana on my trousers, or am I just happy to see you?"

Sarah blinked at him, grateful for the levity when faced with the reality of his near nakedness. "That's….Jareth, that was so bad I don't even know how to dignify it with a response."

He chuckled and sauntered over to her. "You like what you see," he observed before twirling in place, inviting her admiration.

Sarah shrugged, but she knew the smile on her face was wide and telling. "Maybe," she evaded, digging through her bag again and withdrawing a tube of sunscreen and a bottle of eco-friendly soap. She set the soap near the water by the berries and motioned for him to turn around.

His skin was warm and smooth under her hands as she rubbed sunscreen across his shoulders and back, paying particular attention to his neck and the tips of his ears. Reaching for his hand, she squirted some lotion into his palm. "Do the same for me," she instructed, turning around.

Jareth smoothed the cream over her skin, taking his time to knead her shoulders with strong hands. When he finished, she squirted more sunscreen into their palms. Jareth copied her as she applied it to her face and the front of her body.

He followed her into the pool and gasped at the frigid temperature. Sarah heard him issuing complaints as she submerged herself in the clear water. When she broke the surface, he was staring at her. "My brave Champion," he remarked admiringly, inching his way in after her.

"You know, I think that little red book was a misnomer," Sarah remarked. "We should retitle it to 'Brave Champion featuring Goblin King Cat Dad.'"

Jareth chuckled. "Curious about that, are you?"

The water lapped against their ribs where they stood, regarding each other.

"Of course I'm curious about that," she told him. "I've been seething with curiosity, though I should probably call you a Creature Dad since you also have a rogue raccoon rampaging about your castle."

"Ah, Curd," Jareth acknowledged. "She's one of many."

"Raccoons?!" Sarah blurted.

His grin was teasing. "No, she is the only raccoon."

"Tell. Me. Everything," she demanded, poking him in the sternum with each word.

"Not ready to abandon last night's getting-to-know-you session, hmm?"

"Not in the slightest," Sarah answered. "How many animals live with you?"

Jareth laughed. "If they could speak, they would inform you that I live with them."

When Sarah just blinked at him expectantly, he said, "Well, there's Teacake, of course. You've already had the pleasure." He paused to wink at her before continuing to tick off names on his fingers. "Then we have Biscotti, Shortbread, Meringue, Tartlet, Pudding, and Egg Custard."

Sarah felt her eyes bug. "You…you have seven cats," she summarized flatly. "And they are all named after sweet treats."

"Oh, I don't have seven anything. I am but their humble servant," Jareth corrected with a bow. "And that's just the cats."

"Stop being withholding," she begged. "I'm going to explode."

He flicked water at her playfully and moved deeper into the center of the pool. "Toffee and Nougat are the resident skunks, constantly scurrying underfoot. Florentine, the fox, is mostly solitary, but she likes to sleep on my balcony during the day. Keeping Mousse out of my armoire is a constant battle—"

Sarah felt her eyebrows shoot up. "Hold on," she said, following him until their feet no longer touched the bottom. "A moose? In your armoire?"

"Mousse is a mink," he clarified with a grin. "And I almost forgot about the harpy eagle, Éclair."

Her mouth dropped open. "A harpy eagle?!"

"Oh, yes," Jareth confirmed, treading water in a slow ring around her. "He crossed back over into the Above once, back in the nineteen-sixties. Slipped right through when the barrier was thin, just as I was transporting a runner into the Labyrinth. He caused quite a kerfuffle in Point Pleasant, West Virginia."

Sarah gasped. "You're joking."

"Sadly, I am not," Jareth said, though he looked pleased by her reaction.

"You're telling me you share living space with seven cats, four exotic mammals, and the actual Mothman," she recapped.

Jareth huffed indignantly. "He prefers to be addressed as Éclair, but yes."

"Where do they come from?" Sarah asked.

He shrugged, but his eyes danced with hers. "Not all of the wished-aways are turned into goblins."

Not a lie, but not the truth, either. Sarah rolled her eyes and splashed him. "For someone who can't lie, you can be so full of shit," she told him. "None of the wished-aways are turned into goblins."

"Fine," Jareth conceded, still circling. "Once the children are placed in homes within fae society, my job is done. However, it didn't escape my notice that many of the neglectful homes the children come from have neglected animals as well."

"So, you steal people's pets," she supplied.

"I rescue them," he insisted. "Except for Teacake, whose origin is unknown. The dogs are loyal. They stay with their children. The cats tend to find their way to the castle eventually." When Sarah opened her mouth to speak he cut in. "Before you ask, I don't know why. They adore me for some unimaginable reason."

Sarah shook her head in disbelief. "You're the goddamn pied piper."

He barked a laugh. "In some tales, I am."

"Oh my god, who are you?" she demanded, torn between laughter and total information overload. "What about the others?"

A flash of resentment hardened his features. "I hesitate to call them pets, even in their previous lives in captivity. They are unable to survive on their own in the wild."

"Do they…" Sarah trailed off and rephrased her question. "Are they immortal now?"

"Not exactly," Jareth replied, a note of sadness coloring his tone. "Their lifespans are extended indefinitely once they reach adulthood if they haven't already. But they are still susceptible to injury and accidents."

She swam over to him and reached for his hand. "You love them."

"I do," he confessed. "The absence of my family is an ever-present dull ache, yet, I was so young. I did not know them in a way that could foster the kind of love you can touch, smell, hear…" He trailed off and seemed to reconsider his words. After a moment, he said, "I don't mean to compare the grief. I yearn for family. For connection. I miss what could have been. But the animals…." Jareth paused again.

It felt strange to press into something so personal. Foreign and forbidden. It threatened the rigid rules she had set in place years ago that she had just begun to allow herself to breach. The more she learned about him, the more endearing he became to her. She'd already known that Jareth was tender beneath the maddening mischief and frenetic energy, but hearing him speak of family and beloved pets was untapped intimacy she felt suddenly compelled to encourage.

"But the animals?" Sarah coaxed, lacing their fingers and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Those who have passed—" He broke off to clear his throat. "It's the closest thing to loss that I have experienced. A true loss."

"I'm sorry," she told him. "That must be so hard. I can't imagine losing an animal after loving them for decades or even centuries. I still grieve Merlin, and I was only able to love him for nine years before I lost him."

Jareth dropped her hand and pulled her into an embrace. It was awkward and unbalanced as they kicked their feet to stay afloat. "Stop apologizing to me," he said. When he pulled back, he was smiling again. "Ask me about something else. Surely there's more you are curious about."

"You're not wrong," she admitted over her shoulder as she cut her way through the water towards the outcropping of limestone slabs where she had put their berries. Finding her favorite natural bench—a smooth scoop of rock about a foot below the surface—she took a seat and sent him a pleased smile. "My throne."

"It's marvelous," he complimented, making his way over to where she sat. He stopped a few feet in front of her before the water became too shallow. He sank down to his chin, and his hair fanned around his shoulders as he peered at her over the surface. "So," he needled, dragging the word out.

Sooooo-o.

Sarah considered him for a long moment before asking, "Do you date?" She cursed herself immediately for her choice of words. They felt amateur and hollow in the context of a centuries-old fae.

He quirked a brow at her as though both surprised and impressed she had asked. "I've had lovers," he told her. "If you ask me if I have one now, it might break my heart."

Her own heart skipped a beat. "Would you tell me? If you did, I mean," she asked, then added quickly. "Not that you owe me that."

"I wouldn't," he answered, watching her guardedly.

"Fair enough," Sarah replied, though her stomach sank. "Like I said, you don't—"

"You misunderstand me, Sarah," he interjected. "I wouldn't take a lover. As you've pointed out, mortal lives are short. I'm not so insatiable as to be untrue to my heart during the time I have with you."

Her chest seized, suddenly too small a space to fit all her emotions. "That's hardly fair to you," she started to tell him. "Jareth, you can't just—"

"It's my choice," he said matter-of-factly, though his twinkling eyes spoke to a deeper feeling. "And as I've told you, it's enough. Whether we are lovers or not."

When he smiled at her, she felt her own lips tugging upward to match. She knew it was selfish of her to smile at that, but she couldn't help it.

A silence stretched, and Jareth's mouth spread into a knowing grin. After a moment, he asked, "What else would you like to know?"

"What qualities draw you to a partner?" she questioned abruptly, cursing herself again at her interviewer's tone.

Jareth chuckled. "That's easy enough to answer. Strong-willed. Brilliant. Funny." He shot her an impish grin. "Turgid nipples beneath a clingy, barely-there bathing suit."

Sarah cut her hand across the surface, sending a cascade of water down upon him. "Be serious."

He regarded her coolly as his now drenched hair plastered to the sides of his face and forehead. Leftover makeup from the previous day streaked down his cheeks in dark rivulets. "I've perhaps never been more serious, and as you know, I cannot lie," he told her, his voice low and full of nectar. "I'm drawn to you, Sarah. Like a fly to the weeping wound of a peach, rolled to a stop inches away from suddenly still fingers."

"Visceral," she commented after an exasperated sigh. Her heart betrayed her with a series of extra thuds.

Jareth stared at her from beneath his inexplicably dark lashes, a smirk curling at his lips. "What about you, then?" he ventured. "What boxes must a partner check in order to meet your expectations?"

Sarah shot him a frosty look at the word expectations, and Jareth raised a brow at her. She huffed and considered the question before informing him, "Qualities and expectations aren't the same thing, Jareth."

"I'm listening," he said, in that quiet way he did when he wanted her to gain momentum and spill her guts.

"I'm not sure what qualities I would look for in a serious partner," she admitted with a shrug. "It's been a while since I've thought much about it."

Jareth kept his tone carefully neutral when he asked, "What's a while?"

Sarah searched his face for any signs of teasing. Finding none, she shrugged again and answered, "Years."

His eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean, years? Sarah, you've told me of partners—"

"No," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "I've had sexual partners. You've mentioned before how embroiled I've gotten in the past while in relationships. I've taken on too much for the wrong people and lost myself. I forgot what I needed. Somewhere along the line, I decided I was done with that. I needed a break to figure my shit out." She paused and rolled her eyes at his expression. "Oh, don't act so shocked. You obviously would have known if I was seeing someone seriously."

"I didn't know you were on commitment strike," he told her. "I worried I'd overstepped when things ended poorly between you and he-who-I-will-not-name years ago. I assumed you decided to stop divulging details about your relationships with me."

"Nope," Sarah said, reaching for the thermos and pouring a palmful of berries into her hand. "There were no recent relationships to divulge. I mean, aside from Pete. But we weren't serious, and I only stayed interested as long as I did because we didn't have sex."

Jareth's brows shot up to his soggy hairline. "You claimed he was knowledgeable," he accused.

Sarah smiled at him guiltily. "Your question was not specific," she informed him. "I did tell you he hadn't touched me how…" she trailed off, her mouth having started the statement before her brain was ready to complete it. She popped a huckleberry into her mouth instead.

"How I touched you, you mean?" he finished for her.

"He was the first person I'd tried to date-date in a long time," she continued, ignoring his question. "And I trusted him. That was new. But I didn't really enjoy him. I was more disappointed in myself for that than I ever was with him."

Jareth hummed an acknowledgment before asking, "Why would sex have made you lose interest?"

"It's not that it would have made me lose interest," Sarah clarified. "I think it's more that I would have been faced with the reality of my lack of feelings much sooner. I don't want that kind of power over someone."

Jareth's carefully neutral tone was back when he questioned, "Was he in love with you?"

"I started to think so around the time I broke things off, yeah," Sarah answered with a frown.

"I see," Jareth said. He stood and walked over to where she sat before sinking down beside her. He took a blackberry from her fingers and pressed it to her lips until she parted them to accept it. "And your other partners over the years?"

Sarah gave him a long look as she chewed. She could feel her frown etching deeper. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

He took a moment to consider, then replied, "Wanting to hear it and needing to know aren't the same thing, Sarah."

Her eyes widened at how smoothly he turned her own words around on her. She sighed and said, "I kept things casual. I think I got off on deliberately dating people I knew I couldn't trust. It was easier that way. I didn't have to try and trust them. No risk of getting hurt. No losing myself in someone else."

Jareth hummed again in understanding. "In essence, no one has power over you, Sarah."

She scoffed. "Can you blame me?"

"No," he said quickly. "I can understand it."

They sat in silence for a time. Sarah scooped more berries out of the thermos, only for Jareth to pluck them out of her palm.

"Anyway," Sarah continued. "I've spent enough time thinking about my past to have a pretty clear set of expectations for whoever is in my future: Don't bullshit me."

Jareth tossed a blueberry into the air, followed by a second and a third. "It sounds like you're asking for honesty," he said after catching them all in his mouth one by one. "Surely, that shouldn't be such a hard thing to promise."

"To be clear, I haven't hoped anyone would promise me anything for a long time," she told him. "But yeah, honesty. I'm not interested in being with someone I don't trust again."

"Noted," he said, fingertips poised at her lips with a raspberry. "And until then?"

"Until then…." Sarah mused, letting him push the berry into her mouth. "I masturbate." She gazed at him pensively for a long moment before adding, "A lot."

Jareth did too little, too late, to hide his shock at her disclosing such intimate knowledge. Sarah felt her thoughtful expression stretch into a grin as she studied his reaction. After a beat, he smiled back at her. A sense of relief hung around the pool as they sat there, exchanging grins and berries. Something had shifted in the atmosphere, a new layer of comfort settling between them.

"Resourceful," he complimented approvingly.

"Also, reliable, efficient," Sarah listed before tagging on, "and perfected."

"Perfected." Jareth raised an impressed eyebrow at her, his smile holding. "Congratulations, truly."

Sarah laughed and lifted her shoulders half-heartedly. "I'm just saying."

He sent her a look that said he was hanging on, anticipating the rest of her statement. When she only smirked secretively, waiting for him to ask, he did. "You are just saying, what, Sarah?"

She laughed again and rolled a blueberry across his lower lip. "You're trying to trick me into talking dirty to you," she accused, watching his lips close around the fruit. "Tell you every filthy detail."

Jareth cleared his throat in mock offense. "You just informed me that you have perfected the art of self-pleasure. Excuse me for incorrectly assuming you were willing to share your secrets."

"Maybe someday," she told him with a grin. "What about you? Have you figured it out yet?"

He looked suddenly stricken with remorse. "What if I sorrowfully reported that, no, I have not? That it's all just aimless fumbling around after all this time?"

Sarah patted his arm. "Then I'd tell you I was sorry to hear that and I sincerely hope you find the same luck I have."

"So generous," Jareth said with a chuckle. His eyes glittered as he confessed, "I've found it to be a convenient skill."

"Oh, a skill," Sarah remarked, suddenly unable to drag her eyes away from his astoundingly sensual hands. "Care to share any tips?"

He grinned. "That depends entirely on what sort of tip you're asking for."

Sarah snorted. "You know what I meant."

"I do," he admitted, booping her nose with a huckleberry. "And no, not at this time, but your interest in the matter is noted."

Sarah canted her head, her smile twisting into something new, something that made Jareth look nervous. "Interesting."

When she didn't continue, he mirrored her, his head cocking to the side. "Sarah," he said, his voice low and suspicious. "I know a setup when I see one."

"Ah." She smirked, tossing a berry in the air and missing it by a long shot. "Well-sussed."

Jareth huffed. "This is the part where I insist you tell me what is so interesting."

Sarah examined a nail distractedly. "Oh, just casually documenting that you ask me questions you aren't willing to answer yourself." Her tone was light, non-accusatory, but pointed. She dropped her hand and looked at him expectantly.

The mood shifted again as Jareth seemed to reel from being the one so bluntly called out for once. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment.

"You're right," he finally said, his simple words surprising her after such a prolonged period of non-verbal communication.

Sarah passed him a small smile and shrugged dismissively as if the moment that had just come and gone didn't hold the significance that it did. As if it wasn't, in a small way, a test. She wondered at this calculated evaluation of trust. She could feel it, there, in the way she studied him, her brow furrowed in concentration. Like she didn't want to miss a clue.

She decided she hated the test, the guilt sinking in her belly, and the look she felt on her face. She trusted Jareth, and he had nothing to prove to her. She forced the expression from her face and laughed in that rare, self-deprecating way that always made Jareth's lips twitch. "Aaaaaaanyway," she said. "I think I have effectively reached my over-share limit for the day. I am cutting myself off."

"Sarah, you didn't over-share." He took her hand, pouring reassurance he somehow knew she needed into the touch.

She looked down at their berry-stained fingers, spreading hers to allow his to slip between them. "I mean," she looked up at him, deadpan. "I shared a lot."

"You did," Jareth agreed with an appreciative sigh. "It was unforeseen knowledge I feel privileged to now hold."

Sarah laughed, and it was a real laugh this time—relieved, comfortable—and he smiled at her as if he knew it. She wondered when he had become such an expert in discerning between her laughs as Jareth lazily stroked the top of her hand. They sat like that for a long span of time, warm in the sun. When she turned her head to meet Jareth's eyes, he was looking down at their fingers through heavy lids. He appeared almost sleepy, lulled by his own slow, repetitive caresses. She smiled at how serene he was, only moments away from a dream. The anxiety that had been close to surfacing within her sank back to the depths as she watched his eyes drift closed.

Her heart sped up as she stared, free to admire him without his watchful gaze. He was ethereal in the summer sunshine. So beautiful it was almost hard to process. His cheeks were stained with makeup—his eyes rimmed in dark kohl. Feeling a sudden need to touch him, she shifted towards him slightly and rested her free hand on his knee beneath the water.

Jareth tensed, and his eyes sprang open and found hers. When she kept her hand where it was and made no further move, he exhaled a slow breath and settled back against the rocks.

Another silence stretched. He'd abandoned stroking her hand, seemingly distracted, but still held it loosely in his. Sarah was about to ask Jareth what he was thinking about when he spoke.

"This is new for me," he said quietly. "Experiencing nature like this. To feel it, smell it, hear it—without magic. And last night, laying under your stars and witnessing the expanse of it." He sent her a smile. "It's good for me to feel small every once in a while."

Despite the fact that Jareth was lithe and only a few inches taller than her—on paper, not large—it was impossible for Sarah to imagine him as anything close to small. He filled every space he occupied to max capacity.

"That's how I feel around you," she told him.

His brows pulled together. "Small?"

Sarah's lip slipped between her teeth for a moment, and she shook her head before clarifying. "More like…that feeling of wonder at the infinity of everything. I've spent my whole life staring up into the night sky, grappling with the fact that Earth is just a single planet, in a solar system, in a galaxy, in a universe," she broke off, her eyes wide as a thought struck her. "Not to mention all of the various possibilities of life therein. As soon as I think I've managed to get a fragile grip on accepting all that, here you come, violently reminding me that life is beyond any understanding I thought I had."

Jareth beamed at her and searched her face with sparkling eyes. "I wonder if you realize how stunningly romantic that was, Sarah."

Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned in and brushed her lips near the corner of his. "It was, wasn't it?" she murmured. Her voice sounded alien to her own ears; low and husky.

She could hear him suck in a quick breath. Instead of pulling away, she trailed her mouth across his cheekbone to his temple and pressed a kiss there. His fingers were slack around hers, and she slipped her hand free. It traveled up his arm on its own accord, sliding into the wet hair at his nape.

Jareth was tense again as she tugged his head to the side and traced the shell of his ear with her tongue. His low purr sent heat flooding through her, and she felt emboldened to keep exploring. The hand on his knee moved up to his thigh, fingers teasing beneath the bottom of his trunks as she nibbled his earlobe. She hummed in satisfaction when he growled, tipping his head further to grant her access to his neck as her lips found his throat.

Sarah kissed there, softly at first, gauging his reaction. He whimpered at each contact, and she wanted to bottle the sound and drink it. His skin tasted of salt when she sucked his pulse point, and she felt thoroughly out of control to stop what she had started. Mostly because she in no way wanted to.

She slid her hand out from beneath his bathing suit and let it slide over the material toward the apex of his thighs.

"Sarah," he gasped as her hand cupped his bulge and squeezed gently. "I desperately want to ask what you are doing, but I'm even more desperately afraid you will stop if I do."

Her hand stilled, and she pulled back to look at him. He was hard under her soft touches but looked dazed and almost overwhelmed. "Should I stop?" she asked.

"You're the only one here who can answer that," Jareth told her, and It sounded almost like a prayer.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sarah clarified, feeling his cock flex in protest beneath her fingers.

"No," he rasped. "Unless you want to."

"I don't," she said, withdrawing her hands from him entirely and passing him a sly smile when he groaned at their absence. "Get up on that ledge."

Jareth looked behind him to where she'd gestured to a gradual slope of limestone that fed into the water. When he met her gaze again, his eyes were wide and searching. "You want me to…?"

Sarah nodded.

He did as he was told, pushing himself back and up onto the rock so his body was out of the water above mid-thigh.

Her hands landed on the tops of his knees and pulled them apart. She moved between them and kneeled in the shallow water. Her eyes found his as her fingers busied with the laces of his bathing suit. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," he croaked roughly.

His hand reached down to touch her cheek, and Sarah glanced at him, somehow surprised by the intimacy of it. Grounded by it. She kissed a fingertip and pulled it into her mouth. Jareth moaned as she sucked the digit. His hips lifted when she tugged his trunks down. The material of his bathing suit clung to his skin for what felt like torturous minutes before his cock was free, dark at the tip and wanting.

Sarah stared and felt no shame in doing so. Her eyes traveled up his body to take him all in. "God damn," she breathed, ghosting her hand over the length of him.

Jareth's finger slipped from her mouth and traced the shape of her lips. "It excites you, this little surrender," he observed, his own breaths coming quicker.

She knew he meant her surrender, but she laughed and said, "Jareth, you're not a conquest." An involuntary whimper escaped him as she paused her touches to consider. "I will admit, though," she mused, tracing a vein with her thumb and smirking as he shuddered. "It's surreal, touching you like this."

He chuckled—a low, rumbling thing. "You don't seem the least bit intimidated."

"If I were, do you think I would tell you?" Sarah teased. Her fingers slipped around him in a firm grip and stroked him steadily. "And threaten the comfortable delusion I have wrapped myself in that you couldn't tear me apart if you wanted to?" Her expression was playful, her eyes full of challenge and locked on his as she brought the flushed tip of his cock a breath away from her parted lips.

Another chuckle, more strained around the edges this time. "If that is something you worry yourself over, Precious, you've found yourself in a compromising position."

"That fucking name," she said, before pressing a kiss beneath the head of his cock. Her lips lingered, and she hummed, letting her voice vibrate against his skin. "As I've said, I'm not afraid of you, Goblin King," she added, reveling in his disbelieving grunt as she licked a stripe along his length with the flat of her tongue.

Before Jareth could respond, his cock was past her lips and in her mouth. He gasped. "I'm trying so hard to focus on what you're saying right now because it sounds"—he broke off into a mewl as she swirled her tongue around the ridge of his tip—"important, but gods, Sarah, your tongue…."

Sarah smiled around him, pleased with herself. "You said I was in a compromising position," she reminded him, rolling her tongue over a vein as if to prove him wrong. "I told you I'm not afraid."

He sucked in a breath. "I don't want your fear anymore."

She pulled off and leveled him with a hard, considering look. "Well, that was… loaded." Her hand continued to stroke him, slick with her saliva. When Jareth reached for her again, she danced away from him playfully and said, "So, without the fear me bit, we are left with…."

Jareth's hand moved over hers, stopping her movements. "Don't," he hissed, the urgency in his voice giving her pause. He must have seen the surprise in her expression because his features softened. He stroked the top of her hand. "If you are going to touch me like this, I don't want fear to have anything to do with it. I don't want what is happening right now to be about long ago words, spoken under completely different circumstances."

They stared at each other as Sarah weighed his words. And the words he'd stopped her from saying.

Love me, do as I say….

Silent acknowledgment of this seemed to pass between them, and Sarah sent him a crooked smile. "I appreciate that, but I can assure you. Your cock is about to be back in my mouth for no other reason aside from that I want it to be." Her fingers tightened around his shaft beneath his hand. "And I plan to get off really hard about it, too."

Jareth's head fell back, and he moaned, deep and uninhibited. The hand that covered hers slackened and drifted to her hair as she resumed pumping him slowly.

Her free hand cupped his balls and rolled them as her mouth found the head of his cock again, the flat of her warm tongue trailing around the tip. She drank in every whimper, every pant, and halted breath. Every tensing of his fingers in her hair. She was all subtle licks and kisses. Teasing, still. Until she wasn't. He made a strangled noise as she pushed the head into her mouth and sucked, massaging the underside with her tongue.

Sarah paused and waited for his eyes to focus on hers. When they did, she told him, "I want you to talk me off."

Jareth's hips bucked up, and his hand clutched at her hair almost painfully. "Fuck, sorry," he ground out between clenched teeth. "But you are actively testing my immortality."

She chuckled. "Don't apologize. I like it." She sucked his length, letting her teeth barely touch the tip before she pulled off and demanded, "Now do as I say."

He shuddered. "So cruel, Sarah."

"So I've been told," Sarah said before laying a kiss on his hip bone. "I'm waiting."

Jareth swallowed, and a rush of slickness pooled between Sarah's thighs as she watched the apple of his throat move. A heady moan tumbled from her lips that she did nothing to conceal, and Jareth sucked in a sharp breath.

"Gods, how I've dreamt of hearing that sound," he purred. "Touch your breasts for me, Sarah. Outside the fabric."

Sarah could feel the triumph on her face as her fingers moved to trail across her collarbone. Jareth watched her with rapt attention as they dipped lower and traced the cusp of a breast before squeezing it lightly. "Like this?"

"Like that," he agreed and gasped as the hand on his cock began to move again. "Graze your nipple. I want to see it stiffen under your touch."

Her palm ghosted circles over the peak of her breast, and she mumbled a curse as her sensitive nipple responded to the friction.

"Move the bathing suit," Jareth said, sounding more comfortable in his demands. His careful control was slipping, hips undulating, unchecked, while he watched her. "Show me."

Sarah slid her hand under the bikini top and brushed it aside. She let her breast fill her hand and jolted as her thumb rubbed over her hard nipple at a pace that matched the slide of her fingers on his cock.

Her name dripped with desire as it spilled from his lips like he'd said it just the same in his most private moments hundreds of times before. "I can smell you," he growled, nostrils flaring. "I've smelled you before, wanting me. Wanting this. Wanting more than this."

Another wave of heat crashed through her, and she whimpered a plea for her next instruction.

"Slip your hand down your body, Sarah," Jareth directed between panting breaths. "Cup your cunt for me."

Sarah obeyed, keeping her eyes locked with his as she brought him back to her lips. She let her tongue dance along the tip as she rocked into her palm. Their twin keening sounds almost sent Sarah over the edge, and she fought to maintain eye contact as her vision went white.

"Good," he told her, his gaze never wavering. "Now, I want to watch you touch your clit."

Relief and excitement bubbled in her chest as her thumb pushed the suit to the side. She paused for a moment to let Jareth see her exposed flesh unobscured and smirked when he groaned and bit his lip.

Sarah teased around the tip of his cock as her fingers dragged a circular rhythm over her clit. Her eyes stayed trained on him, watching his gaze drift in a circuit between her face, exposed breast, and moving hand.

"That's so good, Sarah," Jareth praised. "Now slip a fingertip between your lips." His voice was deeper, more resonant than she had ever heard it, and she felt it vibrating through her bones. "Tell me how wet you are."

"So wet," she confessed, her lips flush to his skin as she moved them over his shaft. She relished the slickness of her finger and the moan in his throat as she sank her mouth on him and sucked hungrily.

Jareth hissed, and his fingers tightened at her scalp as he tugged her off of him. "Tell me who you are wet for, Precious,” he demanded.

Her whole body pulsed in response. "You," Sarah told him, pussy clenching with anticipation. "Always you."

The howl he let out was a primal, possessive thing, and his fingers flexed before loosening in her hair.

"Curl a finger inside and imagine it's mine," he ordered.

Sarah pushed his cock past her lips and did as he commanded. Their joint noises of bliss set Sarah's nerves ablaze. It was intoxicating, and she felt drunk with it. The hand between her legs began to move without his instruction, and a second finger joined the first, but Jareth didn't complain.

His chest heaved with ragged breaths as he watched. "I'm going to lose myself in this," he told her. "In your hot, sweet mouth. In the wet sounds of you taking your pleasure. In the feeling of your hair between my fingers, on my hips, my belly, my thighs."

Sarah hummed, low and imploring, and hoped he understood her meaning.

Do it. Lose yourself. I'm already lost.

And it was true, she thought, as she drifted in and out of reality. This was Jareth—his cock in her mouth, his fingers in her hair, his shudders and gasps just for her. It all seemed to be happening so slowly. Each sound and touch stretched over a lifetime.

All there was was him.

"Oh, Sarah," Jareth panted. "It's almost too much. Nearly painful, I can't—"

His words choked off into a pleading whine as Sarah instinctively tightened her grip around his shaft and quickened her pace.

Jareth broke eye contact for the first time, his lids fluttering closed. He looked truly lost, as promised.

Sarah drank in the sight of him, blissed and wild and out of control. She moaned around him and felt an overwhelming electrifying shiver travel from the top of his head to the tips of her toes.

"I am at your mercy," he breathed, and his gaze found hers again and held. "I will think about how you look with my cock disappearing down your throat for the rest of eternity."

The coiling tension in her belly threatened to snap, and she bucked desperately against her hand. She could hear herself distantly, muffled, vocal, and beseeching as she devoured him.

"Sarah." Her name was a command on his lips. "Come with me."

Sarah curled her fingers deeper, finding the spot that rippled over her nerves and massaged. Her thumb rubbed rough friction over her clit, and she took Jareth as deep as she could. His unrestrained roar of pleasure was enough to send her spiraling into warm bliss. He followed, fingers flexing in her hair as he spilled into her mouth. The amalgamation of his guttural groans and her own whimpers of release had her coming undone again while she fucked her fingers. It was all she could do to keep her eyes locked with his as she licked him clean.

Jareth tugged at Sarah's hair gently, and she pulled off, collapsing across his thighs while she rode her aftershocks through. He stroked her face with touches so tender that she fought the sudden urge to cry from the overwhelming current of emotion flowing between them. She felt exquisitely vulnerable and sated as he held her in his gaze, cradling her with yet unspoken words she felt ready to finally hear.

Chapter Text

Jareth's fingertip feathered across Sarah's parted lips as she came down in the warmth of the late morning sun. Her chest felt tight with emotion as her gaze drifted over him—sweaty and spent and stunning. He was exquisite in his nudity and unabashedly half-hard as he leaned back on his elbows to peer down at her.

"What did I do to deserve that?" he asked, his voice a soft rasp.

She wrapped an arm around his legs and pulled his lower body closer in a strange little hug. "You were being romantic."

His face split into a dreamy grin. "It was romantic of me to point out that something you said was romantic?"

Sarah let her eyes dance with his. "Very," she said before pressing a kiss to his hip bone. She relished his small gasp and the way his abdominal muscles clenched. His responsiveness to her touches had her heart swelling with a passion she hadn't known she could access.

"I'll remember that," Jareth told her, sighing regretfully as she rolled off of him and onto her side. His sigh cut off as he watched Sarah's hand slip from between her thighs.

Heat coiled in her belly as his nostrils flared. She held her hand up to him for inspection, reveling in how his cock thickened at the sight of her fingers glistening in the sunshine.

His eyes bore into hers. "I want to taste you."

Worded so thoughtfully. Not a request. A clearly stated desire.

As always, it was her choice.

Something about that made her heart begin to race anew—not with lust alone—but with a sudden urgency for closeness. She wrangled her face into a coy smile and wiggled her fingers in what she hoped looked like a casual offering.

Jareth gripped her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. He held her gaze while he licked up her palm and split two sticky fingers apart with his tongue. His eyes closed, savoring her as they slipped past his parted lips.

She hummed, a fresh rush of heat flooding her senses as he sucked her fingers clean. "That wasn't what you meant, was it?" she asked as he pulled them from his mouth with an obscenely wet sound.

Both pupils were blown when his eyes snapped open to meet hers. "It wasn't all I meant," he agreed, lying back with a salacious smirk. His lips were slick with her, and he licked them slowly before sending her a wink. "Venture up here if you're curious."

Sarah was curious.

She did nothing to conceal her own smirk as she moved up his body until she hovered over him at eye level. She searched his face. "So…."

Jareth's expression cracked into a wicked grin. "Say it, Sarah." He tapped her forehead. "I'm sure whatever you have brewing up here is too delicious to go unheard."

A shiver traveled through her, and Jareth released a small, sensuous moan. She thought about what she must look like—her disheveled hair, her swollen lips, her naked breast with the painfully taut nipple aching for his mouth. Part of her wanted to tell him how deeply curious she was. Part of her wanted to cover herself with her hands.

But that wouldn't accomplish anything, she knew. It wasn't her body that she felt suddenly self-conscious of under his gaze, but everything else.

And he did see. He drank her in, every small shift in her face, every sound, every reaction. She could feel herself beginning to spiral into discordant extremes of feeling overexposed yet overcome with desire for more of him.

His hands slid under her hair to cradle the base of her skull. "Sarah," he said softly. "Did I lose you?"

A question with a thousand meanings.

Jareth's gaze stayed fixed on hers, anchoring her to the moment. Pinning her to the-now-of-it.

"Of course not," Sarah reassured him quickly. When he just looked at her expectantly, she let her next words tumble out. "You are suggesting I straddle your face, right?"

He chuckled darkly, glittering eyes holding hers. "Suggesting?" His thumb brushed over the shell of her ear. "Oh, Sarah. If I wasn't so concerned for your knees, I would beg you for it."

Every nerve sparked to attention, her body clenching for his touch. She glanced at the unforgiving limestone on either side of Jareth's head and gave a decidedly fuck it shrug. "I don't need you to beg me," she told him, pushing herself up. "I need you to touch me."

Jareth let his hands fall from her hair and smoothed them over her hips. He squeezed, steadying her as her thighs slid over his shoulders and her shaky knees met stone. His thumbs pressed along the insides of her thighs as she sat back on his chest, just out of reach of his lips. Sarah's hips jerked when he grazed under the material of her bathing suit, inhaling sharply at the sensation of his fingertips so near her swollen flesh.

His fingers stilled. "Sensitive?" he asked, voice as silken as his touch.

"Yes," she breathed, guiding one of his hands up her torso. "I'm okay. Don't stop."

His lips curved. "I'll take my time," he promised. The hand between her legs shifted to cup her gently over her suit—a barely there hold that Sarah rocked into instinctively. The fingertips of his other hand skated over her ribs before moving up to splay between her breasts. He pressed there for a moment, both palms holding her. Half possessive. Half reassuring.

…Though Sarah wasn't sure exactly who he thought needed reassuring.

His touch burned through her like a wildfire. She'd never been as desperate for anything as she was for the feeling of his warm hands on her skin. "Please," she heard herself whisper as her fingers threaded in his hair.

It was hard to care that she was the one begging when Jareth's answering growl rumbled through her body and buried itself into her bones. A delicious heat pooled in her core, molten and searing.

Jareth seemed to be able to feel it against his palm, judging by the smugness tinting the edges of his hungry expression.

"Need me, do you?" he drawled, shifting his hand to slide a long finger under her bathing suit. He hummed appreciatively when he brushed over her slit and found her slick with want.

Sarah started to protest when he moved his hand but sucked in a breath as his wet fingertip ghosted over her nipple.

"It's magic," Jareth told her reverently. "Being able to give you what you need." His palms spread over her aching breasts, and Sarah sighed in relief when he held them fully. "To see what it does to you."

Her back arched as he rolled the peaks of her breasts between thumb and forefinger. "No magic while camping," she managed to remind him, nails scraping warningly against his scalp.

Jareth chuckled, but his expression was serious as his gaze roved over her. His hands skimmed down her sides, and Sarah jumped as his thumbs dipped into her belly button. He pressed a palm to her mons, increasing the pressure until she rolled her hips forward to meet it. His other hand slid to her thigh and squeezed a moan from her.

Sarah's blood was thundering in her veins. Every nerve screamed for him when he locked eyes with her from beneath his dark lashes.

"All this tempting skin so near my lips," he murmured. "And not a single invitation to worship it."

His sultry pout wasn't mocking, and the sight of it had her grinding into his hand again.

"Yes," she breathed.

"Yes?" he asked. "Say the words, Sarah, so I can feel you come apart around my tongue."

"Yes," Sarah said again. "I want your mouth on me, Jareth." She tugged his hair with conviction and added, "Intimately."

He flashed her a depraved grin. "So you are curious," he purred, slipping his hands under her ass and scooping her forward to hover above his face.

She lowered herself and gasped as he licked along the crease of her thigh. "Yes," she heard herself repeating and wondered vaguely if she could recall any other words.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

One of Sarah's hands moved from his hair to her bathing suit. She hesitated, her finger hooked underneath the lining.

Their eyes caught, and he smiled. "Tell me," he ventured, blowing a gentle stream of air over where he'd licked. "Once you've managed to push that material aside, what will I do first?"

Her fingers were frozen, but her heart beat furiously in her chest as she stared down at him. "I want to feel the press of your tongue on me. On all of me. Covering me."

Holding me. Rooting me here.

Making this real.

Jareth looked calm and frantic all at once, eyes overbright, pupils darting between hers. "And how will I make you come?"

Sarah's mind raced with imagery, and a small moan slipped past her lips. "With your tongue inside me and your hands everywhere," she said, sliding the suit aside. "The rest I want to stay curious about."

His fingertips trailed up her spine and across her ribs. "Lovely," he breathed, and Sarah wasn't sure if he meant her sentiments or her exposed flesh. He admired her for a moment, and Sarah held her breath. Before she could feel self-conscious, his tongue was flat and warm against her core.

The feeling of him there sent a current of relief through her. Whatever worries she'd had about being unable to stay in the moment evaporated as she slid forward against his open mouth.

Jareth growled, eyes flashing as he met her rolling hips with the caress of his tongue.

She answered him with a moan and tightened her fingers in his hair, shivering as his palms grazed over her nipples. "Yes," she praised, leaning into the touch. "More of that. More of all of that."

Clever fingers teased her breasts as his mouth closed around her fully. He gave her a few slow, wet pulses of suction.

The corners of her vision burst with bright light, and Sarah barely recognized the keening whine that spilled from her throat as she fought to hold his stare.

Jareth sucked at her folds gently—gauging her—his gaze trained on her face. His eyes held a question as his tongue cautiously stroked along the edge of her clit.

It wasn't direct, but it was shockingly intense, and her hips twitched away from his mouth involuntarily. His earlier words came back to her—'almost too much, nearly painful'—and Sarah wanted to warn him she felt that way now.

He paused, and she knew he understood when his eyes caught hers. They were warm for all their wildness, full of the patience and refuge she had learned to believe in.

Her hand in Jareth's hair dropped to push stray silver-gold strands from his eyes and lingered over his brow. Sarah felt a sudden rush of affection for him, and she tensed and relaxed at the same time.

She sat back and untied her bathing suit before tossing it aside, and Jareth hummed in appreciation.

"Move your feet to either side of my head and lean back on your hands," he instructed, a sinful curve to his glistening mouth. "I imagine your knees are already in a pitiful condition, and I can only be so tender."

Sarah complied without hesitation, and Jareth gripped her hips and pulled her forward. His breath was hot at her center as his hands spread her open. Sarah watched his eyes close as his lips fluttered over her wet slit, and some distant, petty part of her brain was envious of his excruciatingly beautiful lashes.

His hands slid around to cup her ass, bringing her even closer. Sarah let her head fall back, and her own eyes close when his tongue teased her apart. A guttural groan thrummed through him when he tasted her fully for the first time—tongue dipping between her lips and licking a slow stripe toward her entrance, collecting her nectar.

Sarah was struggling to remember to breathe. The anticipation of having his tongue inside of her, of feeling Jareth inside of her, was bordering on too much.

Relief, both searing and euphoric, rushed through her as his tongue slid inside and caressed her fluttering walls. A hand roamed her body as the other pulled her down, encouraging her to move. Her hips rocked obediently against his mouth, and she was intoxicated with the feeling of it. The sounds of it. She melted into him as she came apart, and it was exactly as promised, but so much more. It felt more like a fusing than a sudden explosion—a rippling that built and carried her through.

His gaze was worshipful as he drank from her, his lips and tongue a gentle slide as she floated back down to reality. Both of his hands held her firmly by the hips as her legs shook and threatened to buckle. He helped to guide her off of him, and Sarah missed the feeling of him between her thighs as soon as it was gone.

Her internal lament at his absence died when he moved over her, blocking out the sun. Silver-gold strands tickled her hypersensitive skin as his warm lips stirred at her cheek. Sarah's head swam as it caught up with the sensations of all the places he was touching—his knee against her pulsing cunt, a hand cradling her face, the other splayed across her sternum.

Part of her wondered if she was in a dream, but of the countless dreams she'd had of him, none were as visceral as this. Her nerves burned, and her senses screamed with near overload. Jareth's shoulders were slick with sweat as her hands moved to tangle in the matted mess of hair at the nape of his neck. The warm air around them was thick with the smell of their sex, and she wanted to taste herself on his lips.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp jolt of almost-pain as Jareth's teeth clipped her collarbone. He chuckled when she jumped. "I take back what I said about you not being bitey enough to be a fairy," she told him.

His face was full of mischief when he looked up at her. "If you weren't grinding against my leg like that, I'd assume you didn't enjoy it." He paused and feigned deep consideration. "But, since you are, and you did, I think I will bite you again."

His hands moved to cup her breasts as he trailed kisses up her neck. Sarah mewled in anticipation as he traced her artery with his tongue.

"Will I bite you here?" he mused. "Your heart is beating so fast, Sarah. I worry it might just stop."

"I hate you," Sarah groaned, but her declaration weakened halfway as he suckled her pulse.

Jareth flicked her nipples lightly. "You don't," he reminded her, teeth grazing skin.

Sarah arched into him. "I really don't."

He growled as his mouth closed around her throat—a hold with teeth that vibrated through her. She felt pinned. Fastened, even as she neared coming undone again. And somehow, she felt safer than ever before as he increased the pressure of the bite, his teeth scraping to a close around her vein.

Her vision burst with light as he nipped her, his thumbs pinching her nipples. She dug her fingers deeper into his hair as she urged his other leg between hers.

Jareth let Sarah pull him down as he smoothed his palms over her breasts and licked the bite. His fingers moved to her hair as he braced himself on his elbows.

Sarah's thighs tightened around his hips instinctively as his cock slid over her clit. Feeling him pressing there, heavy and hard, was unlike anything she could have imagined—enough, and not enough, and everything.

She rocked her hips into him and moaned at the wet slide of her cunt along his length.

Jareth exhaled hotly against her neck and pulled back to look at her. His chest was heaving, and Sarah had never seen him look so near the edge of his control. His pupils were indistinguishable, both bottomless wells of black. Her breath caught as she watched her most-favorite crinkles appear around corners as his eyes warmed. The desire that pooled within them was expected, but there were other emotions swirling in their depths—emotions Sarah felt sure were reflected in her own gaze.

His hands moved to cradle her face. "Is this alright?" he asked. "All of this."

Her thundering heart skipped a beat at his tender question. "It's…more than alright," she said, rolling her hips unconsciously. She hissed at the intensity of it, of feeling him in this way. She became aware that she was hardly breathing, and her eyes were beginning to sting. Her hands fell from his hair to frame his face, and she whispered, "But it's a lot."

"I know," Jareth soothed, resting his forehead against hers.

His eyes closed, and Sarah watched them move beneath the lids before letting her own eyes shut.

She could feel something shifting as they held each other's faces, inhaling one another in a syncing rhythm. Something was opening, or had opened, between them, and it made her want to spill every secret she didn't know she had, cry, and guide him inside her all at once.

"Sarah." His voice was quiet. "It's a lot for me, too."

She felt him pull back, and when her eyes opened, he was watching her. Her heart lurched at the vulnerable set of his mouth, the way he searched her eyes for a challenge.

Her thumbs glided over his frown lines, and she said, "I know it is, Jareth."

And she did know. She wasn't in this alone.

Jareth relaxed and brushed his lips against both cheeks. "We can slow down," he told her, kissing the tip of her nose. "Or, take a break. Or, stop entirely, never again to revisit—"

"I don't want to stop," she blurted, concerned he would 'or' her into an early grave. "I want to be close to you."

"Oh, good," he purred, and a smile curled at his lips. He studied her for a moment before saying, "I think it's best we delight in touch and taste alone for today, though, hmm?"

Relief and disappointment sparred within her, but she felt the earnestness of his words.

When she nodded, Jareth slipped a hand between them. He pressed a kiss to her chin, lingering there and watching her eyes as his fingertips teased her entrance. "Is this alright?"

"Yes," she whispered.

His breath was warm near her mouth. "Have you imagined my fingers inside of you before?" he asked, coaxing her apart. "Before I commanded it."

Sarah huffed out a breathy laugh at the question. It felt ridiculous to hide her desires from him now. When he arched a brow at her, she said, "Often."

Jareth hummed and curled a finger inside. "I wonder," he said as he searched over her rippled flesh. "If the fantasy felt anything like this."

Sarah moaned, and her head hit limestone as his finger found its mark and massaged. "I don't remember hitting my head in any fantasies," she commented before nearly repeating the action when a second finger joined the first.

"Careful, now," he admonished. "Don't want to spoil your pleasure with a head injury while I am pretend-magicless."

She didn't have it in her to volley a sharp retort back as he crooked his fingers, deepening his strokes. "Wouldn't…want that," she agreed.

Jareth kissed the dip below her bottom lip, and Sarah felt like he had stolen the breath from her body. Her head turned to catch his lips with hers, but he was already leaving open-mouth kisses down the column of her neck. A small wave of anxiety coursed through her as her brain registered the reflexive urge to kiss him and how close she had come to doing so. She wondered if he had known. If he had felt it.

Her thoughts stuttered as his lips brushed over a nipple, and she was lost again to sensation. He smiled against her skin as it erupted in goosebumps, a lascivious thing juxtaposed with the slick sounds of his hand between her thighs. Each caress was purposeful, every stroke pulling sounds from her she barely believed were hers.

When his tongue rolled over her breast and teased the nipple into his mouth, it was his name that poured past her lips. He moaned around her, lips and tongue gliding in time with his fingers.

Sarah was breathless and felt weightless and heavy all at once. She'd never experienced anything like this before from a lover—this tender urging, this coaxing. She'd associated sex with thrusting and a race to the finish line, but his hand barely moved as his fingers deftly pressed and rubbed her most sensitive places.

Fresh heat bloomed in her belly as he kissed across her sternum and freed her other breast from her bathing suit with his teeth. He paid it the same attention he had the other, and she felt an unbearable tension coiling within her as his teeth grazed her nipple.

Sarah realized abruptly that her fingers had been frozen in a white-knuckle grip in his hair. She loosened her hold and ran her hands over his shoulders. "Jareth," she said, the pleading she'd heard earlier back in her voice. "Can you…"

Jareth glanced up at her. When she faltered for words, he said, "Anything."

"I need you up here with me," she told him, feeling inexplicably embarrassed in her vulnerability. "I just—"

"I'm here," he swore. And he was, his face hovering just above hers, brushing their noses.

I'm glad, Sarah wanted to say, but instead, she kissed one cheek and then the other. She could tell by his widening eyes that he was surprised by the affection and felt the familiar weight of guilt press down on her chest. She wanted to say something, to tell him she was in cheek-kiss debt and would pay it back with interest, but his thumb brushed over her clit, and her brain fractured.

Her hand moved down his chest and hovered low on his stomach. "Can I touch you again?" she asked, needing him to share in what she was feeling.

Jareth's abdominal muscles tensed under her caress. "You can let this be about you," he assured her, though his cock strained for her touch.

"It's about us," Sarah told him, gasping as he gradually increased the friction of his thumb.

His eyes flashed at those words with something she was sure she felt but couldn't name. And she'd meant it, she knew, as she gazed up at him with his kohl-rimmed eyes and swollen lips still stained with a hint of purple, evidencing their earlier berry flirtations.

For a brief moment, she was somewhere else, sitting on a makeup-strewn bathroom counter with a Goblin King between her knees.

"I want you to make a mess of us," Sarah told him with the smallest of coy smiles, "so we can wash each other clean."

She knew he understood her meaning when Jareth groaned, and she reflexively tightened around his touches as she watched precome drip down his tip.

"Gods," he hissed. "Yes. Touch me."

There was a feeling of sinking into each other as her hand wrapped around him. His lips were near her ear when he whispered her name. And she was saying his, she realized, breathing it in and out like air. It was impossible to know how long they held that space together, fingers exploring. Sarah was again struck by how dreamlike it all was and yet more real than anything she'd ever felt.

Desperate to prove it, she slipped her free hand in his hair and tipped his head, exposing his throat. She kissed him there with an open mouth and relished in his whine when her teeth teased his artery. Though she'd kissed his neck earlier, there was something new about the way her lips moved over him now and how willingly he surrendered to it without question. Something liquid and molten about it, an unspoken exchange of power and trust.

As if on agreed-upon instinct, hands picked up their rhythm as Sarah's teeth closed around Jareth's throat. The feeling of his quick pulse against her tongue was overwhelming, and she was overcome with the sensation of having his heart in her teeth.

He chanted her name like a mantra as she stroked the bite with her tongue. The world began to dissolve around them; mouths and hands on sweaty skin and the sounds of their love were all there was.

She buried her face in his neck and held on to him, feeling all the world like she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. The rippling within her became a desperate squeeze around his fingers, and she cried his name—a warning and a prayer. Her senses fragmented into a billion particles of white light as the first waves of her climax crested through her.

Jareth quivered, his cock pulsing in her hand as hot bursts of liquid hit her belly and chest. His murmured praise against her throat was hypnotic as fingers massaged her fluttering walls, his thumb a gentle pressure over her clit that she rocked into until it was almost too much again.

His movements were already slowing like he'd anticipated her nearing overstimulation when her hand caught his wrist. And then his full weight was on her—crushing her into the limestone.

Sarah couldn't care about the bite of it into her back or the stinging of her scraped knees. All that mattered was the taste of his sweat on her tongue, the syncopation of their ragged breaths, and the slick glide of his body over hers. It all just felt right, like part of it, and as Jareth's arms haloed around her head, she knew they were bound by something that was uniquely theirs.

And there was no going back.

Chapter Text

Sarah lost time as they held each other, Jareth's arms cocooning her head as she stroked his back languidly. She kept her face tucked in his neck, unable to look at him while she drifted back down to earth. The heat of his sticky weight that caged her against the limestone was grounding and suffocating and perfect.

As if intuiting her struggle to breathe and regulate her body temperature, Jareth peeled himself off her with a reluctant little sigh. Sarah admired him as he stood and stretched—a study in obscenity, unashamed by how his skin gleamed with sweat and come. Their eyes caught briefly as he pulled her to her feet before he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and tugged her toward the pool.

The sun was high in the cloudless summer sky as they slipped wordlessly back into the water, resuming their places on their half-submerged thrones. Sarah untied her bikini top and tossed it aside, deciding it would be more awkward to sit there adjusting it back in place while she still had no bottoms on. The silence between them was comfortable but delicate. Sarah was vaguely aware of the sound of the waterfall and creatures around them, but all she could focus on was the memory of their names echoing in the voice of the other. She couldn't formulate the appropriate first words after all that had just been exchanged between them, and Jareth seemed pensive, sated, and nervous all at once.

A bird of prey screamed shrilly overhead. Their chins tilted upwards in unison, eyes tracking the raptor's path across the sky before it wheeled back to complete a circuit.

"Hello, friend," Sarah heard herself say, warmth swelling in her chest at the familiar sight.

In her peripheral vision, Sarah could see Jareth turn his head slightly to glance at her, and she became aware of the dopey smile on her face. "I'm happy to see him."

She couldn't see it, but she felt the lift of Jareth's eyebrow. "'He? How can you be sure?" He sounded truly curious rather than challenging.

Sarah's smile stretched. "So your ornithological knowledge doesn't extend beyond owls?"

"It does not," Jareth lamented. "That would have made extracting Éclair out of Point Pleasant much less of a debacle, I'd imagine. The language barrier proved troublesome."

She laughed, but her eyes didn't stray from the sky. "I can tell he's a male because he's fairly small for an adult," she explained. "I know he's full-grown because fledglings are just leaving the nest about now. They'd look pretty pathetic compared to him, and hawks reach adulthood within their first year. We'll probably see the female at some point. She'll be bigger than him."

Jareth was quiet, and his expression urged her onward when her eyes slid to his for the first time since that shared glance when he'd helped her up.

"They mate for life," Sarah pressed on, grateful for the hawk's presence so she had an excuse to look away from his overly observant gaze. "We should come back in the Spring when they are courting. They put on quite a song and dance. I saw one throw a snake to another mid-air once when I was a kid. It was epic."

"I seem to remember tossing a snake your way once." He sighed a rueful sigh. "You were less than impressed."

Sarah smirked. "I like snakes when they aren't being lobbed at my face," she told him. "You could have at least let me keep it. I've never cared for scarves unless they are worn by a cute talking worm."

"No reptiles or textiles as projectiles," Jareth noted.

"Nice one," she said on the back of a snort. "And that wasn't a romantic gesture, it was an impulsive tantrum at being defied."

"True," he conceded. "I hope my approach to romance is considerably more compelling."

"Considerably," Sarah agreed and immediately felt her cheeks flame at the admission. She rushed into more bird facts to keep the conversation from descending into territory she wasn't prepared to traverse just yet. "I was hoping we'd see them. I figured we would when we saw the owl last night."

"What does the owl have to do with the hawk?" Jareth asked, not seeming at all miffed that Sarah was channeling David Attenborough instead of opening up the conversation to discuss what had happened between them only moments before.

"Red-shouldered hawks like this guy are the diurnal counterpoint to the Barred Owl we saw last night," Sarah elaborated.

Jareth said nothing in that I don't know what the hell you just said to me kind of way.

"They share the same niche but hunt during the day instead of at night," she supplied. "So, seeing the Barred Owl hunting indicates a healthy, balanced ecosystem. And therefore"—she held up an index finger as though illustrating she'd arrived at her main point—"if a Barred Owl is thriving, the Red-shouldered Hawks probably can too since they share similar food sources."

Jareth continued his quietude, and when Sarah glanced over at him, he was looking at her with a baffled expression. "Sarah Williams, who are you?" he demanded. "I thought I knew you well, but after this weekend, I have dawning concerns that you are, in fact, a changeling and not Sarah at all."

Sarah relaxed, his teasing making her feel marginally more at ease despite the chorus of feelings and questions roaring within her. She let her shoulder remain smooshed against his after bumping him lightly. "How does one go about introducing the fact that their brain holds an inordinate amount of nature knowledge?" she asked. "It doesn't exactly make me a hit at parties."

"You don't typically attend parties, so I'd imagine you're not often faced with that dilemma," he replied. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and he added, "I should amend that statement. You only attend parties where dildos, champagne, and tawdry undergarments are issued as favors."

She choked around the raspberry she'd popped into her mouth. "Hush, you."

Jareth grinned and said, "I wasn't asking about your go-to icebreakers amongst strangers. I'm curious why you've withheld such an important part of you from me all this time."

Sarah abandoned the berries and considered his question. "I don't think I meant to. It's not like there is much wildlife in the city to influence a conversation about it, and what am I supposed to say, 'Hey, wow, you're an owl. I'm not an owl, but let me infodump at you about them for hours.'"

He chuckled. "I might suggest some slight rephrasing, but yes." He assessed her for a moment before continuing, "Did you think I wouldn't care to know this part of you? Or that I would be disinterested?"

"I wasn't sure what to think, but…" she trailed off.

"But?" he prompted.

"I don't know. I'd seen you with the bat—how tender you were. It raised questions about you that I wasn't ready to explore," Sarah revealed. "I guess I subconsciously set up a barrier around nature discussions in general."

Jareth preened with theatric confidence. "You were worried you'd tumble even further into love with me if you fully understood my animal affinity, you mean."

"...Sure," she said noncommittally, dragging out the word.

Shhhhuuuuure.

But he was right, she knew, and he knew it too, judging by the way his eyes danced with hers at her lack of outright denial.

She moved off of the rocks and further into the water. The pool had warmed since earlier, but it still felt refreshingly cool against her flushing skin.

When she heard sloshing sounds following behind her, she turned to see Jareth striding through the water holding the bottle of soap in one hand and gesturing to it demonstratively with the other. "Come over here," he told her, "and let me wash you. It really is the least I can offer."

"So I've learned," Sarah quipped and bit her lip, unsure of why her brazenness surprised her now, even after they'd thoroughly debauched each other.

"Oh-ho!" Jareth exclaimed, delighted. "So, we aren't going to pretend none of that happened?"

A hint of a smirk played at her lips. "None of what?" she asked as they met where the water was up to their bellies.

His mouth fell in a cartoonish frown—a true upside-down smile.

"No, we aren't going to pretend it didn't happen," Sarah allowed, unable to stand that look on his face. "But for fuck's sake, give me a bit of a breather to decompress before you start in on me about it."

Jareth hummed. "Fair," he said, then as if unable to help himself asked, "Could you please define 'a bit of a breather'? Because you still have my spill on your chest, and it's exceedingly distracting."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Who's fault is that?"

"Entirely yours," he informed her matter of factly.

"Fair," she parroted.

They shared a grin as Jareth squirted soap into his hands and worked it into a lather. "May I rectify the situation? Though I should mention, I thoroughly hope to repeat it."

"Your hands? Gracing these tits? Never." Sarah scoffed in mock offense. "Unfathomable."

He chuckled but made no move to touch her. "Is that a yes? Or do you prefer I just stand here with soapy hands and whatever lewd expression I'm certain my face is displaying as I gaze upon the glorious evidence of what I'm not supposed to speak about?"

"Right, because you're not currently speaking about it," she admonished half-heartedly.

"Damn," Jareth cursed with a feigned scowl. "I had hoped you were too busy being foundationally contrary to have noticed."

Sarah returned the scowl but otherwise ignored the insult. "Wash me, please."

He moved behind her and smoothed strong hands over her arms, shoulders, and back. He took his time, massaging her muscles. His hands slipped to her front and glided up her belly and chest. His fingers passed over her nipples once but did not repeat the action when she jerked at the overstimulation.

"Sorry," he said and kissed her temple.

"It's fine, they're just—"

"I know," Jareth assured her. His hands moved over her hips and paused at her inner thighs. "Is this alright? I promise I will be gentle."

Sarah nodded and widened her stance a bit. She leaned against him, her head falling back on his shoulder. An arm encircled her waist, and the other gingerly explored her.

"Would you prefer I be conservative in my efforts?" he asked.

"Conservative?" she repeated, cutting him a dubious look from her peripheral. "Your hand is on my cunt."

"Let me clarify." Jareth turned her around to face him and hitched one of her legs over his hip. His hands gripped her ass and squeezed before spreading her cheeks slightly. "How thorough should I be?"

Sarah gasped and gripped his shoulders. "Oh, um…."

His grin was a flashing thing. "Shy?"

"No, not shy," she said but didn't elaborate.

His expression softened. "Inexperienced?"

"No one has touched me there before," Sarah confessed. "I'm not sure what to expect."

"It can be bliss if both partners are considerate and communicative," Jareth told her. "Do you trust me to wash you and take it no further?"

"Yes," she said, hooking her leg around him a little higher to grant him better access. "I trust you."

"Good," he cooed. "Though I can't promise it won't feel pleasurable."

A hand spread her further while the other slipped between her cheeks. A finger pressed at her perineum and paused when Sarah's grip on his shoulders tightened. "Alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, it's just surprising, I guess."

Jareth's lips curved. He dragged the pad of his finger slowly around her puckered hole and stalled the movement again when Sarah tensed. "Relax," he soothed. "I will not penetrate you. Not today, and not without your explicit permission."

Sarah rested her forehead against his shoulder. "Keep going," she told him.

His finger slid over her opening, and her breath caught at the alien feeling. It was strange and hard to process, but she couldn't deny that the tender pressure and glide of his touch over her nerve endings felt good.

"I think about you touching me like this more often than I care to admit," Jareth husked. "I've dreamt about you fucking me in that harness contraption since you showed it to me. I find myself wondering, would you pamper me? Punish me? Praise me?"

"You seem excited by all three," Sarah pointed out, feeling his cock hardening between their bodies.

He nipped her earlobe, trapping it between his teeth as he purred, "Thrilled."

Sarah moved to take him in hand, and his grip on her tightened in warning. "Oh, no," he said, his tone light and teasing. "There's no need for that now."

She looked up at him in surprise. "But you're—"

"Not your responsibility," Jareth insisted as his finger circled and stroked. "If you touched me every time I became aroused in your presence, I fear we'd never leave this pool."

Sarah could feel a smirk tugging at her lips. "Can't have that," she commented, not hiding the sarcasm in her voice. "It's been such a terrible time so far."

Jareth chuckled as his hand slipped from her. He smoothed it over the globe of her ass and squeezed. "Awful."

Her leg slid from around him, and she reached for the abandoned bottle of soap floating nearby. "Your turn?" she asked, cursing herself for the nervousness she could hear staining the question.

A spark lit in his eyes as he considered. "Tempting," he said, taking the bottle from her. "But I'd rather you have more time to think that decision through."

Sarah felt a small pang of rejection, but she pushed it away. He was being so careful with her, and she knew him well enough to know it was all for her benefit. "You're not going to scare me away if that's what you're worried about," she told him.

"I couldn't control that if I tried," Jareth said, lathering soap in his hands. "This is about respect. The idea of you going from asking for a breather to touching me that intimately in the space of minutes unsettles me."

She wanted to argue unfairness, that it was only right she reciprocate. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his job to protect her, but even the thought felt hollow. He'd always protected her, and for her to say she didn't appreciate it would be a lie.

Sarah couldn't deny that the concept of taking care of him in that way was alluring. She wanted to see what his face would look like, to hear the sounds he'd make as she caressed between his legs. But things were moving so fast. Just that morning, they'd woken up in the newness of a snuggle session. In just a few hours, everything had undeniably changed, and she hadn't begun to process what that meant.

His promise drifted back to her—that all she owed him was honesty, and he needed nothing more to feel taken care of. She'd believed him then, and she chose to believe him now.

She held out her hand and tapped it with her finger, indicating she wanted him to squirt soap into her palm. Jareth obliged, sending her a small smile as if he understood her conflict. An easy silence fell between them as she washed her hair and he bathed himself.

Their quietude stretched as they sunned themselves on the rocks, water evaporating from their skin as the sun beamed from its zenith. Sarah fished around in her bag, and Jareth slid her a look that said he was less than impressed with the protein bar she handed him. His expression split into a grin when she pulled out her bucket hat and wordlessly plopped it onto his head.

The walk back seemed impossibly long, even though it was mostly downhill compared to their journey to the pool. Doubts started swirling in Sarah's belly, and she found herself unable to stop thinking about the fraction of a second in which she'd nearly snagged Jareth's lips with hers. She couldn't decide what bothered her the most about it—the fact that it scared her so much, and she didn't understand why or that she suspected he'd known and purposefully avoided it.

Sarah was so lost in her thoughts she nearly jumped when Jareth's fingers slipped between hers. "You're overthinking," he observed.

"No," Sarah lied and wondered what it tasted like to him when she did so.

So much for all that honesty I owe him, she thought guiltily.

"You are," he said, giving her fingers a squeeze. "Stop that."

Whether he meant the overthinking or the mistruths, Sarah couldn't be sure, and she didn't ask for clarification. Instead, she nodded and gave his hand a quick pulse back.

Jareth took the hat off his head and feigned a dramatic sigh of regret at doing so. "You need this more than I do," he remarked before putting it on her head. "To keep the worries out."

Sarah smiled, her nerves settling to a manageable fizz as they broke into the clearing where they'd set up camp. They exchanged few words as she started the fire, both of them silently acknowledging that it was a time for reflection, not fire-building lessons. They ate an early dinner after agreeing that the muffins, berries, and snack bars from earlier had not satiated their hunger for an actual meal. Sarah watched Jareth internally devising a joke about how they had worked up such an appetite, but he ostensibly decided against it when she slid a less-than-receptive look his way.

Late afternoon found them curled in the hammock. One of Jareth's legs dangled off the side, his foot planted on the ground and used for leverage to gently rock them back and forth. He'd finally gotten the nap he'd asked for the day before as they dozed, his arm around her shoulders and her leg spanning the tops of his thighs.

The explosive evening song of Red-winged Blackbirds drew Sarah from slumber, and her eyes fluttered open to see Jareth studying her with a pensive expression. She peered at him blearily from beneath the brim of her hat. "What are you thinking about so hard?" she asked, smoothing his furrowed brow with a fingertip.

"I was wondering if you still think it's a me thing," Jareth said, gesturing between them, "after what we shared today." There was a hint of a smile on his face, but it was shadowed with something resembling trepidation.

Sarah was quiet for a moment as she processed the question before asking, "You're wondering if I think you are magically influencing me?"

He gave a nearly imperceptible nod as if answering with words was unbearable.

"J, I never meant to imply that you are bamboozling me," she told him.

"I know," Jareth assured her, though his smile slipped into an almost-frown at her word choice.

Sarah felt her own lips pull down in subconscious imitation. "Then why do you look like I just told you small children were let loose in your wardrobe with chocolate-covered fingers and spaghetti faces?"

He grimaced at the imagery but didn't laugh at her attempt at a joke. "I don't like that you wondered. Even once," he said seriously. "I should have known."

"Stop. You can't read my mind," Sarah scolded, tightening her leg around him.

"Perhaps not," he allowed, "but I should have made sure you knew that every choice is your own, and I wouldn't change that if I could."

"I know," she promised and meant it. "It's an us thing."

Jareth's gaze darted to her mouth and hovered there, bringing to the forefront another question that hung between them. Sarah could almost see it on the tip of his tongue as it snaked out to wet his lips.

Her breath snagged, and she did her best to feign ignorance by glancing around the campsite meaningfully. "We should clean up our mess from lunch and put all the food in the bear boxes before it gets dark," she told him, unfurling herself from his side and stepping out of the hammock.

He watched her silently for a moment as she bustled around tidying up this and that before he sighed and joined her.

The moon was rising, full and bright, by the time they'd finished packing things away. They lingered at the pond's shore after brushing their teeth to admire its ascent. Sarah felt an edge of full moon wildness in her bones as they stood together, and she wondered if he felt it too. She could never sleep soundly during a full moon, and she knew tonight would be no different.

Jareth's arm slipped around her shoulders, and he yawned. "Take me to bed," he commanded.

Sarah's stomach flipped. She knew him better than to think he was seeking slumber alone. The need for conversation clung all over him, and she felt sure he wouldn't be able to restrain himself once they were in the tent together.

Before she could respond, he'd scooped an arm under her legs, lifting her up. "Still, you defy me," he admonished, striding purposefully back to the campsite. "You leave me no choice but to take you to bed."

A laugh bubbled from her as her arm looped around his shoulders. She would have fought him off not long ago, but it felt good to be carried. To let go, even just a little more.

Jareth struggled to maneuver them up the uneven terrain of the hill, and Sarah offered no help, giggling into his neck as he teetered and swayed. When they reached the campsite, he paused at the threshold of the tent. "I'd planned to deposit you straight into the sheets," he told her, sounding disappointed. "But I've had little luck with that confounded zipper, and I don't believe an attempt to open it one-handed would prove to be a success story."

Sarah slid to her feet with a grin. "At least you know your limits," she noted, unzipping the tent flap and crawling inside.

He followed, then turned to zip the tent up behind him. Sarah watched him toil fruitlessly for perhaps a little longer than necessary before gently taking over. "How about you don't and say that you did," she suggested.

Jareth huffed indignantly and busied himself with arranging and fluffing their pillows. Instead of getting underneath the covers and assuming a sleeping pose, he adopted his standard criss-cross applesauce position. He looked at her expectantly and motioned for her to sit across from him.

Here we go, she thought, mirroring him.

He pulled the maroon chenille blanket over their laps and made a fuss about tucking it around their legs. He was too quiet for her liking, an unuttered 'sooooo….' stretching between them.

"Sooooo…." Jareth said, and Sarah couldn't help but laugh.

"So?" she parroted.

Jareth narrowed his eyes in accusation. "Are you going to tell me how that was for you, or are you cruelly planning to leave me squirming with torturous insecurity?"

She rolled her eyes. "You've never been insecure a day in your life."

He rolled his eyes back at her in irritatingly perfect imitation. "And you think you know everything."

"That couldn't be further from the truth," Sarah told him, a bit defensively. "Today, of all days, I've had to accept I know close to nothing."

Jareth exhaled an impatient breath. "Close to nothing is still something, you nightmarishly withholding thing."

Sarah chuckled and regarded him for a beat before asking, "How can you wonder how that was for me? I think the endless string of orgasms was evidence enough to make a reasonably solid assumption."

"Would you rather I navigate this based on assumptions?" he questioned, his tone more serious. "I respect you too much for that, Sarah."

She studied him for a moment and shrugged. "What do you want me to say? Best sex of my life? A thousand fantasies manifested into a surreal dreamscape of moans and touches?"

"That's a start," Jareth said, flashing her a wolfish grin.

Sarah returned a small smile. "What about you?" she asked, unnerved by how quiet her voice was when the question spilled out. "Was it everything you'd hoped it would be?"

Jareth considered her for a long moment. Too long, Sarah thought, and she shifted nervously in anticipation of his answer.

"What we shared was no less than beauty in its rawest form, Sarah Bear," he finally said. "But I must admit to feeling somewhat disoriented."

Sarah felt a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Disoriented?" she asked. "Are you… are you alright? I'm sorry if I shouldn't have—"

"No, Sarah, don't go down that path," he interrupted, taking her hand and holding it between them. "It's nothing you did. It's what you didn't do that has me confused."

Her stomach sank. "What I didn't do? Was I not—"

"No," he said again, squeezing her fingers. "You are perfect. Don't think for a second you are anything less."

"What, then?"

Jareth's other hand carded through his hair, and he had that distinct look on his face Sarah recognized as the one he wore when he was considering how much to say.

After a long moment, he brought her hand to his mouth, brushed a kiss over her knuckles, and said, "I want to ask you something, Sarah, but I fear your answer as much as I fear you not giving me one."

"Okay," Sarah replied, drawing it out.

Okaaaaaayyyyyy.

When she said nothing more, he continued, "However you respond, I need you to know it's alright." He kissed the top of her hand. "We are alright."

"Okay," she said again. "Ask."

Jareth stared at her, his pupils bouncing between hers. "I want to understand your aversion to kissing me," he told her quietly. "If I were to ask, would you tell me?"

Sarah blinked—the first blink in some time, she noted absently—in what must have looked like a silent scream of complete unpreparedness.

A hint of a smile curled at his lips while he waited, but there was real concern shining in his eyes. She realized he'd been slightly to the left of demanding a direct answer, giving her an out by phrasing the request as a hypothetical.

She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. "If I had an aversion to kissing you, I would tell you about it," she answered.

Jareth's eyes brightened. "So," he said in a clarifying tone. "No aversion to kissing me, then."

Sarah glanced away and shook her head.

His fingertips found her chin and gently tugged to encourage her to look at him. When she met his gaze, he asked, "Then why, in all our touches, have we not shared a kiss?"

An audible little gasp escaped her as her breath caught. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she replied, "You know why, Jareth."

Jareth sighed. "I wish I did, Sarah," he told her, stroking her cheek lightly with his knuckles. "I am hopeful you will tell me so I am not fated with an eternity of wondering why my lips never touched yours."

Sarah felt her face flush under his soft caresses. She chewed her lip for a moment before saying, "I'm sure this will sound ridiculous after everything I just did, but the concept of kissing you is a lot for me. It's almost too big to fit in my brain."

"I can only base my assumptions for what can fit where based on recently lived experience," he said with a smirk. "You have my utmost confidence, though I'm sure it's a tight squeeze."

Sarah sent him a withering look. "You know what I mean."

"I do," he admitted. He searched her face, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. "A kiss between two people who care about each other is a particularly intimate act."

"Sex is intimate, though," she pointed out.

"I'm not saying it isn't," Jareth said, pressing the pad flush against her mouth before dropping his hand. "I'm acknowledging that a kiss can mean more."

Sarah nodded, relieved he had found the words for what she couldn't. "What would it mean for you?" she asked.

His eyes swirled with warmth and something that looked like hesitant hope. "It would mean tasting the parts of your heart I crave to know most. It would mean accessing each other on the deepest levels." His voice dropped low as he added, "I wouldn't hide from you, Sarah. I think that makes you nervous."

Her heart skipped a beat at both his words and the realization that they were the truth. Her eyes slid away again as she confided, "And I think you have me figured out better than I do."

"Listen to me," Jareth said sternly and waited for her to meet his gaze before continuing. "You don't owe me anything. I can hold this love for you until the suns burn out." Both hands made explosive gestures that could be construed as obscene if you didn't know him and absolutely would know were obscene if you did.

Sarah felt a sick twist in her gut. "That's not fair to you," she protested.

"None of it is fair," he reminded her. "I can handle being just friends. Things can go back to how they were before this morning." His fingers tightened around hers. "I'll still comfort you through every heartbreak."

An invisible hand squeezed inside her ribcage, and a pang of apprehension crept up her spine. "Are you giving me an ultimatum?"

"No," Jareth told her quickly. "I just want you to know your options if being close in this new way feels like too much."

Sarah nodded slowly, rolling his words over in her mind. After a moment, she asked, "How do you feel about it?"

"As if I somehow have less of you than I did before you stripped me bare," he answered solemnly, then said, "Don't misunderstand me, Sarah. Those were the most intense orgasms I can remember, but I'd trade them for a kiss in a heartbeat."

Sarah's free hand reached up of its own accord to cup his cheek. "You're not nervous?" she asked. "Not even a little?"

"I'm beyond nervous," Jareth confessed. "But even when my nerves freeze with trepidation, or when I am agonizing over all of the possibilities and what they could mean, I still want it. I'm afraid of what your lips on mine might say, but I am past the point where I can stop thinking about all the words I want mine to say against yours."

He was so calm. Like he hadn't exposed his heart, torn it from his chest, and thrown it at her feet.

"Kiss me, then," Sarah said, though she knew by the set of his jaw that he would do no such thing. She watched his lips twitch with something like satisfaction as he subtly shook his head. Her mouth went dry while she waited, and she was hyper-aware of how her lips parted slightly in invitation as they stared at one another. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip before pulling it into her mouth and sucking it—desperate to feel something there.

Jareth drank in the movement. "Sarah," he murmured, nuzzling into her palm. "If your fear still has more sway than your desire to know what would happen were our mouths to meet, then, by all means. Let them not meet at all, and we can simply continue to put them to use in other places. We can carry on ravishing each other, cautious not to kiss, mind you, but forever toying with the idea. We'll keep up with our carefully non-romantic-yet-romantic, unique, untouchable, loving friendship. For there is love here, Sarah, is there not? A love, yet undefined and hardly explored, but still. What we have already, now, is full of love. And it is enough."

"I feel like that comes with a 'but,'" Sarah observed, her heart in her throat.

"And," he corrected, "you may not be ready for me to tell you how much I burn for more than that safe scenario I just described. Not directly, anyway. So, out of respect for your wishes, I won't tell you. Not with words. Not until you ask."

Sarah held his hand a little tighter. "Here's the 'but.'"

Jareth smiled in acknowledgment. "But," he said and turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. "I can show you. Kiss me, Sarah, and let me."

Chapter Text

The tent was well-lit enough by the filtered light of the full moon for Sarah to see Jareth clearly, even without a lit lantern. A soft smile played on his lips as he released her hand. He watched the other fall from her face as he leaned back on his palms, broadening the distance between them. When his gaze rose to meet hers, his eyes were deep and searching beneath his moonlight lashes.

A small part of Sarah's brain screamed at her to breathe, but her chest felt as frozen as the rest of her as she stared back at him. She was too shocked by his frankness to avert her eyes and dispel the tightly strung tension. The sudden lack of physical contact was just as jarring as his invitation, and she wanted it back. Needed it.

Jareth raised an amused eyebrow. "Take a breath, Sarah, I'm not—" he started to tell her before whatever he was going to say died on his tongue as her lips crashed unceremoniously into his.

She swallowed his small noise of surprise with the firm press of her mouth, hard and unyielding and desperate for contact. Her hands framed his face as she leaned forward awkwardly. Jareth braced himself against the weight of her as the force of her kiss abruptly pushed him back. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose, and Sarah instinctively copied him, flooding her swimming mind with much-needed oxygen.

The reality of what she was doing rolled through her like a thunderstorm, lighting her nerve endings on fire and setting her thoughts spinning. It was almost certainly happening—she was kissing Jareth—but her mind tried to deny it even as she commanded her mouth to move. Her body wouldn't obey her as though it was detached from thought completely. She felt silly kissing him so forcefully, like a clumsy amateur without any plan for how to follow through with what she'd initiated.

Jareth didn't seem to mind. He leaned into the kiss, relieving some of the stiffness in both of their postures. He made no move to touch her, and Sarah couldn't be sure if it was out of shock or his ceaseless determination to let her have full control. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, and she felt an overwhelming need to see him—to gauge his reaction to what she had done. To make sure this was all real.

The kiss ended almost as soon as it began when she pulled back slightly and opened her eyes to find his, wide and waiting. Silence stretched as they looked at each other, and a small smile curved the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the shell of her ear. "Straddle me," he purred, "and try that again."

Sarah's heart pounded relentlessly against her ribs as she complied, crawling into his lap and planting her knees on either side of his hips. Insecurities battled with her desire, and she did her best to push away her growing concern that she'd bungled this whole first kiss thing.

Jareth's hands came up and tugged the sides of the bucket hat she'd forgotten she was wearing down around her head. "No worrying," he reminded her, his voice thick and full of reassurance.

She sent him a guilty smile and threaded her fingers in his hair, pulling his face to hers until their lips met again. The press of her mouth over his was gentler this time, light enough for her to feel the softness of his lips—parted slightly, warm and inviting. He whined as she captured his bottom lip and sucked experimentally. The sound of it jolted her body and brain into alignment as she deepened the kiss.

The taste of him was intoxicating—uniquely him beneath the lingering mintiness. Her fingers tightened at his nape as she kissed him with urgency, almost in a panic. Jareth relented to her ferocity, allowing himself to be devoured as her passion swelled into something that felt nearly unmanageable.

A hand gripped her jaw as he pushed back into the kiss, matching each stroke of her tongue with his. Sarah moaned, lost in the feeling of the demanding crush of their mouths, the push-and-the-pull of it. She bit his lip hard and relished how his breath snagged in surprise, and he bit her back just as hard, smiling against her mouth when she whimpered.

Sarah's hips rocked forward on instinct, and she could feel the hardness of his arousal against her aching cunt. Jareth growled, his hold on her jaw tightening as she repeated the movement. Her fingers slipped from his hair and moved down his chest, desperate to feel the heavy weight of his cock again in her hands.

Jareth grasped her wrists suddenly and broke away from her, eyes over-bright and searching when they found hers. His breaths were fractured and heavy as he said her name, each syllable under its own spotlight.

Sar-ah.

She felt her face fall, suddenly unsure of herself. "Sorry, I—"

"No, It's not…you didn't—" he began, pausing to collect himself before starting again. "Can we let this have the moment it deserves?" His grip on her chin softened as it moved to cup her cheek. "I need you like this," he explained between pants, his words coming out as a hurried spill. "I need you here with me, here in this kiss, and nowhere else." His forehead pressed against hers. "Please. Let me have this. Let us have this."

Sarah's heart lurched. It was difficult to accept she'd been rushing, eager to move past what felt so alien to her. No one had asked for just a kiss before, and sex had felt like the natural next step. But Jareth needed closeness on a deeper level, and she realized she needed it too; craved the intimacy of his kiss above anything else, and it was exciting and terrifying all at once.

When she nodded, the corners of his lips kicked up in a relieved smile that soothed her anxious nerves. She knew in that moment that she wasn't alone in her vulnerability or her fears.

Jareth burrowed into her neck as his hands fell from her face. He looped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer in a lingering squeeze that Sarah thought was more of a hug than anything—a plea to be there with him. To feel this with him, heartbeat to heartbeat.

She let her head fall against his shoulder, and he inhaled deeply, echoing her as she breathed him in. They held each other like that for a nebulous moment, all breath and summer sweat, before a hand found her shoulder and gently pushed her back onto the pillows.

Jareth slipped the hat from her head and set it aside before stretching himself over her. He clasped her hands before pinning them on either side of her head. "Leave these here," he ordered, his eyes sparkling with dangerous affection. "You've kissed me. Now I am going to kiss you."

Chaotic hair tickled Sarah's heated skin as Jareth's lips sought a pinned wrist. Her heart fluttered as he kissed her there, tender and soft. The mood in the tent shifted to something new—fragile and delicate, like a pane of chilled glass hovering too close to a flame.

The fingers gripping her other hand slackened before skating down her forearm. His fingertips traced loose but deliberate patterns over her skin as they feathered back up her arm, soothing and sensual all at once. Sarah coiled and relaxed, trying to ease into the familiar feeling juxtaposed so dramatically with the flick of his tongue over the veins in her wrist.

Jareth's mouth traveled down her arm and paused at the dip in her elbow to suckle the artery, pulling it to the surface. He scraped his teeth over it lightly before pressing a kiss there.

Sarah tightened her grip on his fingers when his lips found her shoulder, free hand clenching and unclenching at nothing as a pang of unexpected fear wiggled into her heart. This felt so good, so right, it almost hurt to think of it ending—or of all the times she had resisted allowing it to begin.

He squeezed her hand back as if intuiting her anxiety and murmured against her collarbone, "Tell me to stop, and I will."

If it's too much, was the unspoken adjoinder to his promise.

Sarah swallowed hard, and Jareth's lips lingered over her décolletage as he waited.

"I don't want you to stop," she told him. Her voice was quiet but sure. "I want this from you."

She felt his lips curve against her skin before sweeping barely-there kisses along the column of her throat. Though the press of his mouth to her skin was soft, the sound of it was somehow loud in the enclosed space of the tent—all she could hear above her pounding heart.

Jareth pulled her ear lobe between his teeth, and she whimpered at the sensation of his breath warm against her skin. "With me," he corrected before licking the shell of her ear.

She hummed a question absently, struggling to remember to keep her hands where he had left them. She wanted to touch him, to dig her fingers into his hair, to pull him closer. He must have sensed it because he let go of her hand and pulled away for a moment to retrieve the maroon chenille blanket, twisting it into a thick rope and arcing it above her head, placing it in her tensing hands.

"Hold," he instructed, then continued his previous thought. "You said you want this from me. I need you to want this with me." His head dipped down, and he kissed along her jaw before his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. "Do you?"

His almost-kiss was warm, so inviting, but nearly unfathomable despite the fact that she had been practically consuming him minutes before. The thought struck her that this was to be their first kiss. The first real one, brimming with intention and love before it had even begun. This was a different moment with a different meaning. He would kiss her slowly, she knew—gingerly and unhurried. And she would be right where they both wanted her to be.

"Yes," she whispered, hyper-aware of how the word puffed out in a breathy pant against his cheek. "I want to feel this with you."

Jareth's answering smile ghosted over her mouth, and he left a kiss on the opposite corner. When her lips moved to capture his, he pulled away just out of reach and rested his forehead on hers. His hands came up to frame her face as he searched for something there that Sarah couldn't name. He looked as though he wanted to say something, his swollen lips parting slightly with a brief vocalization that cut off short as if he reconsidered. Instead, he leaned back down and caught her lips in a soft kiss.

Sarah watched as his silver-gold-fringed lids fluttered shut. Her other senses took over as her own eyes closed—the sound of the shaky inhale he dragged through his nose. The rustling of a hand shifting into her hair. The smell of salt on the skin above his upper lip and the lavender-scented soap he'd washed his hair with. The feeling of chenille in her grip and his weight trapping her. The taste of his mouth as he teased her lips apart.

The taste of his mouth. The taste of his mouth. The taste of his mouth.

Sarah opened to him like a flower orienting toward the morning sun, eager but slow. She shivered as he purred in appreciation, coaxing her with each stroke.

The slide of Jareth's tongue over hers was somehow both familiar and unexpected. Sarah melted into the heat of it. His kiss was unlike anything she had experienced, fluid and generous and yet purposefully contained. It wasn't a battle of wills like part of her had expected and maybe even hoped for. It wasn't surrender, either. It was the soft sharing of touch and warm breath—an exchange of emotions that ran deeper than any words spoken between them had.

Sarah lost her thin grasp on time as he kissed her deeply and thoroughly. It could have been hours before Jareth pulled away. "Don't move," he commanded, his tone severe as he studied her. "I want to remember you like this."

Sarah stared at him, an eyebrow raised in question.

"You haven't started fretting yet," Jareth said. "I told you you'd be happy this weekend and that I wanted to see what your face looked like when you were. You look happy now," he observed, a small, hopeful smile ghosting his expression. "Are you?"

"I-I think I'm"—she cast a glance around the tent as though looking for the right term, her heart a trapped hummingbird flitting this way and that in her chest—"twitterpated."

Jareth's eyes narrowed, though the corner of his lips lifted. "I haven't the slightest idea of whether or not that answers my question," he told her, carding a hand through his hair.

She let go of the chenille and brushed away the strands that immediately sprang into his eyes. "I'm happy, Jareth,' she said, combing her fingers through the mess of it before pulling his face towards hers to kiss his cheek. "You make me happy. This makes me happy."

He was smiling when he pulled back to gaze down at her. "That's all I've wanted."

Sarah felt her forehead wrinkle in protest. "Your happiness matters, too, Lanks."

"Oh, stop that," Jareth scolded, rolling his eyes. "Can you manage to not feel guilty about letting me coddle you, just this once?" He booped her nose in emphasized chastisement. "Bothersome harpy."

"Fine," she allowed with a guilty laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling him close. "Hold me tonight?"

"How I've craved hearing that request," Jareth said after releasing a dramatic sigh. He rolled them so Sarah could curl into his side before doing his best to entangle them as much as possible, encouraging her leg between his, their feet fitting together like they'd been perfectly molded to do so.

"Are you happy?" she asked him as she nestled her head onto his chest, her fingers playing idly in his hair.

"Beyond," he told her, squeezing her to him.

Sarah smiled and let her eyes drift shut as his lips feathered kisses in her hair. He hummed a melody, quiet and soothing. She wondered dreamily how his rich baritone could still be so ethereal, crystal dew drop notes shimmering on gossamer thread.

Loud, hypnotic drumming. A pulse that thumped and thumped. Hers? His? It was hard to tell with Jareth's heart newly stuffed into her ribcage. Her bones were unused to having so much to protect. They stretched painfully to make room. A perfect stretch, a perfect pain.

It was overwhelming, a sensory storm—almost too much. The creaking leather of searching fingers. Salt on her tongue and something else. A shared moan spilled back and forth between open mouths.

That drumming, still. Louder, urgent. Their bodies pushed and pulled in a rhythm that matched its demanding beat. His scent clung to her, all forest and moss and stone. She could smell herself on him, too. Her shampoo, her sheets, her cunt.

"Sarah," a breathy voice called to her from liminal space, catching in a gasp as she rocked her hips into her pillow. "Wake up," the voice pleaded as though not for the first time.

Her brows drew together in sleepy defiance, eager to remain fully rooted enough in her recurring dream to finally see it through uninterrupted. "Go away."

A soft chuckle rustled her hair. "You are making that very difficult, seeing as you are clinging to me like a spider monkey."

Sarah huffed. "I'm not—"

"You are," the voice insisted, stretched thin with something like desperation. "Wake up. You're dreaming."

"Then let me dream!" Sarah grumbled. "And no creeper sleeper songs," she added warningly.

A laugh this time. "A song was the last thing on my mind. Open your eyes."

Despite her efforts to stay asleep, dream-Jareth touching every inch of her heated skin, her eyes fluttered open to see…Jareth, lying on his back with her glued to his side.

Her hips rolled again before her brain came back online, sending a rush of pleasure through her amidst the confusion. "Wha—"

"Wake. Up." Jareth's long fingers brushed away hair from her face. "Before I die of this cruel torture."

Memories of their kiss and how they'd fallen asleep wrapped in one another's arms flooded back to her, and her already racing heart skipped several beats. "Oh," she said flatly.

Her lip worried between her teeth as she took stock of the situation. Not drumming, but heavy raindrops on the tent from an apparent summer storm. Jareth's fingers were bare and warm against her cheek, not gloved in leather like in her dream. It wasn't her pillow pressed between her legs, but Jareth's thigh.

He smiled, eyes bright in the filtered light of the moon. "Yes, oh."

"I'm awake," Sarah confirmed after blinking the sleep from her eyes and willing away her embarrassment.

"Thank the Gods for that," Jareth said, his voice nearing a growl. He turned to face her, his hand briefly leaving her cheek to hook her leg over his. His mouth lingered at her temple before he left a kiss there, thumb pressing beneath her bottom lip. "Does that mean we can kiss now?"

The question was a whisper that somehow managed to echo inside the tent, bouncing back to her endlessly and making her squirm with desire. She brushed her mouth over his in answer. When he only smiled against her lips, she murmured a quiet, "Please."

Jareth made an appreciative sound as he obeyed. The gentle pressure of his mouth against hers was a slow, deliberate thing, but there was barely restrained urgency in his voice when he pulled back and said, "Waking up to the scent of your need and knowing it was me you needed was unbearably arousing."

Sarah could feel the proof of it against her hip, and she shifted until his thickness pressed between her thighs. Her fingers threaded in his hair, and she pulled him back in. The tip of his tongue slid over her bottom lip before he drew it into his mouth and suckled it, gasping as her hips jerked reflexively.

"Is this okay?" she asked uncertainly, recalling his nervous request to slow down from the night before.

Jareth hummed, his cock twitching against her. "It's perfect."

The friction of their clothing against her throbbing clit had Sarah grinding her hips forward again. Jolts of electricity pulsed through her nerves, and her whimper cut off into a moan as he rocked back against her. He made a little gasping noise that almost sounded like surprise as a crack of thunder resounded outside the tent. It was momentarily filled with light, and when Sarah met his eyes, she saw a deeply relatable expression on his face she was sure was reflected on her own.

I still can't believe this is happening, in spite of everything we've done.

It was dreamlike but real in the truest sense of the word. Everything like her fantasy, and yet, nothing like it at all. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could feel a slight tremble in her fingers. If he felt anything like she did in that moment, a trace of fear was surfacing beneath his want.

"I'm here," she reassured them both. "I'm with you."

Jareth's mouth claimed hers again, his kiss deep and searching. He rocked his hips against her, stroking her tongue with his as she whined and returned the motion. Their movements were nebulous, bodies writhing with the languid stretching and arching of spines.

Her fingers clenched in his hair, and his hands held her face, drawing each other impossibly closer. Liquid fire thrummed in her veins as their hips rolled together in steady, unrushed circuits. Sarah forgot time again, drowning in the fluidity of their passion. The push-and-the-pull of it.

All there was was them—the feeling of friction and pressure and lips, tongue, and teeth. The sound of the rain cocooned them, not unlike the summer storm on the night Sarah had first met her Goblin King. It made her ache for him all the more. For this.

Jareth's exhalations became breathy grunts against her mouth as she shifted against him with a new urgency. The sounds of his pleasure sent her spiraling, and she hardly heard herself say his name like a prayer.

His hand moved to her ass, and he held her to him, grinding his cock against her clit. Her fingers tightened in his hair as a deep coiling of heat furled and unfurled low in her belly. He nipped her bottom lip when she cried out and moaned with it between his teeth as he thrust again.

The coiling melted into a molten cascade at hearing the sound, and she crashed over the edge, feeling his cock throbbing against her as she did.

Jareth's teeth released her lip when the movement of their hips stilled. He kissed her bruised mouth, soothing and warm. The hand on her ass shifted to her hip and gently pushed her back. He followed and hovered over her, a hand sliding across her belly and resting there, low and dangerous.

"Alright?" he husked, his fingers dancing above her waistband.

Sarah moved her hand over his and guided it into her sweatpants before pushing one of his fingers inside herself, shuddering at the sensation of him there, deep and filling and right.

His lips curved. "I need a 'yes.'"

"Yes," she said and gasped as his fingertip rubbed the sensitive nerves along her front wall.

She could feel how wet she was, how ready. She let her hand stay loosely over his, enjoying the feeling of her dampness and knowing it was for him as he pumped his finger inside her. Sarah's eyes flicked to his mouth, anticipating his kiss, but Jareth pushed himself up on an elbow and gazed down at her.

"I want to watch your face," he told her. "I need this to be real just as badly as you do, Sarah." Another finger slid into her as he said, "And I need it burned in my memory forever."

Bright light burst behind her eyes as his thumb pressed down on her clit and rubbed in time with his fingers. She arched against his hand, his face swimming out of focus as her climax rolled through her.

The movements of his hand slowed and then stilled when her head fell back on the pillows. "Stunning," he cooed at her before withdrawing his fingers and sucking one into his mouth. He glanced at the other in consideration. "Do you want to taste how much you want this?"

Sarah fought to keep her eyes from going wide at his boldness but nodded her head almost immediately.

She did.

Jareth's glistening lips stretched to reveal a sharp-toothed grin. His fingertip brushed her slickness over her bottom lip before he raised a challenging eyebrow at her.

Sarah sent him a mischievous smirk before flicking her tongue out to capture the moisture, rich and tangy, and for him alone.

Jareth watched her, rumbling with a low sound of satisfaction. It rolled into a purr as she wrapped her lips around his finger and took it into her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, her tongue lapping away the remaining evidence of her passion for him.

For this.

He made a pained noise as his finger slipped from her mouth. They stared at each other for a long, heavy moment before sharing a smile.

"Shall we wash away our sins in the rain?" he asked, his smile stretching. "I'm afraid I've ruined these trousers you leant me." He glanced down to acknowledge the dark patch on his grey sweatpants. "And I can't imagine wearing those"—he nodded toward the apex of Sarah's thighs—"in your current state will be comfortable for long."

Sarah laughed, excitement at the idea bubbling up from her chest. "You're unhinged," she said anyway.

"Towels exist," he reminded her helpfully, a salacious smile slipping across his features. "I promise to dry you off as thoroughly as I—"

"Alright," she interrupted, pushing a hand against his chest lightly as she sat up. "A naked romp in the rain it is."

Chapter Text

The storm had cleared by the time they had the car packed up for their return home. Sarah had barely started her ignition when Jareth magicked himself into full Goblin King armor in an explosion of feathers and glitter.

"Ah, much better," he rejoiced, though his stiff attire looked much less comfortable than the jeans and borrowed t-shirt he had been wearing. "Still so sure you're not the least afraid of me?" he asked, infusing his sharp grin with intentional menace that didn't land.

Sarah gestured at the bucket hat still perched atop his head with a tip of her chin. "That really dampens the scare factor of the whole ensemble," she told him. "I'm more afraid of how many quarters I am going to blow through vacuuming all this glitter out of my car."

Jareth harumphed. "I just wanted to remind you of who I am, in case you forgot over the long," he paused to leer at her, "and eventful weekend."

It was Sarah's turn to harumph as she pulled her car over on the narrow road to let a passing van into the campground. A woman in the passenger seat waved absentmindedly before her head snapped over to stare at Jareth in a slack-jawed double-take. Sarah sank down in her seat while feathers billowed out of the windows.

As the van crawled by, a wide-eyed child in the backseat pressed their face to the window before sticking their tongue out at Jareth, who grinned back and pulled what, by all appearances, was a living weasel from his sleeve. He gave it a quick peck on the nose before it vanished.

Sarah revved her engine and peeled out onto the main road, glancing in her rearview mirror to see the woman in the passenger seat leaning out the window, gesturing frantically with a phone pressed to her ear.

"Subtle," Sarah grumbled as she steered her car around a corner and out of sight. "The outfit and Goblin King confetti weren't enough?"

Jareth sent her a pout, a feather sticking to his protruding lower lip. He blew an abrupt raspberry to rid himself of it before saying, "You gave the impression I wasn't frightening enough."

"So you went the weasel route," she commented, shooing the arrant feather away with her hand. It danced toward Jareth before sharply changing course and darting back in Sarah's direction like a magically influenced homing device.

"Mousse is a mink, as we've been over," Jareth reminded her with a huff, as though quite put out at repeating something he'd told her exactly once. He reclined his seat and lounged back, sighing a wistful sigh. "I missed him. I intuitively sensed he needed a little kiss."

Sarah felt her eyebrows shoot past her hairline. "That was Mousse?"

"It was." He sighed once more. "In my armoire again, of course." He pulled both hands up to his face and made small burrowing motions. "Mussing up all my things."

"Mousse-ing up all your things, you mean?" Sarah offered, biting back a smile at her own joke.

"Oh-ho!" Jareth crowed. "Who would think that after making such a stink about a simple hyjink, she'd crack jokes about a mink?"

"I need a drink," Sarah added flatly, rolling her eyes and batting the tenaciously aggressive feather away again. "That was not one of your best."

Jareth shrugged, seemingly unbothered. He didn't trouble himself to hide his grin as the feather sauntered back to her mid-air like a sultry burlesque dancer about to perform a solo act for her benefit.

"This fucking thing!" Sarah complained, pinching it between two fingers and flinging it out her window. She shot him a self-satisfied grin that quickly faded as the feather simply re-entered the car via the window behind her that she could have sworn she had left rolled up. "Get this thing off of me, you insufferable pest!"

"Hmm?" Jareth replied vaguely as he rifled through their road trip CDs, feigning innocence. He looked over at her distractedly and widened his eyes as though surprised to see the feather now pummelling her shoulder. "Oh, dear," he lamented as the feather fluttered over to him and ornamented the brim of the bucket hat. "Drafty in here."

Sarah's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. "It's going to be a long drive, isn't it?"

He chuckled as he popped a CD into the stereo. The car filled with Prince's 'Raspberry Beret' as red and blue lights flashed behind them.

"Damn!" Sarah exclaimed, slowing her car and checking her odometer. "I'm getting pulled over."

"Speed demon," Jareth scolded disapprovingly.

"I wasn't speeding," Sarah groused as she pulled her car over. "Act"—she was going to say normal but thought twice about all the ways that could be interpreted—"human."

He scoffed like her request was ridiculous. "Obviously."

Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel as she watched the officer approach her open window. "Hi!" she called out in what she quickly decided with regret was a much too cheerful greeting under the circumstances.

The officer frowned and peered into the car, her eyes skimming past Sarah and narrowing in on Jareth. "Ma'am, is everything alright here?"

"Of course!" Sarah chirped, cursing herself again for her overly bright tone. She cleared her throat. "Is there a problem?"

The officer sighed as though quite annoyed to be having this conversation. "I got a strange call from someone reporting a man pulling a living ferret out of his….boney armor." The end of the word armor kicked up in a question as she assessed Jareth.

Shit.

Sarah had been so concerned about his behavior that she'd forgotten all about his outfit. Her head snapped over to Jareth, who was back in her 'Sunnydale High School - Class of '99' t-shirt and jeans. There wasn't a feather or speck of glitter to be found.

"Min—" Jareth began to say before Sarah cut him off.

"What?" Sarah said with a nervous laugh in which she literally said, "Ha, ha, ha!" before she cleared her throat again and added in a more serious tone, "Not us. Definitely not us."

"No wild animals in here?" The officer said, unamused, as she peered into the back seat. "That's a criminal offense."

"Zero," Sarah assured her, a smidge too desperately.

The officer looked unconvinced until her eyes zoomed in on the shirt Jareth was wearing. Her face lit up. "Hey! Nice shirt. I'm a huge Buffy fan."

"Go, Razorbacks!" Sarah and Jareth said in unison, Sarah's tone flat and Jareth's enthusiastic.

The officer grinned before the expression vanished, serious cop face returning. "All seems to be fine here. I've clearly got the wrong couple. Carry on." She patted the side of the car before turning and walking back to her vehicle.

Sarah could see Jareth smirking at her in her peripheral vision. When the officer pulled off onto the road and disappeared from view, Sarah started her engine again and said, "Don't."

"Don't….what?" Jareth teased.

Sarah sighed. "You know what."

"Don't mention that she called us"—he made spirit fingers—"a couple?"

She groaned. "You are incorrigible."

"I think she thought we were cute, Sarah Bear." His tone was observational as he shrugged. "It must have been the adoration for me spilling from your eyes like tiny heart balloons."

"Have I told you how much I hate you?" she asked, her heart rate skyrocketing past what could be healthy.

"You have." He tutted. "Have I told you what a terrible little liar you are?"

Sarah could feel her cheeks flushing as 'Raspberry Beret' ended and Simon and Garfunkle's 'The Sound of Silence' started playing. "Perfect," she said, turning up the stereo.

Jareth didn't take the hint, singing along at the top of his lungs. He wove in a third and, somehow, a fourth harmony, filling the car with a cacophony of beautiful sound.

"Showoff," she said, but couldn't help but smile as she began to sing along with him, her left hand dancing in the breeze out her window.

Sarah relaxed as she steered her car through the familiar forested roads. She grinned as the stereo switched to 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' by Whitney Houston, seeing Jareth perk up excitedly beside her. She shimmied her shoulders and sang every word with him as loud as she could, not even blushing at the 'with somebody who loves me' bits. Not much, anyway, or so she hoped, though Jareth's knowing smile told her otherwise.

The trees thinned as they entered the main road of a small town. "Awesome," Sarah said. "I'm starving. Let's find somewhere to stop for lunch."

They passed beneath a large, hand-painted banner reading, 'Welcome to Pinewood Village, home of the Pinewood Renaissance Faire.' Costumed residents milled about in a wide variety of ensembles. A person in a green and purple dragon getup ambled down the street. Another looked like he was straight out of Final Fantasy. A woman in a wizard costume with a tall, pointed hat fumbled with various vials attached to a bandolier across her chest, taking a swig from one. An adult with long, blond Legolas hair shepherded a group of small children wearing ill-fitted curly wigs. A woman was swallowing a flaming sword and hoola-hooping next to a group of robed figures performing a Gregorian chant.

"What is a Renaissance Faire?" Jareth asked with interest, gawking openly at the passersby as Sarah navigated her care carefully past the crowd.

Sarah considered how best to answer what shouldn't be such a complicated question. "It's… well, a festival where people pretend to be from the Renaissance."

Jareth hummed. "Very few of these people look like they are from the Renaissance," he commented, eyeing a woman in a barmaid outfit that tracked as something from the Dark Ages.

"You sound like you were there." Sarah laughed, but it caught in her throat as Jareth sent her an impatient look. "Wait, were you?"

"Which one? And Yes," he answered casually. "Really, Sarah, you think I would miss such parties?"

Her stomach did a little flip-flop as she absorbed that he was that old. "Oh." She swallowed and added numbly, "You know what? I'm actually not that hungr—"

"What is that?" Jareth interrupted, eyes fixed on a child wearing a Robin Hood outfit and fairy wings.

"Just a kid, J. They don't know shit about the Renaissance—"

"No," he said, a note of desperation in his voice. "What are they eating?"

Sarah glanced back at the child. "It's funnel cake. It's like… fried dough squiggles with"—she sighed, knowing she was sealing her fate—"sweet stuff on top. Like fruit and whipped cream, and—"

"PARK THIS VEHICLE IMMEDIATELY, OR I WILL PARK IT FOR YOU," Jareth said with urgency. "I must taste this funnel cake for myself."

Sarah looked at him with trepidation, but he was suddenly wearing his fanciest billowy poet shirt, high-collared Goblin Armor cape, tightest of tights, and high-heeled black boots. The look on his heavily painted, glittery face told her she really had no choice in the matter. She sighed again and pulled into a parking space.

Jareth was out of the car before Sarah could unbuckle her seatbelt, flinging her door open. When she paused to stretch her arms over her head, he looped an arm around her and slung her over his shoulder as he strode toward the booths.

"Hey!" she chided, giggling at his enthusiasm. "This cape is pokey as hell. Put me down!"

He did, but not without demanding she hurry up. "Funnel cake is my absolute favorite treat," he told her seriously before adding, "And whatever that is." He pointed to a man in a knight outfit gnawing on a chocolate-dipped fried Twinkie. "Also my favorite."

Sarah laughed as he took her hand, guiding her through faire patrons who greeted them by way of saying things like, "Good morrow!" and "Hail, and well met!" Sarah mumbled hello's as Jareth bowed and curtsied at random, returning greetings she was pretty sure were made up.

By the time they'd stopped at all the food vendors they could find, they were both juggling armfuls of snacks. "We should find somewhere to sit," Sarah told him, glancing around. She gestured with an elbow toward an empty picnic table. "How about there?"

Jareth nodded, and they beelined for the table but were stopped by a group of teenagers.

"Woah, dude!" chirped one of the kids. "Sick costume. What are you?"

Jareth looked briefly offended before ostensibly remembering he was at a costume event. He straightened, the royal effect lost by his armful of goodies. "Hello, children," he said proudly. "You have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the Goblin King himself."

"Wicked," another kid remarked as the others smiled and nodded like they had a clue what a Goblin King was.

"Yeah," added one of the teens with forced confidence. "That's, like, my favorite fandom of all time."

Jareth frowned, visibly deflating. "Fandom?"

Sarah bumped him with her hip and said the only thing she could think of to distract him. "The whipped cream is melting, Lanks."

He glanced at the funnel cake, eyes bulging, and hurried away from the teenagers toward the picnic table with Sarah in tow.

"Reminds me of that Halloween I brought you home to trick-or-treat with Toby," Sarah reminded him once they'd found their seats across from one another. "When Dad asked you what your costume was, and you told him you were the Goblin King."

Jareth huffed though he was clearly hiding a fond smile. "He didn't even bow or cower in fear or anything."

Sarah grinned. "Toby couldn't say 'Goblin King.'"

"And your entire family has called me 'Gobking' ever since," Jareth added with a sigh.

"You secretly love it," she accused. "You"—she pointed a turkey leg at him—"think it's charming."

Jareth rolled his eyes in a perfect Sarah imitation. "Because it is charming, though I live in perpetual dread over my subjects overhearing such a moniker."

"Our secret," Sarah assured him with a very Jareth-like wink.

"Gracious," he said. His tone was sarcastic, but his eyes danced with hers.

They smiled at each other as they sampled the various foods, Jareth contentedly humming along to the tune of a nearby lute player. He winced abruptly and complained, "That's not how the song goes. They are going completely rogue." He made to stand. "I should show them how—"

Sarah hooked her ankle around his beneath the table. "Chill, Gobking. I think you'll survive a few bad notes."

Jareth settled back in his seat. He looked surprised at the sudden contact she'd initiated before his expression morphed into a smirk. "You just want to keep me near," he told her as the toe of his other boot began stroking the side of her calf.

"Maybe," she admitted casually, though her ears burned. "Or maybe I just want to see your face as you try your most favorite treat for the very first time."

"I've already decided it's my second favorite," he told her, the corners of his lips kicking up in a sensual smirk as Sarah shifted awkwardly.

The funnel cake, of course, had every possible topping option adorning it and was starting to wilt in the summer heat. Sarah laughed as Jareth 'mmm'ed and 'ohhh'ed around mouthfuls, melty whipped cream dripping down his chin. "You sound like you're having an orgasm," she told him.

His eyes shot to hers and held with a look of pure sin. "You would know."

Sarah bit back an embarrassed smile. "Maybe."

Jareth chuckled. "So bashful," he commented, stroking her calf again. "Why?"

She choked. "I'm not—"

"You are," he told her. "You're redder than this strawberry." He picked up said strawberry between sticky fingers and pressed it to her lower lip.

Sarah let him slide it into her mouth, grateful for the moment it would take to chew so she could think of a response.

Jareth patiently waited for her to swallow, and when she still had nothing to say, he asked, "Well?"

"I'm just…" she trailed off, cursing herself for being at a loss for words. She never used to lack things to say.

He was searching her face when she looked up at him—his expression tinged with worry. The foot sliding up her leg dropped. "You're just….what, Sarah?"

Sarah looked away and mulled over his question. "Adjusting," she offered with a small shrug.

"Ah," Jareth said.

She expected him to say more—to double down on his teasing—but an uneasy silence fell between them. She glanced up to see him pushing around an almond on their mini charcuterie board with a morose look of concentration.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked, her chest welling with concern. "Why is your face doing that?"

Jareth flicked a grape at her. It bounced off her forehead as he said, "You're confused."

"Hey!" she admonished before his words caught up with her. "What? Confused about what?"

"About us," he elaborated, aiming another grape at her. She dodged it as he added, "About what you want."

Sarah reached out her hand and placed it atop the one assailing her with fruit. "I'm adjusting," she repeated. "This is new, and you're…coming in hot."

Jareth blinked at her. "I don't know what 'coming in hot' means, but if it's a compliment, thank you, and I know."

She laughed and squeezed his hand. "It means you're just being you but extra," she told him.

"I see," he said. "I can stop—"

"No," Sarah blurted. "I don't want you to stop."

The phrase reverberated in her brain, reminding her of when she'd said the same thing to him hours before in a cozy tent as they kissed for the first time. She suspected Jareth was thinking about it, too, as his booted toe resumed its path up her leg.

"Alright," he said. His voice was full of adoration when he added, "You positively befuddling creature."

Sarah smirked at him and shrugged her shoulders again. Her breath caught at the expression on his face, his lips curving into a nervous smile like he was about to ask her something crucial.

"Sarah—"

"How now, fair maiden! Kind sir! Wither be the privies?!" interjected someone who abruptly appeared beside them.

Jareth and Sarah jolted out of the tense moment they were sharing and looked at the intruder, a man dressed in full court jester regalia, long enough to say, "Over there."

They pointed in conflicting directions. Both flustered, they changed the orientation of their fingers, again pointing opposite ways, before Jareth glowered and said, "Prithee, fool, you must away."

The jester-man backed off before making himself scarce.

They turned back to each other, and Sarah frowned as Jareth quickly looked down at the plates before them. He busied himself with putting together a tiny sandwich of dried meat and cheese one-handed.

"Hey," she coaxed. "What were you going to say?"

Jareth set the sandwich down and met her gaze. "Sarah," he began but paused, sending her an appraising look.

"You said that part already," she teased lightly. "What's the next bit?"

He sighed warily before cautioning, "I don't think you'll like it."

Sarah gave his foot a reassuring nudge, though her stomach plummeted. "Try me."

"It's a question," Jareth warned.

She feigned nonchalance, picking up the little sandwich he had built and taking a bite. "Okay."

"When we were at the pool," he paused again as though recalling a long-ago memory for the both of them. "Oh, you remember the one with the lovely waterfall and the smooth rocks on which we defiled—"

"I remember," Sarah choked.

"You called me romantic." Heavy and meaningful, the statement hung between them as he held her gaze.

Sarah swallowed. After a moment, she admitted, "I did."

"You said it like that was something you wanted." That worried look Sarah didn't like reappeared on his sharp features. "Hours before, you shared that wasn't something you sought from anyone."

Her heart began pounding violently in her chest, and she found herself speechless again. She did her best to still her hands as they started to tremble.

Jareth tightened his fingers around the hand still joined with his. "You're panicking," he observed with a hint of alarm in his own voice.

Sarah could deny it but knew it was obvious. Instead, she said, "I thought you had a question." She bit her lip, regretting her statement immediately.

He searched her face, his gaze lingering on the lip she chewed. He seemed to consider his following words carefully, but they came out in a rush when he spoke. "Do you want me to be romantic?"

Sarah froze. "I—"

Jareth continued, "Because I understand romance isn't for everyone."

"Jareth, I—" she tried, but her words were lost on him as he prattled on, his free hand gesturing wildly.

"It's quite alright if it isn't something you want," he assured her. "I wouldn't pressure you into such things, and—"

Sarah snatched his flailing hand out of the air and pulled it down to the table, interlacing their fingers. "Jareth."

Jareth's mouth snapped shut. He waited.

She took a steadying breath and forced herself to meet his eyes. "I'm not sure if I've had romantic feelings for anyone before. I think what I've felt in the past has had more to do with obligation and duty…whatever role I was taking on in the relationship."

"What do you mean by 'role'?" he asked, uttering the word with distaste.

"I mean…" she took a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing, "It took years of therapy to see it for what it was, but I emulated the dynamic I saw between my parents. It was a business relationship, more than anything."

Jareth tightened his grip on her hands and inclined his head, encouraging her to resume the confession she hadn't expected to be giving.

Sarah squeezed his fingers in return and said, "My dad was unwaveringly there for my mom. He took care of her and supported her emotionally when she was chronically unavailable in every sense of the word. And he just….accepted it."

"And you think you're like your father?" Jareth asked gently.

"I think I have been," she admitted—a vice compressing around her heart. "I know I may have sounded"—she searched for the right word—"flippant about my choice to stay out of relationships before, but I don't feel flippant about it. Not really."

"I know," he told her, his voice hushed and reassuring. "That last part, I mean."

"I've been unquestioningly present for partners when they weren't meeting my needs or even bothering to know me. Who I am." Her words caught in a small sob that surprised her. She looked down and said, "My mom only ever saw herself."

Jareth was quiet for a time before he freed a hand from her hold and reached up to touch her cheek. "Sarah," he said, guiding her eyes to meet his again. "There is so much of you to see."

Her eyes began to burn with unshed tears as she scanned his face for any hint of teasing, anything that would make her want to take her admission back.

All Sarah saw was love.

"I see you," Jareth told her, brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had stubbornly escaped her stinging eyes. "And the more you let me see of you, the more I cherish."

Her heart felt like it shattered and expanded all at once. She nuzzled into his hand and let him hold her there for a moment as she took in his words. "I know," she finally said, her voice hardly above a whisper.

"That frightens you," he said, both a statement of truth and a question.

Sarah sucked in a shaky breath. "It does."

"But it's more than that, isn't it, dear one?" Jareth probed. "It isn't only what you know I feel for you that causes fear in your heart."

"I don't think I deserve it," she admitted, "these feelings you have for me."

"I know that, too," he said, and his eyes were glistening. "And it's a lie you've been telling yourself for a long time. Before we were as we have become. Before we were more."

"I'm grumpy," she told him, her words spilling out like the tears he brushed away. "And indecisive, and befuddling, and—"

"You're a person with flaws," Jareth interrupted. "But you're perfect to me. You're tender-hearted, quick-witted, and oh, so brave." He sent her a watery smile. "As well as an envy-inspiring dancer."

Sarah laughed in spite of herself. "Liar."

"Impossible," he said. "You can do the Charleston. I'm sure someone in this vast world would be jealous of that skill." He pressed his thumb to her lips when she opened her mouth to speak. "And before you regale me with tales of how much you hate me, consider that the opposite might be true. The feelings you spoke of, the feelings you know I have for you—you feel them too. For me. And that, Sarah Bear, is what truly frightens you."

Jareth dropped his hand and waited for her reply. His fingertips began to trace patterns on the inside of her outstretched arm—long, soothing strokes.

"Jareth," Sarah said with no plan of what she would say next. She watched him feather figure eights across her wrist, grateful for the distraction from his gaze that pinned her in place.

"We should date," he said abruptly.

"We—what?" Sarah stammered, her eyes flying to his.

"Date." He repeated the word like it belonged in his universe. "I'm making my intentions clear. I wish to date—to court you."

Sarah stared at him, flustered by his sudden declaration. "Um," she finally managed. "Okay."

"Okay?" Jareth asked with a hesitant smile.

Sarah felt her own lips curving. "Okay."

His smile spread into a wide grin. "Splendid!" he cheered before his brow furrowed slightly. "What, exactly, does dating mean?"

She laughed. "What, exactly, does courting mean?"

Jareth flipped his wrist dismissively. "Something more archaic than I intended. Let's go back to dating. Tell me about dating, Sarah."

Sarah snorted, lifting her shoulder to wipe straggling tears on her shirt sleeve. "It can mean a lot of things. In general, I think it means getting to know each other in a romantic context before commitment." She blushed, surprised she had included the word romantic. Her heart gave an extra little pitter-patter at realizing she wasn't upset by it.

His head tilted, owl-like. "What do people do while they are dating?" he queried.

Sarah hummed as she considered the question. "Well," she said, "They go on dates."

"I like where this is going," he told her. "What else?" He quirked a suggestive eyebrow at her as his toe resumed its path up her calf.

She sent him a mischievous smirk. "Some people abide by the 'three dates rule.'"

Jareth's smile faltered. "I tend to dislike rules, but continue."

Sarah stifled a laugh. "Three dates before sex," Sarah clarified, sure he would react in horror.

"I love it," he announced, beaming at her.

"You—what?" she babbled, shocked. "You're joking."

"I'm not," he told her, booping her nose with a fried Twinkie. "I can't lie, remember?"

Sarah blinked at him. "You really want to abstain from sex for three whole dates?"

Jareth took a beat to answer, then clarified, "I wouldn't say I want to, Sarah. But I think taking a step back would be a good idea."

"A few steps," she corrected and felt herself flush again.

"A few steps," he agreed. "Though the way you are blushing right now almost has me reconsidering."

A POP sounded as a small goblin Sarah immediately recognized as Flit appeared on the end of the picnic table. "THERE YOU ARE!" she blustered, kicking away the wheel of brie ensconcing a tiny, armor-clad foot. "How dare you turn off your magic?" she demanded, the cheese sailing past Jareth's head. "I have been worried SICK!"

Chapter Text

Jareth's hands tensed on the picnic table as he assessed Flit. "Is everyone alright?" was his first question, and Sarah warmed at the concern in his voice.

Flit harrumphed. "Yes, but—"

"I told you I would be unreachable this weekend," he reminded her after exhaling a relieved sigh. "What is so urgent that has you bursting forth onto our cheese plate?"

Flit planted her fists on her hips in an indignant pose that Sarah immediately recognized. She did her best not to laugh—a task that was proving much more difficult in person—when her mind idly wondered if Flit had picked up the habit from Jareth, or visa versa.

"Does something need to be urgent for a castle to require its King?" Flit demanded with nasally impudence.

Jareth lifted a brow as his head tilted. "Are you reporting that the hands I left said castle in are not capable?" he queried, a playful edge in his voice.

The little goblin scoffed an affronted scoff, and Sarah had the distinct impression it was Flit's hands he was referring to.

"I'm not saying that," Flit answered grumpily.

"I see," Jareth drawled, feigning boredom. He took a casual bite of a hand pie, taking the time to chew and swallow before asking. "What, precisely, are you saying, then?"

"I'm saying," Flit began, already exasperated. "Regardless of how capable one's hands are, there's only so much anyone who isn't you can take."

"Ah. It's Curd," Jareth supplied, relaxing a little. "This is all about Curd."

"It's not all about—well, yes, fine, it is largely about Curd," Flit admitted. "She's taken to secreting herself away and then surprise-scaring the life out of whoever happens to be existing nearby." The little goblin mimed what Sarah could only assume was her best impression of a raccoon leaping out with teeth and claws bared.

Jareth looked like he was trying to conceal a smirk. "Why do I suspect that the person existing nearby is most often you?"

Flit scowled and pointed a finger at him. "Don't look so pleased with yourself. You never should have taught her how to play hide and seek."

"She may have overgeneralized it a bit," Jareth agreed regretfully, though the curve of his lips betrayed him.

"A bit," Flit said in clipped tones.

"I'll speak with her when I return home," he told her, his tone suddenly solemn.

She squinted at him warningly. "You say that like you're not coming home now."

Jareth smirked. "Oh, I'm having too much fun to leave."

Her orange eyes bulged. "But—"

"You must try funnel cake," he said before scooping some onto his fork and airplaning it to her.

Flit, not to be distracted, shooed him away with her tiny clawed hands.

"I'll be home tonight," Jareth swore, his fork hovering menacingly.

"Tonight?" Flit squawked. "But that's—"

Jareth's hand darted forward. Flit snapped her beak shut but he was too quick for her, popping the bite into her mouth.

She glared. And chewed. And one of her little scaly eyebrows raised. "That's delicious," she allowed around the mouthful.

"I know," Jareth said with a dreamy sigh. "So you see my predicament."

"A bit more clearly, yes," Flit conceded as her goat-like gaze swung to Sarah. "Though I think it has more to do with present company."

Sarah's cheeks heated as she became suddenly aware of her outstretched wrist still laying flat on the tabletop, fingers splayed as though grasping for Jareth. She pulled her hand into her lap self consciously.

"Ah, right. Introductions," Jareth said, suddenly fiddling with his napkin. Sarah could have sworn there was a current of nervousness in his voice. "This is—"

"I'm Sarah," Sarah asserted. "It's so nice to meet you, Flit."

The corners of Flit's beaky mouth twitched into something resembling a half-smile. "Sarah," she greeted with the mildest of curtsies. "Finally." She didn't sound unkind, but there was a note of blame behind the word.

Jareth groaned. "Don't start in on the poor woman," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

Flit sucked air through her beak scoldingly. "It's not Sarah I should start in on." Her horizontal pupils narrowed on Jareth. "It's you. Coming and going whenever you please and never bringing her to meet your family."

"That's my fault," Sarah confessed, her heart clenching—both from how Flit had said family and the assumption Jareth was in and out of her life only on his terms. "He's asked me to visit. I…" she trailed off and glanced at Jareth blankly.

"Flit," Jareth said as his ankle rubbed Sarah's reassuringly beneath the table. "Sarah knows she is a welcomed guest whenever she so chooses."

"Oh," Flit said with a new gentleness. "Well. I'd be happy to host you, Sarah." She cast a sly eye at Jareth. "I've heard so much about you."

She'd expected Jareth to rebuke Flit for such a statement, but he was smiling when Sarah looked over at him.

"Have you?" Sarah asked, feeling her own smile tugging at her lips.

"So very much," Flit said teasingly, her gaze still fixed on Jareth. "I could tell you all sorts of things about him, too. To make it even."

Sarah giggled. She decided she adored this cantankerous, meddling goblin.

"Alright," Jareth interjected with a chuckle. "Let's not—"

"Woah, kid!" crowed a voice from behind Sarah.

She turned to see the group of teenagers from earlier meandering towards their picnic table. She'd been so enthralled by meeting Flit that she hadn't even considered she might attract the attention of fair-goers.

"Sweet goblin costume!" Another teen chimed in.

"Goblin?" Flit squeaked as Sarah asked, "Costume?" and Jareth complained, "Kid?"

The teenager frowned and looked at Jareth. "Yeah… you said you were the Goblin King."

Jareth relaxed. "I did say that, didn't I?"

Flit looked scandalized. "You said what?!" she whisper-screamed, her hand unhelpfully cupping her mouth in the wrong direction.

Her tone was so sharp and chiding that one of the kids took a step back in surprise. Another grabbed her friends by the arms and started to lead them away.

"I told them the truth: I am the Goblin King," Jareth said calmly as the teens wandered off. "Fitting, as we are at a costume-themed event."

Flit blinked at the teenagers, dressed as various steam-punk characters, and then more broadly at the patrons around them. "They think I am your child in a goblin suit." She shuddered. "That's horrifying on so many levels."

"Agreed," Jareth said, grimacing.

They were quiet for a moment. Flit's eyes darted around the fair nervously before she said, "I probably shouldn't be here."

"You really shouldn't," he told her with the patient grin of someone awaiting another to arrive at their desired conclusion.

"I should go," Flit admitted wistfully, as though being asked to stay.

Jareth nodded sagely. "If you must."

"You." She pointed a threatening finger at him again. "Tonight."

"Tonight," Jareth promised her.

"And you." Flit turned to Sarah. "I hope I see you soon," she said, and with a comparatively discreet pop, was gone.

Sarah glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed Flit's sudden disappearance. When her eyes met Jareth's, she caught the strangest expression on his face before it melted into impassivity—something like excitement and anxiety all rolled into one.

"Well," Jareth said, shrugging. "That was Flit."

"I love her," Sarah blurted, grinning.

He looked surprised. "Do you?" He seemed to ponder that for a moment then sighed. "As do I."

"Come on," she said. "You should see the rest of the faire before we leave."

They strolled around the patchwork of booths and pop-ups, and Jareth found a new hobby in pointing out various historical inaccuracies to Sarah in conspiratorially low tones only she could hear.

They stopped under a large tent selling jewelry. Jareth was off, immediately driven by the need to inspect and touch everything shiny. Sarah wandered through the tent and found herself at the back where copper wire-wrapped charms hung in front of a mirrored display. A pair of necklaces caught her eye—a sun and a moon.

She touched the moon, a deep purple crescent carved from smooth, tumbled amethyst. Her fingers strayed to the sun necklace—carnelian, a rich burnt orange with gold and red flakes. Copper designs framed it with twists and curls radiating outward.

Sarah picked up the necklace and held it out, letting rays of light shine through the spherical stone. She smiled to herself, her thoughts straying to Jareth's fingers on her wrist in times of comfort, spreading like the warmth of the sun.

"It's beautiful," Jareth commented from behind her. His long, gloved fingers slid the necklace from her hands and draped it around her neck before deftly clicking the clasp closed.

He'd chosen the shortest loop. The pendant glowed a beautiful deep orange from the hollow of her throat.

Jareth's fingertip trailed along the excess chain that hung from the back of her neck and Sarah shivered. She wanted to tell him she'd been thinking of him when she saw the necklace, but the words stuck in her throat as he touched the pendant, then traced a finger below her collarbone.

Something about watching their reflection as he touched her had her heart beating wildly. She could see the pulse in her neck thrumming against the necklace chain.

"Would you wear it?" he asked, his breath warm at her nape.

Sarah's eyes cut to his.

"As a token of affection between friends," he said, hugging her from behind and giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek before releasing her. "Nothing binding or anything so predictable."

Sarah laughed and leaned back into him before he could pull away. "Stay," she said to his reflection.

Jareth flashed her a grin as his arms slid back around her. He perched his chin on her shoulder. "It suits you, you know."

She covered his arms with her own and leaned her head on his. "How so?"

"You're constant," he told her.

"Stubborn, you mean," she offered with a smirk.

"Stubborn," he agreed. "And Unconditional. Unwavering"—he nuzzled into her neck and left a lingering kiss against her pulse—"and so warm."

His eyes caught hers in the mirror. "Will you wear it?"

Sarah caught the slight change in how he had asked this time. Will you, not would you—removing the hypothetical from the question.

"I love it," Sarah told him, "But those things describe you more than they do me."

Jareth frowned slightly and Sarah quickly did her best to elaborate. "I was thinking of you when I saw it. It's not the first time you've reminded me of the sun."

His eyes lit up and he turned her to face him. "Is that so?"

"It is," she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I'm much more like the moon, anyway."

"True," Jareth relented. "You're deliciously moody and powerfully grounding." a smile curved his lips. "And you keep me thoroughly in your thrall."

She laughed. "You said I was constant!"

"You are," Jareth told her, his eyes dancing with hers. "Constantly you. Constantly surprising. Constantly inquisitive, and brave, and honest."

"Oh, god," Sarah said in mock embarrassment, though her cheeks were heating. She gestured to the nearly abandoned tent. "You're making me blush in front of all these people."

"Well, one of us should wear the necklace and my vote is you," Jareth remarked, eyeing where it lay nestled at her throat. "I wasn't lying when I said it suited you. The flecks bring out the gold in your eyes."

"You can't lie," she said by rote, though the compliment made her stomach flip.

Jareth's gaze lifted as something caught his attention behind her, and Sarah turned to see his focus was on the amethyst moon pendant.

"Ooo," he cooed, snatching it up. "Treasure."

She eyed him skeptically. "Both?"

"Don't be daft," he scoffed as he maneuvered it under his hair. "This one is for me."

The moon fell to the center of his sternum, a few inches above the pendant he always wore. Both were visible against his bare chest where his shirt was parted.

Sarah was nearly overpowered by a sudden urge to taste the skin there. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to cry. She wanted to look at their reflections as they wore these new little pieces of their hearts around their necks.

Instead, she touched the amethyst at his chest. "It suits you," she told him. "The purple. The shape."

Jareth leveled her with a playful stare. "And the part where it will always remind me of you," he finished.

Sarah smiled through a blush and moved away from him as the clerk approached. "Buyin'?" she asked, a tankard of mead sloshing in her hands.

"Yes," Jareth said, businesslike as he brandished the gaudy watch that had made a sudden reappearance on his wrist. He slipped it off and said, "I propose a trade. The watch for the two necklaces."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Jareth, you can't just haggle—"

"Aye! A bartering!" The clerk cried, seizing the watch and marching off. "Huzzah!"

Jareth slid an I-was-right-and-you-know-it smile at Sarah.

"Huzzah," Sarah cheered with a sheepish grin.

Jareth's eyes glittered as he reached out to touch her sun pendant. "I look forward to seeing this against your naked skin." He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "Just you and your sun."

Sarah hummed against his mouth, a swarm of butterflies loose in her belly and chest. Her hand slid to his cheek and she held him there, their mouths barely touching. "Are we really committed to this whole three dates thing?" she asked, moving her lips over his.

His palm flattened over her pendant, fingers gently curling around her neck. "Oh," he said before nipping her lip. "Definitely."

She whimpered, sagging slightly in his hold, and Jareth pulled back and smirked at what Sarah knew must have been a crestfallen look on her face. She pouted a very Jareth-like pout, and he leaned back in to kiss it away. The softest slide of his mouth over hers, and Sarah was spinning.

As chaste as this kiss was, it was heavy with mood and meaning. So much had been acknowledged—established between them since last they'd kissed, and she could feel it in the tender press of his lips. In the massage of his fingertips sliding into her hair.

Sarah sighed as he drew away from her. Her eyes felt heavy and hesitant to open. When they did, he was beaming at her with so much affection, her heart teetered out of rhythm.

She smiled and dropped her hand. "We should get going," she told him.

Jareth held her hand on the way to the car, just his pinky clinging to hers. Sarah raced ahead of him when they reached the car, flinging his door open for him with a bow. "Your Majesty," she said, ushering him in.

He curtsied prettily and folded himself into the passenger seat.

Sarah felt his stare follow her as she skirted around her car and climbed into the driver's seat. She turned to him once she settled and clicked her seatbelt on. "What?" He was grinning, and Sarah succumbed to the impulsive urge to grin back. "Why are you smiling like that?"

Jareth touched his moon pendant, his fingers lingering on the stone as he reclined in his seat. "Adoring someone this much is a reason to smile, I think."

A flush crept up her neck and her heartbeat slammed with renewed vigor behind her ribs. She started her car and pulled out of the parking spot and back onto the road. She peeked over at him and said his name. A question and a plea.

"Oh, relax," he told her, flipping a hand at her dismissively. "I said adoring. A safe enough word."

Sarah chuckled. "I adore you, too." She reached a hand across the car and rested it on his knee. "You know that."

"Of course I do," Jareth said, covering her fingers briefly before she pulled away. He busied his hands with carding through their CDs.

"What will we be listening to?" She asked.

Jareth slid her a grin as he pushed a CD into the stereo.

Sarah perked up immediately when the opening notes to 'Seasons of Love' from the Broadway musical Rent began. They sang the well-rehearsed lines passionately trading off verses they had practiced so many times before.

The soundtrack had ended and they were almost home when Jareth popped the CD out. He'd grown pensive, and Sarah glanced over at him. "What's up?"

"Sarah," he said casually. "Why were you so eager to start our drive?"

A secret smile played on her lips. "I need some time to get ready for our date tonight."

Jareth's head snapped over to her. "Our what?"

"Date," she said the word as simply as he'd said it hours before. "Our first official date."

Jareth looked devastated with temptation. "I promised Flit I would return Underground tonight," he reminded her warily.

"You did," Sarah said as she pulled into her parking spot. She took a deep breath and turned to him. "And I'm asking you to take me with you."

Chapter Text

Sarah killed the ignition, and the music ended in the abrupt sort of way that precedes a loaded silence. Jareth's rapt attention seemed to drill through the side of her face as he shifted nervously in the passenger seat.

Anxiety was writ across his face when she turned to him. He looked like he wasn't sure he'd heard her right. Or was worried she was about to declare she'd changed her mind. Or both.

"Thoughts?" Sarah urged, nerves tingling with apprehension as she second-guessed her boldness. She felt suddenly vulnerable, fearful of rejection—afraid she was rushing or pushing or something bad.

His mouth opened and shut as if he'd had something to say and then scratched it. "It's impolite to invite yourself," he told her instead. His expression turned masterfully passive as he relaxed back in his seat. "Rude woman."

She snorted, relieved as a little of the tension dissipated. "Proudly rude."

Jareth smirked. "If you insist upon coming along, I suppose I have no choice," he drawled with feigned disinterest before adding under his breath, "As though I haven't all but begged you to visit me for months."

"Years," Sarah corrected, matching his dismissive tone. "Though I guess it is at least a little inconsiderate of me to assume you could throw together a last-minute date."

Jareth straightened and leaned in closer, his eyes glittering and locked on hers. "That sounds like a challenge."

She raised a questioning brow. "Challenge accepted?"

"Oh, Sarah." His eyes rolled like he had no patience for such a foolish question. "Have you known me to turn down a dare?"

Sarah hummed thoughtfully, even though it wasn't a hard question to answer in the slightest. "Never," she finally allowed.

He considered her a moment before shrugging a casual shrug. "I should probably stay true to form, then."

"Probably," she told him, playing along like she couldn't care less either way though she couldn't help but smile.

"How much time do you need to pull yourself together?" Jareth asked, reaching across to unbuckle her seatbelt before unclicking his own. The look he sent her was full of mock disapproval. "You look like you've just spent a long weekend traipsing about in the wilderness."

Sarah laughed. "Shut up, feather head," she scolded, tossing an amused glance back at him before they stepped out of the car.

"Well?" he prodded, peering at her over the roof.

She opened the trunk and reached for her duffle. "I'll need help unpacking the car, and then—" She stopped short as the weight of her bag disappeared from her fingers. When she looked down, her trunk was empty.

"And then?" Jareth asked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Sarah smirked. "Eager to get this date on the road, are you?"

"Perhaps," he admitted, his hand finding hers while they walked to her front door. "How long?"

"Give me an hour," she said as they pushed into the entryway. "Are you going to wait here?"

"As much as I regret being unable to watch you shower, I think I'll pop home and alert Flit of your impending arrival," Jareth informed her. "Better I bear the brunt of her interrogations without you present."

Sarah sighed. "I am admittedly a bit bummed to be missing out on that."

"That's because you"—he planted a fond kiss on her forehead—"are a sadist."

"A haggard sadist," she reminded him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "See you in an hour?"

Jareth nodded with a smirk and vanished.

His sudden absence was jarring, as was the feeling of his fingers disappearing from between hers. She had become so accustomed to him being around, and it unsettled her to realize she missed him already. She tried to push away the ache worming its way into her chest and beelined for her bathroom.

The warmth of her shower was a relief, but it wasn't enough to fully drown out the unwelcome thoughts that poured into her mind before she could stop them.

What if I'm in over my head?

What if I care too much?

What if this all falls apart?

What if, what if, what if…

Half an hour that she couldn't account for later, she found herself wrapped in a towel and surrounded by a pile of clothes. She lost more time as she tried on various outfits, none feeling quite right for a first date in the Underground.

She cursed herself for not asking Jareth what she should wear. Dresses felt too formal to commit to without knowing what he was planning, and she was looking forward to taking a break from jeans and shorts after wearing them all weekend.

She settled on a denim skirt and a flowy, off-the-shoulder top with a delicate design of orange and purple flowers that complimented the carnelian sun pendant at her throat. Shoes posed a whole other dilemma, and she tore through her closet before opting for comfort and pulling on a pair of sandals.

Plopping down at her vanity, she glanced at the clock. Jareth would arrive in five minutes, and she had no idea what to do with her makeup.

Shit, shit, shit…

And all the while, What if, what if, what if…

Panicking, she swept eyeliner across her top lash line in a hasty cat's eye. Her hand was trembling with the pressure of the ticking clock as she tried to mirror her work on the other lid.

She swore as she sat back and assessed her uneven liner, scrubbing at one side with a Q-tip.

The second attempt was just as unsuccessful, and she felt the sudden urge to cry as a ceaseless chorus of what-ifs crescendoed in her mind. The corner of her left eye was a blurry mess as she blinked away anxious tears. "No, no, no—"

Sarah felt the shift in the atmosphere as Jareth appeared behind her. Technically, he wasn't breaking his agreement of not sneaking up on her since she could see his reflection.

Jareth looked like he was about to smirk before her distraught expression registered. He sighed instead before gliding over to where she sat. "May I help?" he asked, gently taking the eyeliner from her shaking fingers and setting it on her vanity.

She nodded, embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm not ready, I just—"

"You're nervous," Jareth supplied, his tone observational without a hint of mockery. He dampened another Q-tip with makeup remover and straddled her. "Close your eyes. Let's see what you've done."

She obeyed, grateful to shut out the world for a moment while she attempted to bully her breathing back to something resembling normal. Jareth's breath was a soft breeze against her face and her mind flashed back to the last time he'd done her makeup. The unbearable tension that had strung itself between them then like a violin string fit to snap juxtaposed sharply with the grounding weight of him atop her thighs.

Gloved fingers tipped her chin this way and that. "Sarah," Jareth chided. "How many times must I suggest not attempting a liner wing at the very last moment?"

Sarah huffed a self-deprecating huff. "Doubt it will be the last time," she said bitterly as he wiped away the evidence of her botched attempt.

"Oh, I rather hope not," he told her, a smile in his voice. "I enjoy sitting in your lap."

Remembering their deal, Sarah tried to brush his comment aside. Like it didn't drag memories through her mind that made her shiver. Like she wasn't thinking about how good he smelled, like fresh herbs and something richer. Cedar, maybe.

She became suddenly aware of how tightly her hands grasped his kneecaps, and she tried to steer the conversation back to her mangled eyeliner and tendency toward hasty cosmetic endeavors. "Why am I like this?"

"Because you're nervous," he repeated in a singsong.

A cotton swab dabbed away the makeup remover before she felt the liner brush smooth above her lashes and flick expertly at the corner.

"Maybe," Sarah conceded, her heart thundering at his nearness as though they hadn't been figuratively and literally on top of one another for three days. "But you're being generous. This is a character flaw."

"I like to think of it as an endearing character quirk," he told her teasingly.

She chuckled. "I'm glad you're here," she said, and it was true. As treacherous as her heartbeat was—galloping nervously as so accused—the reality of him pressing her into the velvet of her vanity seat cushion was reassuring. The reel of what-ifs had slowed to something more manageable, at least.

"I'm glad to hear that," Jareth said. "Open your eyes and look down for me."

Sarah cast her eyes down and did a terrible job of hiding that her gaze immediately focused on Jareth's half-hard bulge. Then lingered, her fingers itching to touch.

He brushed mascara onto her lashes—unbothered—before kissing both of her reddening cheeks. When greens met blues, he was smiling at her.

"Still haggard?" she asked, her own smile pulling at her lips.

"Stunning," he answered before gracefully climbing out of her lap and unabashedly adjusting himself.

Sarah allowed herself to get a good look at him for the first time. To say he'd dressed up would be an understatement. An opulent silk, frilly shirt was tucked neatly into tight black trousers. The amethyst moon rested proudly over his sternum. A shimmering cape the deep blue of the evening sky flowed around him and he had a full face of what Sarah called his 'special occasion' makeup.

"You look amazing," Sarah told him, unable to keep the slight whine of dismay out of her voice.

Jareth smirked and swirled his cape demonstratively. "Don't sound so pleased."

She pouted. "I'm underdressed."

"You're perfect," he said, picking up her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Her heart skipped a beat at the brush of his lips against her skin. "Not quite," she told him and reached for the purple lipstick he'd chosen for her what seemed like so long ago now. She smoothed the shade over her lips before pressing them together with a purposeful smack.

"Sadist," Jareth hissed approvingly.

Sarah laughed and let him pull her to her feet. "Do I need to bring anything?"

His thumb rubbed the top of her hand as he studied her. After a moment, he said, "That's up to you."

Her breath caught at his implied meaning. "Do you…um…" She bit her lip, suddenly nervous she'd misread him.

"Want you to stay the night?" Jareth finished for her, those crinkles at the corners of his eyes she loved so much warming his smile. "Tonight and every night."

"Just an innocent sleepover," Sarah added hurriedly.

He flattened a palm over his heart like he was taking an oath. "The chastest of slumber parties."

Sarah chuckled and moved to her closet. "Give me a sec," she told him as she threw pajamas and a change of clothes into a bag. She ran to her bathroom and returned with her toiletries.

"Ready?" Jareth asked as he took the bag from her and slung it over his shoulder.

She took a steadying breath and took his hand. "Ready."

The next thing Sarah knew she was in Jareth's throne room. It was startlingly deserted, or so Sarah thought before a head—one donning a leather cap sprouting curved horns—popped out importantly from behind the throne.

"Highness!" the goblin she recognized as Lem exclaimed, a polishing rag clasped in one hand. "I was just shining—"

"Lem," Jareth interrupted, apparently eager to cut him off before he detailed every chore he'd done since they'd last spoken. "Where is Fl—"

"Hi Lem," Sarah cut in, stepping in front of Jareth. She held out her hand politely. "I'm Sarah."

Lem blinked at Sarah, then at her hand. "You wanting me to polish that, or…?"

Jareth groaned and snatched Sarah's hand away. "Where is Flit?"

"She's been hiding from Curd all day," Lem informed him, his voice lowering to a hush like uttering the raccoon's name would summon her. He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Unsuckfully."

"Un-what?" Jareth asked, refusing to match Lem's cautious volume.

"Unsuckfully," Lem repeated before noisily sniffing a trail of snot in danger of fleeing from a rather cavernous nostril. "She's tried. And she's failed."

Jareth looked more confused and no less irritated.

Sarah giggled. "I think he means unsuccessfully."

"That's what I said," Lem protested with a huff.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Back to the question I asked," he said in clipped tones. "Where is Flit at this moment?"

Lem's eyes scanned the room and he shrugged. "Not here," he supplied, immune to Jareth's growing ire.

"I can see where she isn't," Jareth said, gentling his voice in a seemingly painful attempt at changing tack. "But where is she?"

"Upstairs, waiting for you in the eastern wing," Lem told him. "Shoulda just asked that," he added in a bewildered tone like Jareth had been speaking in riddles.

Sarah managed not to laugh, but couldn't fight the smile spreading across her face.

Jareth's hands were balled into clenched fists at his sides. "I did—"

"Come on," she said, tugging on Jareth's sleeve and feeling very much like she was disrupting a one-sided sibling squabble.

Jareth sighed and let Sarah lead him out of the throne room. She didn't know where she was going other than the opposite direction from where she remembered the Escher room to have been.

No thanks.

After they'd walked a few paces, Jareth took charge and steered her down a hallway and up a winding flight of stone steps. "Watch out for marbles," he warned her with a wink.

"And tacks," came Flit's exasperated shrill from the top of the stairs. "That's her newest method of attempted murder."

"'Attempted murder' seems like harsh phrasing," Jareth teased.

Flit seemed less than amused. One of her feet was bootless and wrapped in bandages. "Attempted maiming, then."

Jareth eyed her foot as they reached the landing before meeting Flit's gaze. "Victorious maiming, it appears."

Flit stomped her good foot. "I told you she has been escalating!"

"You did," he agreed. "Where is sh—aaagghh!"

Jareth's words were abruptly cut off, his face replaced by a writhing mass of fur and stripes.

Sarah stumbled back in surprise, and Flit jumped up and down with grasping arms that didn't come close to removing the baby raccoon from Jareth's person.

Curd was wrapped firmly around his head, and her teeth were closed around one of his ears threateningly. Jareth's searching hands pried her mouth away first as she nipped at his fingers, hissing and purring all at once. Finally, he managed to disentangle her limbs before holding her out at arm's length.

"I hear you've been rather busy," Jareth cooed at her while Curd scolded him with a stream of chatters and snarls. Her little paws swiped uselessly at the space between them.

"A-ah," Jareth chided fondly. "I won't put you down until you promise to behave."

Flit scowled in indignation, clearly unimpressed by Jareth's lax parenting. "Why, I never!" she said in a tone that suggested she had ever—many times over.

Curd boxed the air for a moment longer before finally slumping in surrender with a sad little whimper.

"Promise?" Jareth coaxed with a raised brow.

The raccoon glared at him for a suspended beat before nodding resentfully and sounding an affirmative chirp.

Jareth set her down with a gentleness that had Sarah swallowing past a sudden lump in her throat. "Sit," he commanded.

Curd sat, but not before taking her sweet time to consider her options. Her ringed tail switched agitatedly as she waited for his impending lecture.

"Curd," Jareth began, towering over her with his hands on his hips. "You've been naughty."

The little raccoon began chittering at him in a burst of explanations before Jareth interrupted her with another, "A-ah!"

Curd's mouth snapped shut as Flit harrumphed in support of the new sharpness in Jareth's tone.

"I allow you to roam freely under certain conditions," Jareth went on. "Isn't that right?"

Her beady eyes glanced sidelong at Flit before flicking back to Jareth. She nodded again with a short jerk of her masked face.

"Have you been holding to that agreement?" Jareth asked. "Answer me true, or we will have to renegotiate our terms."

"For Goblins' sake!" Flit blustered, but Jareth held out a quelling hand.

"Let her answer," he told Flit, not unkindly.

Curd quickly glanced at Flit's bandaged foot before her gaze drifted away to examine an unremarkable candle sconce with sudden interest.

"Curd." Jareth dragged out the name with an implied warning. "Look at me when I am speaking to you."

When Curd's eyes met Jareth's, they were the size of saucers and full of forced remorse. She shook her head.

"You don't say," Flit commented resentfully beneath her breath.

Jareth sent Flit a can you not right now? look before addressing Curd again. "Have you been particularly antagonistic to Flit?"

Curd's shoulders lifted and fell, the motion looking for all the world like a shrug.

"No more hunting Flit, Curd," Jareth told her, his words a stern order. "Or anyone else," he added quickly when Curd looked a little too compliant.

Curd darted forward and wrapped her arms around his leg, nuzzling his calf with a sorrowful whine.

Jareth knelt down and took the little raccoon into his arms. "I know I was gone," he said as he cradled her to him. "I'm sorry. But it's no excuse for violence."

The raccoon gave a morose little bark that left Sarah unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

"We treat others with kindness and respect," Jareth continued, and Sarah's heart all but exploded. "From now on, you will only play hide-and-seek with me, and only if I know we are playing."

Curd whimpered noncommittally.

"Agreed?" Jareth urged.

The raccoon nodded before burrowing her face into the crook of his neck.

Jareth nodded approvingly. "You've behaved badly, but you are not bad," he told her, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

Curd pulled Jareth's ear between her teeth again, nibbling affectionately as purrs rumbled through her.

"Now apologize to Flit," he told her firmly.

Her purrs stopped abruptly and she cast a wary eye at the little goblin. After a long moment, she let out a chirp that sounded at least somewhat sincere.

Flit crossed her arms. "No more marbles. No more tacks," she said. "My foot really hurts, Curd."

Curd pushed out of Jareth's arms and folded herself around the tiny goblin. She chirped again, and this time, true penitence was clear in the apology.

"For Goblins' sake," Flit repeated with an exasperated sigh. The baby raccoon's head was nearly at a level with her own, and she patted the top of it awkwardly. "I accept your apology."

Curd's saucer eyes were back as she gazed at Flit expectantly as if to say, and?

Flit sighed again. "I love you, too, you scoundrel."

Curd chirruped happily before scampering off.

Sarah watched Jareth's and Flit's expressions as they tracked the raccoon's progress down a hallway. Flit still looked exasperated and harassed, and Jareth looked warmed and wistful—but it was the bottomless affection on both of their faces that had Sarah's chest filling with emotion. She felt like she had observed something precious and intimate, a glimpse into a family she was privileged enough to see only now.

Flit turned to Sarah and shrugged. "What can you do?"

Sarah chuckled. "Couldn't tell you. She's adorable."

The little goblin scoffed fondly and Jareth beamed.

"Welcome back, Sarah," Flit said, smiling a true smile at her before looking at Jareth. "Everything is prepared." Her orange goat eyes narrowed. "Behave yoursel—"

"Yes, yes," Jareth interjected. "Let me see to your foot before I gallivant off to commit ungentlemanly acts."

He waved a hand and the bandage around Flit's foot unraveled like a charmed snake. Kneeling down, he gently took her foot in hand before muttering a string of unknown words. Tiny glyphs and runes Sarah didn't recognize sparkled in the air and sank into Flit's skin.

Flit wriggled her toes. "Thanks," she told Jareth with only a dash of lingering resentment. "Mind yourself," she added before Jareth could protest.

She turned to Sarah and gave her a wobbly bow—the kind that suggested she was entirely unaccustomed to bowing—and disappeared.

Jareth offered an elbow to Sarah. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she said, taking his arm as he led her down a series of hallways.

The maze of halls was unmemorable, with floors and walls of aged sandstone, and candles flickering in sconces, lighting their way.

The large chamber they entered, however, took Sarah's breath away. The walls were decorated with large tapestries showing various scenery, some looking vaguely recognizable to Sarah, but not quite right—like a magenta mountain range with bronze snowcaps, and a silvery desert landscape with a sky full of orange, roiling, cumulonimbus clouds.

One showed a view from what looked like the moon, Earth floating in a bath of darkness beyond the pale rocky terrain. A white sun hung, mid-rise.

The images seemed to shift and sway slightly as Sarah studied them, so vibrant was the thread they had been woven with.

"What are these?" Sarah asked. "They can't be normal tapestries."

"Indeed, they are not," Jareth agreed with a poorly concealed grin at her wonder. "Though I've not come up with a more inventive word in which to name them."

"Wait." Sarah turned to him with wide eyes. "Did you make them?"

"I'm told I wove them when I was young," Jareth answered. "But I don't recall a time when they weren't here."

Sarah was quiet for a moment while she considered this. His murky memory of his own youth was such a baffling thing—it always made her a bit uneasy to think about. She wanted to ask him more about the tapestries, but said instead, "Why are we here?"

"Pick one," Jareth told her, his eyes dancing.

Sarah cast him a suspicious look before she glanced around. All of the tapestries were stunning, but she found herself drawn to a brilliant landscape of a pearlescent beach with foamy tides of a milky pink. Fluffy stratocumulus clouds stretched across the aquamarine sky like pale yellow cotton balls with brilliant golden edges.

"That one," Sarah said decisively, pointing to the seascape tapestry.

Jareth's grin stretched, her choice clearly delighting him. "I thought so," he congratulated himself.

Sarah smirked. "You think you know me so well."

"We've been over this," he told her, lifting a shoulder. "I do."

Sarah smiled. It felt good to be known. "Now what?" she asked.

"Now," Jareth said, taking her hand and leading her toward the woven sea. "We go on our very first date."

Sarah felt her brows knit together. "We—what?"

"Location weaving," Jareth explained like he'd forgotten to catch her up to speed. "The magic I used to craft the tapestries."

Sarah's breath hitched. "You're saying we can go there?"

"If we intend to when we step into it," he replied. "If our intentions aren't clear, we'd walk into a faceful of fabric."

She examined the tapestry and focused on wanting to feel that pearly sand beneath her feet, to hear the gentle roll of the pastel sea. To her surprise, the image before her began to move—the frothy water progressing up the beach before retreating, leaving tiny rivulets in the sand behind it.

Sarah felt Jareth's hand span reassuringly at her lower back, urging her forward. She took a step, unsure of what to expect, and felt a salty breeze kiss her cheeks as she passed beyond the tapestry and into a whole new environment.

Scaly, verdant green creatures soared above them—their wing and tail feathers as gold as the sun, shimmering behind the clouds. One dove beneath the waves and retrieved something like a fish, though it had flippered back feet instead of fins.

Sarah's gaze trailed from the water to stare at the brilliant beach of tiny pearls. Though it was a sparkling white, it gleamed with every color in the spectrum, seeming to refract a barely detectible haze of rainbow above the sand.

"You can take your shoes off," Jareth said from beside her.

She wasted no time in unbuckling her sandals and sliding her feet out of them. She dug her toes into the warm bed of pearls and looked at Jareth.

"This is incredible, J," she told him, a huge smile plastered on her face.

"Just you wait," he said, ruffling her hair before striding toward the water. "Walk with me."

Sarah followed him, marveling at the feeling of the smooth sand between her toes.

Jareth stopped near an outcropping of what looked like giant clusters of citrine quartz and peeled off his fancy date shirt before tossing it unceremoniously onto the rocks. His boots and pants followed, thrown just as haphazardly.

He glanced back at Sarah and grinned when he found her a few paces behind him, openly staring.

"Feeling timid, Sarah?" he asked, his head on a tilt. "I assure you, we are alone."

Her feet found the sudden motivation to move as she strode over to him, peeling off her shirt and unhooking her bra as she went. She stood in front of him, holding his gaze as she unbuttoned her skirt and stepped out of it.

"You know I'm not timid," she said, sliding closer. Her finger hooked in the band of her panties. "But if you are, I can leave these on."

Jareth rumbled with something between a growl and a purr that suggested timid was the last thing he felt.

Sarah grinned and ditched her panties with the rest of her clothes on the citrine beside his. "Last one in's a stinky bog!" she called over her shoulder as she bolted toward the water.

"That makes no sense," she heard Jareth retort, hot on her heels. "A person cannot be a bog."

"I have faith in you," she said, laughing as she reached the waves. She kicked a spray of water at him as she spun around.

It missed, but the splash he sent her way did not, spritzing her from head to toe. Sarah laughed again, her heart bubbling over with childlike delight at everything around her: the pastel turquoise sky with its cheerful clouds, the crisp salty breeze tickling her damp skin, the pink foam clinging to the ends of her hair. Even the triumphant look on Jareth's face sent a ripple of joy through her.

"Is it safe to swim?" Sarah asked, though she was already edging her way in.

"The safest," he assured her, close behind.

The water was neither cold nor overly warm, but pleasantly in between. Sarah was thrilled to find herself unusually buoyant as they swam beyond where their feet could touch. They bobbed together in quietude for a time before Sarah let her legs float to the surface, stretching out on her back and letting what she assumed was the inordinate salinity of the water keep her afloat. Her eyes closed, and she let out an involuntary little hum of happiness.

"You look rather pleased," Jareth noted.

Something in his voice snagged, enough for Sarah to crack an eye open to peek at him. He looked positively enamored with the sight of her, and it made her heart stop for a moment before picking back up again at double speed.

"Just fulfilling my wildest mermaid dreams," she told him, her smile threatening to split her face in two.

Jareth pulled a sour expression. "Mermaids are wretched."

"I don't mind being wretched," Sarah said, "if it means I can pretend to be a mermaid for the day."

Jareth's face shifted, brows furrowing like he didn't quite like her words.

When he didn't reply with a quip, she sighed and asked, "What did I say?"

His hand snaked out and clasped her foot. Just a hold. "Do you often desire to be someone you aren't?"

The question was so unexpectedly heavy, she closed her eyes against the weight of it. "Sometimes," she answered honestly. "But I think part of being human is wondering who the hell we are our whole lives, and then we die before we ever really find out."

Jareth was quiet, so she continued. "And the entire time, we want to be more. Different. Better. But the clock ticks, and we are both overly aware of it and completely oblivious."

His thumb rubbed circles along the sole of her foot, though Sarah sensed it was just as much a reflex from being deep in thought as it was an attempt at being reassuring.

"Does that make it hard to exist in the moment?" he asked after a time.

"For me, it does," Sarah confessed. "I'm so wrapped up in the future, being so conscious of how little I have of it, that I forget to live for now."

"It seems the tragedy of a mortal life isn't that it ends," Jareth observed. "It's that they know it will, and waste their short lives anticipating it."

It was Sarah's turn to be quiet as she mulled over the conversation. There was something buried in his statement, something about taking risks while she still could, that had her swallowing hard. Her eyes suddenly stung, and she squeezed them shut tighter.

After a moment, she glanced over at him. He looked far too thoughtful. Way too sad. She pushed her legs back under her so she floated upright again. "Jareth," she said, her hands smoothing his hair away from his eyes before resting on the top of his head. "Stop being so serious."

And then she thoroughly, and with great pleasure and little warning, dunked him.

Chapter Text

Jareth bobbed back up to the surface, spluttering out a string of curses. "You're going to pay for that," he told her severely as he shook the water out of his eyes.

"What're you gonna do, Lanks?" Sarah taunted, holding her hand up to block the spray. "Get me wet?"

"On the first date?" His eyes locked with hers as a smirk crept across his face. "How profoundly deplorable."

She huffed with faux indignation. "Perv."

"Temptress," he volleyed, and dove for her.

Sarah was sure Jareth could catch her easily enough, but she still made it an impressive distance as she swam for the beach, nearly choking on salt water as she laughed. As soon as her feet touched the bottom, she risked a glance over her shoulder and frowned, scanning the surface of the frothy pink sea.

Jareth was nowhere to be seen as she warily stepped backward up the pearly sand. Her heart was pounding and it leaped to her throat as a hand clasped her ankle and sent her sprawling into the water.

He was on her then, crowding her as she crab-walked up the beach until his elbows bracketed her head. His moon necklace tickled between her bare breasts as he hovered over her, a victorious grin plastered across his features.

"I did warn you," he said, his breaths coming hard and fast.

The sun was beginning to set, framing a silver-gold halo around his head. Makeup streaked down his face and it made him look particularly feral as he leered down at her. Sarah was nearly breathless at the sight of him—wild with predatory triumph.

"You're exquisite," she told him, the words taking shape before the thought even touched her mind. There were more words she almost said, so many more, but they lodged behind her teeth.

Jareth smiled at her, the kind of smile that sent Sarah's heart fluttering like a caged hummingbird. His head dipped to kiss her, slow and searching, as if drawing the unspoken words from her lips.

Sarah was still breathless from his pursuit and capture. She felt like she could drown under the weight of him pinning her, and that suited her just fine. She didn't want to move—happily trapped in place by his bare legs, by his hands cupping either side of her face, by his mouth moving over hers.

He broke the kiss before she had time to collect herself, and his eyes were shining brightly when she opened hers. "Exquisite, am I?" he said as he pushed himself up and helped her to her feet.

She was suddenly hyper-aware of their nudity, the way her nipples pebbled with arousal, the hardening length of his cock that he did nothing to hide. Her cheeks warmed as she nodded, any words of affirmation she may have thought to express lost to the sea breeze.

Jareth grinned a knowing grin. "Come," he said, leading her up the shore to the outcropping of citrine where they'd discarded their clothes. "Let's do the date thing."

"The date thing?" she asked, giggling at how much he'd sounded like her. "Isn't that what we've been doing?"

"An appetizer," he told her, the words a promise that made her spine feel like a live wire.

When they reached the cluster of crystals, he took a quick inventory of her sopping hair and damp skin. His wrist flicked, his magic a warm caress as it dried them both.

"Show off," Sarah chided, laughing as she tugged on her clothes.

"Always," Jareth agreed with casual smugness before taking her hand in his. "Come, come," he repeated, towing her along the shore. "Much to see, much to do."

Sarah was nearing sensory overload as they walked along the shore. She felt sure she could never fully absorb the nearly unfathomable scenery—the milky rose-hued water. The brightly-colored shells that littered the beach of tiny pearls. The strange, scaly creatures soaring above them.

"I feel like I'm in a dream," she told him.

"In a way, you are," he said, and Sarah wanted to ask him to elaborate, but she was distracted by his pointing finger directing her attention to the sea.

"Look, Sarah." A smile warmed his voice. "We've made friends."

Her mind struggled momentarily to make sense of what she was looking at, and her breath snagged when her brain caught up with her eyes. A pod of dolphin-like cetaceans was following them in parallel, their teal bellies and pink bodies a stunning sight against the palette of shades the burgeoning sunset provided. Iridescent sails lined their backs, and they seemed to defy all rules of physics Sarah thought she'd understood as they glided above the surface of the water before diving back down.

"Wow," she murmured, not realizing she had stopped in her tracks to stare.

"Sailrens," Jareth told her. "It's always a relief to see them."

"A relief?" Sarah asked, glancing over at him.

"It typically means there are no mermaids lurking about," he explained, disdain clear in his expression.

"Threatened?" Sarah teased, bumping his shoulder with hers. "You're, like, the mayor of Lurkville."

"Mind your tongue," he admonished, his expression shadowed with faux indignation. "I am the Liege Lord of Lurktopia and I will not bear the disrespect of being addressed by a lesser title."

She laughed. "What's your grudge against mermaids, anyway? Do they steal children away, or something?"

"Hilarious," Jareth droned, flicking her in the center of the forehead. "They eat children, I'll have you know. Anything sentient, really. They consume culture and knowledge."

Sarah felt her smug smile slip. "Oh," she said numbly. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither do their victims," he told her with a satisfied smirk. "By the time they see the three rows of teeth, it's much too late."

Her eyes went wide as he tugged at her hand with fresh urgency. "Come along. There's something I want you to see while the tide is low."

Jareth kept her upright as she trailed behind him, tripping over her own feet as she watched the sailrens coast along the water's surface.

The terrain began to change, the slope of the beach gentling and giving way to a rocky shore with pockets of shallow pink pools. This new ecosystem was dazzling—teeming with life, color, and movement.

Anemone-like creatures clung to surfaces in shades she felt sure she'd never seen before. Tangerine-hued algae-coated citrine crystals and peacock-colored seaweed floated on the water's surface in cheerful clumps. A cephalopod that she hadn't initially noticed due to its impressive orangey-pink camouflage caught her eye as it scuttled away in a hurry. It had what looked like at least two dozen independently moving legs and left behind a cloud of inky silver-blue.

"Oh my God," Sarah breathed, crouching down to take a closer look at the nearest pool. "Jareth, this is incredible."

"It is, isn't it?" he said, watching her with an adoring smile. "I'm sure I don't need to warn you not to touch anything."

Sarah snatched her hand back after unconsciously reaching toward a nine-armed echinoderm that resembled the sea stars she'd seen in tide pools in the Above. Or, it did, until its core abruptly opened to reveal a many-toothed, decidedly unfriendly-looking maw.

"Um," she said, folding her hand over her knee and sending him a guilty half-smile. "No. I don't think that will be necessary."

She ignored his chuckle as her eyes fell back to the pool, making a study of the array of creatures there. "Look at that," she said, pointing to an absurd-looking turquoise crustacean with four large, googly eyes on stalks. It shuffled in place, its shell appearing awkwardly outgrown for its too-large body. "I think it's molting."

"Molting?" Jareth asked, his head tilting curiously as his gaze found what she was pointing at.

"Yeah, shedding its shell. It does sort of look like a lobster," she mused. "I wonder if it mates for life."

The creature's eyes swiveled toward her as if affronted. "Well, you could just ask instead of looming over me during a private moment."

"Oh, uh," Sarah said, stumbling over an apology as she rocked back on her heels in surprise. "I'm sorry, I—"

But the creature was already scurrying away in what could only be interpreted as a purposefully dismissive march.

"That was rude of you," Jareth commented, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Sarah rolled her eyes at him, but a laugh bubbled up her throat. Her heart felt so full, brimming with curiosity and awe.

"Thank you," she said, her gaze holding his. "For bringing me here. For sharing this with me."

It was a strange thing, to hardly recognize her own voice for all of the joy vibrating through it.

Jareth beamed at her. "You're welcome, Sarah Bear."

She pulled a face at the nickname, though it warmed her through to her bones.

"Oh, please," he scoffed, smirking a knowing smirk. "You love that moniker."

"I'll never tell," she told him, following his gaze up the shore where the beach met the backdrop of trees.

She could see a smooth surface glinting in the fading sun. Candles dotted the space—some buried in the sand surrounding the area, some hovering above it as if dangling from invisible wire. A canopy was set up nearby, but she couldn't make out much detail aside from the large bed inside from where she crouched.

"What is that?" she asked, rising to her feet.

"Our date," he said, and Sarah was beginning to think he was growing particularly fond of that word.

She followed him up the beach. "Is that-" She squinted. "Is that my boombox?"

It was. She could see it clearly now, set up on a table beside what looked like an array of desserts.

Jareth didn't answer, ostensibly satisfied to let her discover what he had waiting for her.

As they approached, the large, smooth surface Sarah had spotted gleamed with color. It appeared to be made of something similar to abalone shell, swirling with pearly greens, silvers, and purples.

A dance floor, she thought belatedly as she stepped onto it.

She watched as Jareth moved to the table where the stereo sat and thumbed through a selection of burned CDs she didn't recognize. He chose one with 'Date Music' scrawled across the cover in a script she realized must be his handwriting. It seemed fitting, that it would be both finely looped but also frenetically jagged.

"A selection of some of our favorites," Jareth told her as he popped the CD into the boombox and pressed 'play.' He offered his hand as Brian McKnight began crooning, '6, 8,12.'

Sarah ignored the hand, looping her arms around his neck instead. She sighed when his hands braced her lower back and pulled her into a swaying embrace. She wondered vaguely when his hold had started to feel like home, even in a place so far away.

Long ago, she admitted to herself as her cheek came to rest on his shoulder.

"Jareth," she began after a comfortable silence. Her head tipped up to look at him. "Is this a real place?"

"It is," he said. The smile he sent her was sad around the edges. "And it isn't."

"What does that mean?" Sarah asked. "Real but not real?"

"It is real because I made it so," he answered. "Flit would tell me stories of the ocean. It's what I imagined a real coastline would look like. To feel, hear, taste, and smell like." A salty breeze swept through as if on cue, picking up strands of their hair and coiling them together in a writhing dance before settling.

"Why did you need to imagine what an existing place looked like?" she urged, not liking the wistful sorrow in his expression. "Couldn't you see it for yourself?"

A small frown framed Jareth's mouth as he considered the question. "I was forbidden to leave the castle until I was an adult," he told her. "Old enough to attend court functions under the High King."

"Forbidden?" Sarah asked, leaning up to kiss the corner of his downturned mouth. "Why?"

"It is tradition for a young royal to remain in their kingdom until their magic fuses to the realm," he explained. "I understand it, but it made it no less stifling."

Her fingers carded through the hair at his nape as his words from days ago floated back into her mind.

'You're thinking, poor maybe-baby-Jareth, raised by a goblin and a cat alone in an upside-down castle. How drab.'

"You didn't have friends?" she asked, her stomach sinking at the thought of it. "No peers your own age to play with?"

"No," Jareth said. "Not until I was older."

"Was it-" She paused, scanning his face to look for any signs he didn't want her to question him further on the topic. When he inclined his head in consent to continue, she went on, "Was it difficult to socialize once you met other fae?"

A contemplative look passed over his features as if he had never considered it. "It wasn't hard to relate to other royal youths who had been sequestered their whole lives," he said. "But I can't say I was very interested in socializing. I enjoyed the fanfare of it all, dressing up and dancing, but the fae can be…" he trailed off for a beat as he searched for the right words. "Shallow. Predictable in their games."

"You wove locations to visit, all alone?" she asked. She thought of the other scenes she had glimpsed in the tapestry chamber, and it felt unimaginable that he'd never had company. The image of a solitary Jareth perched on the moon's surface gazing down at Earth put a lonely little pit in her belly.

"Flit lacked the ability to harness her intentions well enough to travel through them with me," he said with a shrug. "She says I had about eight years when I created this one. It was my first."

"Eight?!" Sarah's eyes went wide. "Most eight-year-olds just build forts, you know."

His chuckle was melancholy. "Most eight-year-olds pretend their forts are castles."

"And you were already trapped in one," she acknowledged sadly.

Jareth nodded. "I suppose the tapestries provided an escape."

"Do you use them often?" Sarah asked as the song came to a close. The opening notes to Mazzy Star's 'Fade into You' began to play.

"Not as of late," he said, catching her gaze and squeezing her close. "I haven't needed to."

"So, I'm an escape for you?" she said, laughing though her eyes accused.

He gave her a long, hard look that gave her plenty of time to own up to her hypocrisy.

She didn't.

Finally, Jareth sighed his most earnest sigh. Of all the sighs Jareth could sigh, this one promised a cold hard truth and a smooth delivery. "Am I not for you?" he asked as Mazzy began to sing.

I want to hold the hand inside you

I want to take the breath that's true

The question almost startled her, though she'd been expecting it. It stung a little, too, even though she'd just asked him the same thing. But when she'd asked, there hadn't been questions buried just beneath the surface.

Am I real to you yet? Are we?

"You're more than that," Sarah said, hating herself for not being able to tell him the full truth.

You're everything.

The corners of his eyes crinkled warmly in that way Sarah loved, but there was undeniable dissatisfaction in the set of his mouth. "I know," he told her so quietly, she almost didn't hear him.

Even if she hadn't, she would have felt the slight tremble of vulnerability in his voice. She wanted to soothe it away, to show him with action what she couldn't with words.

Fade into you

Strange you never knew

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew

Sarah crushed her lips to his, the kiss taking a different shape than what they'd shared on the beach earlier. What had been tender and slow quickly became a heated slide of tongues. A gloved hand moved to brace the back of her head. Her teeth snagged his bottom lip, and she swallowed his moan as he pulled her closer.

She wasn't sure when they had stopped dancing. Their bodies were flush, and she wanted to rock her hips into his, just a little pressure to ease the ache. Jareth seemed strung tight with barely contained restraint, and she wanted to ease that, too.

She pulled back, her fingers tightening in his hair until his eyes found hers. "I want you to fuck me," she told him, her cunt clenching at the feral look in his eyes she was sure matched her own. "Here. On the dance floor."

Jareth surged forward with a fierce kiss, growling against her lips—a desperate, needful sound. The rumbling thunder of it sent a thrumming rush of heat pooling between Sarah's legs. She hadn't bothered to put her panties back on earlier. She would have regretted it, had it not felt so intoxicating to rub her damp thighs together while he tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth.

His gloved hand had been grounding and supportive at the base of her neck, but his fingers tensed with a new possessiveness that set every nerve in her body aflame. Sarah moaned, letting it vibrate against the thumb curling over her throat to show him how, in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be his.

Jareth's free hand stilled her wandering fingers as they slid beneath his open shirt to ghost over a nipple. He shivered and gave her hand a commiserative pulse as he broke the kiss. His forehead came to rest against hers, and his pupils were smoldering black coals when their gaze locked.

Smug lips curved. "Ballroom kink?"

"Understatement," Sarah admitted with a small laugh, though it was strained around the edges. She wanted his hands on her. Needed the friction. The feeling of leather on her bare skin.

He chuckled, though it sounded as weak as her laugh had. "A kink we share, perhaps," he said. Not for the first time.

Sarah captured his mouth in a kiss that was so full of fondness for him it made her chest tighten almost painfully. There was a tangled mess of feelings behind her ribs and she needed him to know how much she adored him. Their banter. The stupid inside jokes. And this intimacy they had found. An intimacy that, in truth, had always existed, but now was taking shape into something unlike anything Sarah could have imagined.

Jareth seemed to feel it. He relaxed into the kiss. Let her spill her affection into his mouth. Stroke it onto his tongue.

She broke the kiss and waited for his gaze. "You're not going to fuck me, are you?"

Dark pupils swirled with both amusement and deep regret. "Alas," he said, and Sarah thought she'd never heard a less sexy word in her life. "I am not."

She pouted, and though it was theatrically exaggerated, she was, in fact, devastated.

"Such a pity," she said, but what she thought was, Fuuuck this three-date thing.

Sarah's hand dropped from his chest to dip beneath her skirt. Her fingers came away glistening, and she let two of them web in the candlelight for him to see.

Jareth's eyes were bottomless pits as they tracked the movement. "Cruel thing," he scolded, though his voice came out breathy.

She scratched the nails of her other hand along the back of his neck teasingly. "I can be generous," she informed him before brushing a slick finger over his bottom lip.

His tongue darted out, tasting her there as he watched her hand fall back between her legs. "Why do I get the feeling your generosity will look a lot like punishment?"

Sarah shivered as her fingers slipped along her folds. "I'll let you watch me."

"You're skipping past punishment and going directly for torture," Jareth complained, though he sounded no less than thrilled at her promise. His hand lifted to cradle her face and he pulled it closer, brushing his lips over hers. "A torture I can live with."

"You're immortal," she reminded him before drawing his bottom lip into her mouth. Her tongue teased as her slick fingers slid over her clit. "Is this cheating?" Her voice trembled. "Against the rules?"

What she meant to say was, 'Is this okay?'

Maybe I should have just asked that, Sarah worried, suddenly fearful she had stepped over a boundary. That she was being dismissive of their agreement.

She broke the kiss to look at him, to check in, and the hunger in his waiting eyes had her breath catching.

Jareth looked absolutely feral as his gaze lowered to watch her wrist slipping in and out of view beneath her skirt. The hand in her hair twisted with tantalizing pressure, that possessiveness that had first soaked her thighs now had her cunt aching for her fingers.

"If it isn't cheating," Jareth said, his free hand sliding from her hip down the outside of her thigh. He leaned briefly to cup his hand behind her knee before hooking it over his hip. "I'm certain this is."

Sarah exhaled sharply at the feeling of the cool sea breeze on her damp, exposed flesh. She grasped his shoulder for stability, and his hand in her hair and the other holding her leg kept her steady. Her skirt had bunched up, and her working fingers slowed as she absorbed the heavy weight of his observation.

His intent gaze flared as she spread herself for him to see. She smiled as he groaned, the evidence of his arousal straining against his leggings only a roll of the hips away. She could feel the warmth of him across her knuckles as they nearly brushed along his length while she stroked herself in lazy circles.

Her mind flashed to the early morning in the tent when they'd woken up in a state of kiss-drunk arousal. How their clothed bodies had writhed, how delicious the friction had been, the waves of pressure that had built to a crescendo that had dragged them both under.

Sarah wanted that again, wanted more than that. Wanted his skin on hers. His cock buried deep. His come in her mouth, in her cunt, on her breasts—everywhere, because she was his already.

And she knew it then, the sharp realization compressing her chest with sudden emotion. The feelings she carried for him were threatening to burn her through with a fire she wasn't built to contain. It was terrifying, and yet, as she watched him admiring her stroking fingers with nothing short of love written all over his face, she knew she wasn't alone. He burned too.

I'm going to tell him, she vowed to herself. I'm going to tell him that I—

"Are you alright?" Jareth asked, the fingers in her hair tightening to guide her eyes to his. His voice was raspy and low, but the question was laced with concern as he scanned her face.

"Yes," she told him and meant it. She eased her leg out of his grasp before sinking to the floor, tugging him by the hand along with her. She sat back on her elbows with her knees bent and tightly together. "Take your cock out."

Jareth said nothing as he kneeled in front of her. His gaze was intense as his hands slipped obediently beneath the waistband of his leggings and tugged them down his hips.

Sarah licked her lips as his cock sprang free—rigid and swollen at the tip. He was a vision, kneeling on the iridescent dance floor with his hands on the tops of his thighs, hips jutted forward, almost supplicating. She wanted to crawl over to him and coax him off with her tongue.

"Good," she said instead, and felt a blush creep up her cheeks as she tasted the praise in her mouth.

She'd liked the warmth that had spread through her when Jareth had praised her at the pool. His constant verbal affirmations anchored her in her body, in the experience. It was something wholly new for her, somehow scary, but she wanted to keep that channel of communication open.

The smile Jareth sent her was playful but piercing. A smile that said, I see you, my brave Champion.

Sarah's knees had begun to shake from being forced together, and she let them drift apart—unfolded herself for him. Her breathing was shallow, barely breaths at all, as she sank beneath his stare. The way his gaze consumed her with such reverence had her heart slamming against her ribs.

She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "I like to think about you touching yourself," she confessed. "Your long, beautiful fingers gliding along your cock."

Jareth hummed as he tugged his gloves off and crawled forward slightly, nudging her knees apart to kneel between them. He leaned over her and caressed her face. His palm lingered near her mouth.

"Spit," he ordered, and Sarah's eyes snapped to his before she obeyed. Something about performing an act so primal at his command sent a thrill through her.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as his fingers wrapped around his length, sliding to spread her saliva from base to tip. His mouth fell open slightly as he moaned.

"What else do you think about, Sarah?" he asked, his gaze finding hers and pinning her in place. "When you stroke yourself off with my name on your lips."

"I've already told you. I imagine my fingers are yours," she told him. "And sometimes..."

"And sometimes?" he asked as he squeezed a bead of precum from the tip of his cock, sliding his palm over the wetness to drag it back down over his shaft.

Sarah picked up a discarded glove and slipped it on her hand. "Sometimes you're wearing these."

"Fuck," Jareth groaned, pumping himself firmly in a way that had Sarah missing his needy hands in her hair.

The leather was smooth on the flesh of her thighs as she grazed them toward the apex, and the slight texture sent a frisson of desire through her. She cupped herself fully, gasping at the feeling of her leather-clad palm pressing into her clit, her fingertips teasing her entrance.

"You always hold me," Sarah told him, the words out of her mouth before she'd considered them. She rocked against her hand. "In some way. Big or small. Always holding me."

She had no idea whether any of that made sense to him. It hardly made sense to her. But she knew it to be true, regardless. Her hand eased off and she traced tight circles over her clit with the pads of her fingers. Her pleasure was jolted into sharper focus at the intense friction of the leather dragging over her nerves.

"Always," Jareth promised, his voice clear but barely above a whisper as his free hand cupped his balls.

Sarah watched as he rolled and tugged them gently, taking note of every breathy exhale. She leaned back to free her other arm, and her bare hand dipped to stroke her soaked entrance.

"What do you think about?" she asked, half because she wanted to know, and half to hear his voice, desperate and rough with pleasure. "When you touch yourself."

"You," he said brokenly as he matched her pace. "You buried deep inside me. Me buried deep inside you." His hand squeezed around his head and he groaned. "It's always you."

His words set her on fire, and she couldn't help herself but to beg for fuel. "Tell me more," she said, trailing a leather-tipped finger into her slickness before sliding it over her clit. The finger inside her curled the way she remembered his had, the pad massaging and coaxing as she added another.

She felt a hand clasp her foot and it was then she realized her eyes had drifted shut. When she met his waiting gaze, he looked wild and fierce and stunning.

"I think about the sounds that will spill from your lips when we make love," he said, thrusting into his hand.

Make love.

Sarah's stomach flipped with nerves even as passion swirled low in her belly—coiling and stretching as if to snap.

Jareth still held her foot in a grounding hold like she might think to escape from the intensity of the moment. "I think about the way my come will look dripping down your pretty thighs after I pull out of you."

She could almost feel the sticky heat of him pooling between her legs as she watched him stroke himself. The filth spilling from his mouth was somehow stunning. Reverent and worshipful. Her body cinched around her fingers, begging for the release she barely skirted, and she knew if he kept this up she was bound to combust.

His teeth glinted wickedly as if he could read her thoughts. "And how it will taste when I seal my mouth to your soaked cunt and suck," he hissed, and Sarah shattered, bucking against her hand.

Her vision burst with fractured light, and through the haze of her orgasm, she heard Jareth cry out her name in a sharp gasp. His breaths were rough and jagged as he milked himself over her, his warm come splattering her belly where her shirt had ridden up.

He was making a mess of her and she loved it.

She dabbed her leather-tipped fingers in his come and swirled them over her sensitive clit, rekindling the fire that had hardly dwindled. It burst into an inferno when Jareth crawled up to sprawl beside her, taking her face into his hands and kissing her so deeply she toppled right back over the edge.

Sarah's climax was as searing as his kiss. Her body jolted in near-violent convulsions as Jareth stroked her face, soothing her through it. She broke for air, and suddenly, words danced on her tongue and slipped past her lips.

"Jareth, I—" A moment of hesitation before the plunge. A moment to remember she was adored and held and safe. "I love you so fucking much."

Chapter Text

The words she had spoken seemed to take shape into something tangible, filling the space between them with a pulsating truth.

Jareth's lidded gaze brightened as he stared down at her. He blinked, and Sarah could swear his eyes were glistening in a way they hadn't been moments ago.

His silence sat heavy, forcing the air from her lungs, and she felt a sudden squeeze of anxiety in her belly. Her hand lifted to sweep his frantic hair away from his face to better gauge his expression.

For a moment, she thought he would challenge her, or repeat what he had said to her before when she'd tried to tell him how she felt.

'Tell me when you know what it means.'

She knew now that it had been a fair thing to ask of her at the time, conflicted as she had been. Not about her feelings, but about how safe she felt cocooned within them.

Sarah swallowed hard past a lump of emotion lodged in her throat. "And…" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jareth inhaled sharply, something like fear flashing in his eyes as if she was going to take it all back. "And?"

She sighed, relieved he had said something, even if it was just repeating a single word. "And I know what it means," she finished, braving a small smile as her thumb brushed his sharp cheekbone.

Again, he surprised her with his silence. She'd expected him to probe—to ask questions—but he just smiled back, and this time, she was certain tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

His head dipped and he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before abruptly peppering her face with a relentless torrent of kisses until a giggle broke through her tangle of nerves.

"Okay, okay," she said, half-heartedly pretending to push him away as he scooped her into a crushing embrace.

Sarah abruptly felt the barrier of their clothing disappear from between them as he lifted her and rose to his feet. "Come," he purred into her ear. "Let's bathe while you reflect on how fucking much you love me."

"Uggghhh," she groaned at his shameless statement, though her laughter betrayed her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck to hide her blush. "I hate you."

"So fucking much?" he needled, and Sarah could hear the grin in his voice. "Or just the standard amount?"

"What are the chances of you ever letting me live that down?" Sarah asked, lifting her head to glance at him.

When he caught her eye, his expression was pure mischief. "Slim, I'd wager."

Her eyes rolled but her smile didn't falter. It felt impossible to do anything less with the joy that radiated from him at her admission.

She loved him. If she was being honest with herself, she probably always had. She loved Broody Jareth, Sarcastic Jareth, Irksome Jareth—even Sing-Songy, waking-her-up-to-creepy-jingles Jareth. She loved him when he policed her time and tidiness, and she loved him when he gave her space to sit in her own chaos. She loved Dance-Party Jareth, and 'Ew' Jareth and Sugar Lust Jareth. But Happy Jareth made her fall and fall and fall, and she was grateful he held her so tightly because the plummet felt entirely bottomless.

Jareth walked a few more paces and paused, and Sarah broke his gaze to look around. She hadn't fully processed his suggestion to bathe and hadn't known quite what to expect. A well-deserved dunk into the frothy pink tide, maybe. But she certainly didn't anticipate the large, brass, claw footed bathtub he lowered her into.

The water was pleasantly warm and the thick layer of bubbles was a relief to hide beneath, exposed as she was in every way.

He slipped in opposite her, his eyes never leaving her face, and Sarah thought she should have known better than to assume she could hide anything from him. She thought for sure he would take her reflective silence as an opportunity to say something boastful or, at the least, embarrassing. Instead, he smirked and blew a palm full of bubbles at her face.

Her eyes narrowed, but she found herself at a loss for words. All the important ones—plus a few—had already poured from her mouth, and while she didn't regret them, she felt protective of her raw feelings. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Little piles of bubbles sat atop her kneecaps as they emerged from the water, and she blew them in his direction with an unenthusiastic little puff of air.

Jareth's feet slid over the tops of hers, his toes kneading playfully for a moment before stilling.

Always holding me, she thought with a painful pang of guilt.

Sarah sent him a little smile, but she felt it waver. Her stomach was a knot of emotions, and she couldn't help fretting over her recent decisions. She'd instigated intimacy that by all means seemed to directly violate their pact to wait, however silly it may have been. It had meant something to him, and it had meant something to her that he cared about preserving their blooming relationship enough to agree to abstain.

His energy shifted from happy Jareth to worried Jareth as he watched her, and Sarah didn't like the change. She wanted to reassure him, to say the words again and again and again, but she felt suddenly afraid she'd cry if she said anything at all.

"You're quiet," he commented. His tone was gentle, all signs of pestering levity gone.

Sarah sank a little deeper into the water, her gaze falling from his face to focus on where the moon pendant disappeared beneath the bubbles. "So are you," she countered.

"I have much to say," he said after a long moment. The pads of his feet stroked her ankles. "But I am petrified of scaring you away."

His words stung and sent her heart soaring all at once. She wanted him to return her declaration, but part of her was grateful he hadn't. It was all a little too much in that moment. But what he had said had a confession buried just beneath the surface, and even her cloudy mind heard it.

I love you too, you absolute dolt.

And hadn't he shown her that in every way aside from all-out saying the words? She knew it was for her sake that he withheld them. A fresh wave of murky feelings crashed over her, and she blinked away a sudden sting of tears.

Jareth hummed as he considered her. "I'd summon my bucket hat onto your head to keep the worries out, but I can see them already swirling around in there," he said. "And it would really dampen the whole romantic bath aesthetic I conjured for us."

Her eyes lifted to his. "My bucket hat, you mean."

He smirked, but it was tinged with a sadness she hated seeing on his face. "Our bucket hat," he corrected.

Sarah huffed a small laugh. "Fine."

A full-on frown spread across his face at her easy surrender. "Sarah."

She wanted to reach across the space between them and smooth away the lines around his mouth, but she kept her hands to herself. Considering what had just happened between them, it seemed the most respectful thing to do. "Jareth," she returned flatly.

"I'm not the most observant being in the worlds," he said, "but I can't help but notice you're wallowing in some sort of self-constructed bog of eternal guilt."

"You are the most observant being in the worlds. Inescapable, actually," she told him. "And it's not a bog. It's a bath."

Jareth chuckled, but Sarah could tell it was mostly to indulge her weak attempt at deflection. He held her gaze for a long moment and said, "Talk to me." Foot nudge. "Please."

"I'm sorry," Sarah said after taking a steadying breath. "I shouldn't have…" She trailed off for a beat as she searched for the words. "I shouldn't have done that."

His eyes flickered with a tangle of amusement and concern. "Sarah, I don't know precisely what you've convinced yourself you owe me an apology for," he said. "But if you think you seduced me into spilling my come all over you, well, you're right. You did."

"You. Are. The. Worst," she informed him, slipping even further beneath the bubbles.

He shot her a tentative grin and sat up, leaning forward to cup her kneecaps with his palms. "You did nothing wrong."

"We said we wouldn't—" She swallowed thickly. "That felt a lot like sex."

"It was sex," he said, his hands sliding down her shins to clasp her ankles. He pulled her feet closer to him and began to massage the arches. "And if you recall, I was an active participant. Do you want me to be sorry, too? I can meet you halfway and share the burden of guilt."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, though," she said, hating the argumentative note to her voice. "I started it."

"And we both finished it," Jareth insisted. "One of us even finished twice."

Sarah glared at him. "You tried to stop it."

"I did no such thing," he said with a self-deprecating laugh. "You do me a disservice by assuming I didn't want closeness just as badly as you did, Sarah."

She shook her head. "But I still shouldn't have—"

"Stop this," he interrupted, though his tone was tender. "Who started it is irrelevant. It was bound to escalate the moment I smelled the dampness of your sweet cunt. If anything, you diverted something more extreme from taking place between us."

His penchant for vulgarity shouldn't have shocked her into silence, but she felt whatever retort she had been planning to volley die on her tongue. She stared at him for a tense moment. "You can…smell my arousal?"

The corners of his lips curved. "You suspected."

Sarah hugged her knees a little tighter. "I worried."

"Well," he said with a casualness she did not reciprocate. "Now you know."

She scoffed indignantly. "Would have been nice to be informed that you knew every single time I got horned up over you."

Jareth's laugh was a bright, delighted thing. "Think about that a moment," he said, giving her a beat to let his request for reflection sink in.

The scowl she sent him could cut glass, but her mind ran away from her with memories of a long history of desiring him.

Starting with that damn ballroom, she admitted to herself.

She should concede. Tell him he was right, that it wouldn't have served her to know that he could tell every time—the many, many times—she had, in fact, been desperate for his touch.

"Hmph," she groused instead.

"Indeed," he agreed. "Imagine what it must have been like for me. You can even pity me for it if you like."

"The worst," she told him again, pulling her feet from his hands. "Relentless."

"Admittedly so," he said proudly. "You love to hate it."

She did, but she wasn't about to tell him that. The truth of it sat between them along with a drawn-out silence, softened only by the rolling waves against the pearly beach. The music had stopped a while ago, she realized belatedly. Part of her wished some silly dance number would start abruptly to break the wavering seriousness of the conversation.

His hands found her knees again and he tugged them gently. "Come here," he coaxed. "Sprawl with me."

Sarah sighed, twisting in the tub and scooting backward until she sat between his parted legs.

His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her close against his chest. The kiss he pressed to her temple was sweet and reassuring. "I don't regret it," he told her. "And I'm not sorry unless you think I should be."

"I don't," she said, letting herself settle against him. "But I'm still worried about it."

Jareth made a small vocalization as if to speak, and she sensed him wanting to argue with her, to tell her she shouldn't worry, but he stopped before the words came out. "Why?" he asked instead.

Her hands came up to grip his forearms. "It just feels like we crossed a boundary we'd set in place for a reason."

He hummed, his lips against her hair. "Do you remember the reason?"

"Probably because you think I'm flighty and didn't want me to get in over my head, then run," was her honest reply.

Jareth's breath hitched in surprise, and he laughed. "I wouldn't have worded it quite like that."

Sarah snorted. "You'd find some other way of saying it without telling a lie."

"I did," he said quietly. "I think I made my fears known about exploring intimacy further before you knew your own heart, and what it could lead to for us."

She sighed again, her fingers unconsciously smoothing the fine blonde hairs on his arms. "You did."

"But you love me," he reminded her before planting a soft kiss behind her ear.

"I love you," she agreed and meant it as much as she had the first time she'd said it. More, maybe, for all his teasing.

His ankles wrapped around hers and he tightened his legs in an anaconda squeeze. "As long as that holds true, and thankfully, you're an aforementioned terrible liar, I don't regret it," he said. "I don't want sex for the sake of sex alone, Sarah Bear. Not with you. You mean so much more to me than that."

"It's not just sex," she confessed, desperate for him to believe the truth in her words. "It's never been about sex with you."

Jareth chuckled and nuzzled into her neck. "It's a little bit about sex, though."

Sarah laughed. "It's a lot a bit about sex. But it's more than that."

"Because you love me," he said again, his lips moving against her pulse.

"Because I love you," she told him.

He pulled away to peer at her over her shoulder. "I know intimacy hasn't always meant something to you," he offered. "I know you haven't been treated like it was something precious."

"It was never intimacy," she clarified. "Not really. Not like this."

Sarah wasn't sure when the positioning of their arms had reversed, or when he'd begun stroking reassuring patterns on the inside of her arm, wrist to elbow.

"I know," he said. "I've had the pleasure of holding the title of best-friend-who-gets-all-the-sordid-details for years."

She cringed. "Sorry about that."

"I'm not," Jareth said. "I've told you before, and I meant it. I'd be your best friend until the suns burn out if it means you feel safe."

A small sob crept up her throat. "You're way too good to me."

"Don't," he scolded gently. "There's no such thing, and that's my point. You deserve intimacy. And respect. And tenderness."

"I want that from you," she told him.

"You have it. You've had it. Even the intimacy, long before things became sexual between us." He paused, and when she said nothing, he asked, "Am I wrong?"

"No," she said. "Our friendship has always been more intimate than anything else I've experienced."

Jareth squeezed her again, and this time the tightness of his hold lingered. "That's not going to stop, Sarah. Not unless you want it to.

Sarah's heart swelled. It was as if he had spoken directly to one of her biggest fears, that the closeness between them would slip away the further they explored it. She leaned her head back onto his shoulder and snagged his gaze with hers. "I don't want it to stop."

He smiled down at her, the warmth of it crinkling the corners of his eyes in that way she loved. "I can't promise it won't change," he told her. "I hope it does. I hope it grows with each moment we share."

She shifted in his arms, craning her neck in a silent plea for a kiss. When his lips pressed against hers, he was still smiling, and Sarah felt her dark mood slip away. He was happy Jareth again, and he kissed his happy Sarah with a tenderness designed to reassure rather than seduce.

"Let's go to bed," she suggested when he pulled away. "I want to get cozy and snuggle."

"I like that idea," Jareth said before kissing both of her cheeks. "Snug as two bugs in love."

Sarah giggled at his callback to their camping trip even as her guts melted into a swirling mess of emotions. Those words were as close to a confession as they could get, and she felt more ready to accept it than she ever had been.

She sat up and climbed out of the bathtub. She expected the ocean air to be chilly, but the salty breeze was a warm caress against her damp skin. Jareth followed before taking her hand, leading her to the canopy she'd noticed earlier. She hadn't paid much attention before, distracted by the boombox and dance floor and floating candles, and Jareth in general.

Some of the candles surrounding the dance floor flickered and died as they approached the canopy. A few remained lit and moved ahead of them to illuminate the inside of the canopy in what would surely have been a fire hazard if the situation had been different. A large bed was now visible in the warm glow of the candlelight. Pillows lined the driftwood headboard, and her maroon chenille blanket was draped across the foot of a fluffy white duvet. The previously ignored platter of desserts had moved to a small side table beside the bed.

As they entered, Jareth waved a hand in a complicated series of movements over one of the walls. Runes danced from his fingertips, and Sarah watched in amazement as a tapestry showing a door left slightly ajar wove itself from thin air.

"Thither be the privy," Jareth told her in a near perfect impression of the intrusive jester at the renaissance fair.

Sarah laughed and grabbed her duffle that she found stashed in the corner. "I'll be right back."

She moved easily through the tapestry, her intentions clear in her mind as her bladder was fit to burst. She was surprised to find herself in her own bathroom, and she sighed in relief at the chance to decompress for a bit in a place so familiar.

After toweling off, she relieved herself and pulled on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. She couldn't help but smile around her toothbrush at his attention to her mortal needs, that he had known she'd require this simple respite.

When she pushed back through the tapestry, Jareth was sprawled on the maroon chenille, shirtless with a pair of cream linen pants slung low on his hips. A chocolate covered strawberry dangled from his fingertips.

Sarah smirked as she moved to lay beside him. She tapped her mouth in eager invitation and hummed with pleasure as he slipped the fruit between her lips. "You're such a feeder," she accused, giggling as she chewed.

Jareth chuckled as he readied a puff pastry. "I like taking care of you."

She made a small sound of agreement as she took a bite. Raspberry jelly escaped the corner of her mouth, and Jareth leaned over to catch it with his tongue. Her hand cupped the back of his head before he could pull away and she caught his lips in a sweet kiss.

"I've noticed," she told him, pulling away with a giddy expression plastered across her face.

"And I like that smile," he said, beaming at her as a chocolate truffle danced across his fingertips. He lifted it to his mouth and held it between his teeth, crooking his fingers in a come-and-get-it beckon.

Sarah pushed him back into the mattress and climbed on top of him before leaning down and pulling the confection into her mouth. Her hands smoothed over his chest as the chocolate dissolved on her tongue. "So," she said, toying with the moon pendant that rested against his sternum. "Are we still trying to abide by this three date rule?"

"I like the dates," he said. "And really, Sarah, do you actually think this is our first date?"

Her head tilted as she considered the question. Her mind flashed with a slideshow of all the time they had spent together. There had always been something deeply romantic about the way they treated each other. How they made each moment a memory.

"What was our first date, then?" she asked playfully. "Paint fumes and charcuterie?"

"Or spending a sad, sappy New Years together watching Rose take up ninety-nine percent of a floating door three times her size," he offered.

Sarah laughed. "Or when you cooked me breakfast because I was hungover."

"No," Jareth challenged. "You were much too grumpy that day for it to be considered a date."

"That's fair," she agreed. "But you knew how I liked my eggs, which speaks to my suspicion that maybe we'd been dating for a while by that point without me knowing it."

"Perhaps," he acknowledged with a knowing grin.

"Did you know?" she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged, but his smile didn't waver. "I hoped."

"You knew," she told him. "You know everything."

"I most definitely do not." He grabbed her hips and flipped them. "But I do know a few things I've been desperate to share with you," he said as he straddled her legs.

Sarah giggled. "That lascivious look on your face makes me think you're done waiting."

"Do you want to wait?" Jareth asked with a teasing curve of his lips that told her he already knew the answer.

"Not particularly," she told him bluntly, relishing his shiver as her palms grazed over his nipples.

"Oh, good," he crooned as he arched into her touch. "Tell me if that changes."

"I promise I will," she told him before pulling her sweatshirt over her head. "But right now, all I can do is wonder what you are so desperate to share with me."

Jareth's fingers danced over her ribs. His smile was a lecherous thing as he cupped her breasts in his hands. "Do you remember how I washed you in the pool?"

Sarah snorted even as her breath caught at the feeling of his thumbs brushing over her nipples. "Do I remember how thorough you were?"

"Yes, that," he agreed before dipping his head to lick a stripe between her breasts. He laid a kiss over the sun pendant nestled in the hollow of her throat.

"I remember," she breathed, her belly fluttering at the memory of his exploring fingers.

Jareth nipped her chin before pressing a kiss there. "Did you like it?"

Sarah pinched his nipples lightly to test his reaction and smiled when he let out a small gasp. "I did."

"I'd like to be a bit more thorough," he informed her, licking his bottom lip to emphasize his meaning.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there a moment, her mind spinning with imagery that made the flush creeping up her neck deepen even further. When her gaze rose to his again, the air froze in her chest at seeing the expression on his face that was nothing less than hungry.

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "I think I'd like that."

"Oh, you would." He leered down at her with an impish smirk. "But I need to hear the words."

"You have my permission," she told him, pinching his nipples hard in a silent warning to stop torturing her.

He grinned, head on a theatrically curious tilt. His hands were warm and teasing as they smoothed over her belly. "I have your permission to….what, Sarah?"

Sarah huffed a frustrated huff. "You're impossible."

"Say it," he sing-songed and his roaming hands stilled above the waistband of her sweatpants as he awaited her response.

It took every ounce of effort to scowl at him. "You have my permission to eat my ass," she said, thinking she might actually dissolve into a puddle of embarrassment if that wasn't what he'd been alluding to. "Happy?"

His chuckle was a dark, depraved thing. "Thrilled."

Sarah forgot all about her irritation as he mouthed at her breast, sucking the stiffening peak and drawing out a moan.

Jareth shifted off of her enough to tug her sweatpants down her hips, grinning as she struggled to kick them from her ankles. He pulled them off and pushed her knees apart, settling between them.

His hands returned to her breasts as he blazed a hot path of open mouthed kisses down her abdomen. When he glanced up, the heat of his gaze licked across her body like a thousand flames. "You're so beautiful like this," he murmured against her navel, thumbing the sun pendant. "Just you and your sun."

Her heart skipped several beats as his mouth moved lower, the warmth of his breath ghosting over her clit. His tongue teased, the lightest of caresses over her sensitive flesh, before he pulled her into his mouth and suckled.

Sarah's hands flew to his hair, and she pressed him into her, encouraging him to suck harder.

Jareth rumbled with an amused sound and he flicked her nipples as if to remind her this was just an appetizer, not the meal. His tongue slipped between her lips, and he groaned as he tasted her, already slick and wanting.

A shiver of anticipation coursed through her as his hands slid down her torso. He cupped her knees and guided them forward, opening her to him.

Sarah tensed as he pulled back to stare at her, fully exposed and on dripping display.

Sensing her hesitation, he lifted his gaze to hers. "I'm going to make this so good for you, precious," he promised, stroking the backs of her thighs. He waited a moment, giving her time to tell him to stop.

She didn't. Instead, she spread her legs further and whispered, "I know."

His eyes flashed in the candlelight as his hands moved to cup her ass. He licked the crease of a cheek before nipping the skin there.

Sarah choked on a surprised gasp, and Jareth chuckled, squeezing the globes of her ass encouragingly. "Don't hold back," he warned. "Or I'll think you hate it."

She groaned and tugged his hair threateningly. "Stop talking, Lanks."

Jareth nipped her again in reply before pressing a kiss to the bite. His tongue was on her then, dipping into her slick core.

She wanted to rock against his mouth—to fuck his tongue until she broke around it—but Jareth held her firmly. His tongue slipped out of her cunt, and she only had a moment to mourn its absence before his lips sealed over her perineum.

Sarah inhaled sharply at the unfamiliar sensation of his warm mouth creating a heartstopping suction there.

"Gods," she breathed. Her brain was having a hell of a time processing the feeling, and it short circuited as the tip of his tongue rimmed her tight hole. "What the fuck."

Jareth chuckled, the vibration of the low rumble making her shudder. He slipped his arm around her thigh to stroke her clit with his fingers as his tongue flattened, pulsing over her most secret place.

A fresh rush of heat surged through her, the strangeness of the feeling ebbing as a new kind of pleasure curled her toes. She let herself sink into it, relaxing a little as he coaxed another moan from her.

"Jareth, that's—" She choked on her words as his free hand parted her further, allowing access for his tongue to press in. "That's so fucking good."

He hummed, a pleased sound that stoked her desire into something nearly unmanageable. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought about this multiple times since he'd touched her at the pool. But she'd never imagined it could bring her so close to the edge.

Jareth pulled her closer, his tongue a torturous slide in and out as his fingers worked her clit.

Sarah barely recognized the sounds clawing up her throat, primal and wild as her hips bucked. Her hands palmed her breasts and she teased her nipples in rhythm with his mouth and fingers.

She could feel her hole pulsing around his tongue in a way she didn't know was possible as he fucked into her, stroking and massaging until she thought she would split in two.

For a moment she thought she had, an orgasm rocking her with such sudden force her vision went white. A gush of wetness drenched his face as he devoured her, his fingers gentling on her clit in a firm press as she came hard.

It was unlike anything she'd felt before, the intensity of it squeezing the air from her lungs. Her cunt clenched around nothing, aching for attention as he lapped at her puckered hole. She heard his name tear from her lungs in a scream as he pulled off, replacing his mouth with his pinky. Two fingers slid into her channel and she gripped them eagerly as they curled within her.

Jareth's pupils were blown as he stared down at her, his face a glistening mess. "Tell me you love me," he commanded as his fingers moved in and out.

There was a keening sound filling the canopy, and Sarah realized belatedly it was her. Nothing had ever felt like this—so overwhelming and all consuming.

His fingers stilled with an abruptness that rattled her bones.

She blinked at him blearily, confusion clouding her climb. "Jareth, what—"

"Tell me," he repeated, his slick lips twisting cruelly.

Sarah glared at him, her breathing ragged and broken. "I love you, you insufferable—"

Whatever insult she was about to lob at him turned to dust, replaced with a low whine as his fingers continued their agonizing caress.

"Good," he praised, thrusting into her deeper. His curling fingers coaxed with increased pressure and friction. "Now come again for me, you delicious, desperate thing."

Even if Sarah had wanted to be withholding, she couldn't keep back the rising climax rippling through her. Her head fell back as she let it take hold, her whole body vibrating with the profound intensity of his fingers everywhere. Distantly, she could hear Jareth groan in satisfaction as she rode his hand, but she was more concerned about the sudden flood of fluids soaking the bed. Sarah looked down in shock, tensing for a moment when she saw the dark spot on the duvet.

"Let go," Jareth urged, his voice a soothing rasp. "You're doing so well, Sarah."

She relaxed, allowing herself to enjoy the wet rush of pleasure. Just when she thought it would never end, the alien feeling of heat spilling from her body ebbed.

Jareth slowly withdrew his hand, and she sucked in a ragged breath.

Sarah felt boneless. Spent. Utterly empty.

And more than a little embarrassed at the puddle beneath them that rivaled the crashing tide just outside the canopy's threshold.

"Um," she managed, readying an apology, but Jareth was already licking her damp thighs with an enthusiasm that made her shudder.

"Don't," he ordered, always ten steps ahead of her fretting. "That was the most breathtaking thing I've ever witnessed."

She giggled brokenly as an aftershock trembled through her system. "You say that like you had nothing to do with it."

Jareth moved to sprawl over her. The weight of him pressing her into the drenched mattress was somehow both vulgar and grounding all at once.

Sarah sighed as he held her. She could feel the thunder of his heartbeat, the synching of their gasps for breath, and it soothed her worries away.

"How do you feel?" he asked before pulling away and blowing a cool stream of air over her heated skin.

"Debauched," she answered without thinking. "And in debt. New beds are expensive."

He barked a laugh, and she felt the dampness of her skin and the duvet disappear. "There," he cooed. "Good as new."

"Unlike me," she told him. "Thoroughly used and ready for pasture."

Jareth laughed again. "Oh, Sarah." His eyes danced with delight. "I'm not ready to retire you quite yet."

Sarah hummed. "Fine. But at least give me a breather. I think my soul left my body for a moment there."

"You and your breathers," he admonished after an affectionate tsk. "If you insist."

"I insist," she said, kissing his cheek.

"Fair enough." He sighed dramatically and rolled off her to lie on his back.

Sarah moved to curl into his side. "You know, for someone who is the absolute worst, you're actually kind of the best."

"I know." He kissed the top of her head. "How do you feel?" he asked again.

"Like a husk," she told him. "I'm pretty sure I don't have a single ounce of fluid left in me."

Jareth sighed again, feigning exasperation. "I'm serious. Tell me."

She smiled up at him, cursing herself for the shyness she felt coloring her expression. "I feel like I'm vibrating. Like I could die right now in your arms and be perfectly sated with that as my finale."

"Don't do that," he scolded though his grin took up his whole face. He peered down at her, an eyebrow arched. "Was that everything you expected?"

Sarah snorted. "You know it wasn't."

He forced a frown, but the corners still curved, belying his amusement. "Disappointed?"

"Shut up and stop fishing," she told him. "You've never disappointed me."

"But?" he pestered.

"I didn't know it would feel so—" She broke off, mulling over her answer as she toyed with the ends of his hair. "Intense," she finally said before gesturing to the recently restored duvet. "And I didn't know I could do that."

The other brow lifted in mock confusion. "You didn't know you could do what, precisely?"

Sarah shoved him. "Stop it, J."

He chuckled and pulled her in close. "Just this once," he relented.

Her eyes rolled. "How generous."

"But only until morning," he added. "As soon as I sense you stir with the first signs of wakefulness, I'm going to unleash an interrogation."

Sarah groaned as she pulled the maroon chenille up to cover them both and snuggled into him. "I can't wait."

Chapter Text

Sarah hadn't seen Jareth all week, too preoccupied with the piles of work she'd studiously ignored while galavanting about, falling in love with Goblin Kings. She'd warned Jareth she'd need at least a few days to get her life back to some semblance of 'together' without distraction.

He'd agreed as he snuggled her with an air-compressing squeeze the morning after their beach date. They'd awoken entangled, Sarah still nude and Jareth only in his linen pants, searing a hot line along her side. A pang of panicked guilt had seized her as soon as her eyes had opened, and when Jareth asked, she'd assured him it had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with skirting all of her responsibilities and the fact that she'd woken up without even knowing what day it was.

"Take this," Jareth had said, pressing a crystal orb into her hands after she'd finished tugging on her sweats. "We can send messages back and forth." He'd sounded slightly nervous as he added, "If you wish."

Sarah had smiled at the gesture. "How?"

"Simply touch the crystal and speak," he'd answered.

She'd laughed at that. "A magical walkie-talkie."

Jareth had looked perplexed at the comparison, and Sarah shook her head dismissively. "Never mind," she'd said, shouldering her duffle bag. "Thanks."

She'd kissed him then, a chaste press of her lips to his. "Think of me," she'd told him, before scattering a few more kisses over his cheeks and forehead.

"Unendingly," Jareth had promised, smiling against her onslaught of parting affection.

When she'd passed through the tapestry into her bathroom, she'd been surprised to see it still reflected in her mirror—hanging behind her—a perfect rendition of the crashing pink tides, aqua sky and pearly beach.

Sarah had watched it for a moment, waiting for it to disappear.

When it didn't, she'd smiled.

The week proceeded without much room for missing him, but Sarah found herself thinking about him constantly anyway. The crystal remained untouched on her bedside table for three days before she finally dared to reach out a hesitant finger.

"I miss you," she said without much forethought, her fingertip ghosting over the spherical surface. It suffused with a warm peachy hue as she spoke.

Sarah waited, her heart in her throat like an infatuated teenager calling a crush. She wondered absently when she'd gotten so damn squishy.

A few short moments passed before the crystal illuminated with a rich indigo.

"And I, you," Jareth's deep baritone replied as if he was speaking from everywhere in her bedroom all at once. The color of the orb didn't immediately fade, and Sarah imagined him searching for something else to say, finger perched on his own crystal somewhere a world away. Finally, the light dimmed without another word.

Sarah's stomach plummeted a bit. She wanted him to say more. She wanted to say more, too, about how cold her nights had been without him, about how much she'd missed his teasing and easy company. And his mouth, his hands, his—

Her phone rang, startling her from her thoughts.

"Hello?" she blurted into the receiver.

"Sarah?" came a voice from the other end. "I'm calling about your request to buy my tickets for Friday's performance."

"Oh!" she nearly squealed. "Are they still available?"

"They are," the speaker on the other end of the line told her, sounding pleased to be offering good news. "Private box seats."

Sarah was elated. She hadn't expected the random response to the online ad to pan out. She finished up the phone conversation, ironing out details to pay for and acquire the tickets the next day.

As soon as she hung up, her fingers were reaching for the crystal again. "Hey," she said, then shook her head at the lackluster greeting.

Indigo lit up her bedside. "Hello, Sarah Bear," Jareth's voice purred. "Still missing me?"

When the light faded, Sarah touched the sphere again. "Shut up, and also, what are you doing on Friday night?"

"Dating," came Jareth's voice, made all the more velvety by the crystal's purple-blue gleam. "I hope."

Sarah failed to suppress a giggle. "Meet me at my place around six," she told him as peach light blossomed from her fingertips.

Jareth's sharp laugh took up the entire space of her bedroom. "Around six, or at six?" he asked, a pointed comment on her ambiguous commitment to promptness. "This is already sounding very Sarah-Timey."

She found herself snorting at that, and let him hear it, her fingers stroking the sphere. "At six," she amended. "I'll be ready. Wear something…nice, but not over the top."

A warm indigo chuckle. "Are you so sure about leaving that up to my interpretation?"

Sarah smirked. "I'm wearing a nice dress and a pea-coat if that helps at all." Her fingers lifted from the crystal before she hastily replaced them, the orb glowing peach again. "Not a ball gown. Just a dress."

"Noted," Jareth said. "At six, then."

The week trudged onward, seemingly determined to ignore her desperation to be back in his presence. It was a strange feeling, to be unsated after having so much of him to herself for days.

To want so deeply.

It scared her a little, still. But her excitement outweighed the lingering trepidations that momentarily gripped her from time to time.

When Friday evening finally arrived, it found Sarah sitting at her vanity in an oversized button-down flannel shirt. She was feeling pretty smug about her time management. Her eyeliner had gone on without a hitch, and her curling iron was cooling beside her. She pressed her lips together and smiled at her reflection, pleased at how the dark berry lipstick she'd painted on complimented her green eyes.

Jareth appeared close behind her, and her breath caught at the sight of him, resplendently dressed and absolutely over the top—but stunning and perfect and everything. The jacket he wore was black leather, angular and otherworldly despite the fact that it looked more human than anything else she'd seen him wear before, aside from the clothes of hers he'd borrowed for camping. It slashed across his soft, silken maroon shirt in asymmetrical lines, drawing her attention to the amethyst moon dangling over his open chest. Her gaze dipped lower to his black, pleated trousers, cinched snugly at his high waist. A long path of gold buttons fastened them down the front, and Sarah's eyes lingered there—perhaps a beat too long—before she turned in her seat to embrace him around his hips.

"Hi, Lanks," she said. The buttons of his trousers were cool against her flushing cheek.

A booted foot tapped in mock impatience. "You said you'd be ready," he scolded, his gloved hands finding her shoulders and squeezing.

"I am," she insisted, disentangling herself from him and turning back around. "I just need help with my dress, though now that I think about it, your track record with zippers isn't great."

Jareth chuckled, and his eyes—smokey with kohl—danced with hers in the mirror. "I'd rather unzip, but I'm certain I can manage."

Sarah smirked at him and stood. "You can unbutton," she offered, gesturing down at her oversized flannel.

"A worthy compromise," Jareth said, his hands snaking around to her front as he pressed in close behind her.

His chin perched on her shoulder, deft fingers sliding buttons from holes.

She rested her temple against his, holding her breath as he slipped the halves of the open shirt down and off her arms. A shiver ran through her as the cool air kissing her naked skin mingled with the warmth of his stare in the mirror.

"My dress is hanging behind the door," Sarah told him, even though it nearly pained her to do so. Adding another barrier between them was the last thing she wanted, with him so close, looking at her like she was a thing to be devoured.

Jareth moved away from her, just a momentary absence, but one Sarah felt with an uneasy ache. He returned with her dress, a slinky, berry-colored satin number she'd maybe—definitely—splurged on for this occasion.

He held the dress up to examine it. "Where is the rest?" he asked, though he sounded more than pleased.

Sarah huffed and snatched it from him. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder as she stepped into the dress. She could feel his attention dragging along with the material as it slipped up her body.

His eyes—two burning black coals haloed in rings of icy blue—caught hers in the mirror as his fingers found the zipper at the base of her spine. He tugged it upward gently, the dress sealing over her skin with an unsettling feeling of finality.

"Do you like it?" Sarah asked, her voice sounding small and far away under the weight of his stare.

Jareth's gaze slid from her face, down her throat, and along her clavicle before raking over her breasts, her hips, her thighs. He moved in close again, the buttons on his trousers outlining the shape of his erection pressing against her.

His breath was hot near her ear. "How much time do we have?"

Sarah's stomach fluttered at the implications of the question—at the feeling of his touches, just the slightest dance of gloved fingertips up and down her arms. Her heart began to pound when he turned her and crowded her backward until the backs of her thighs bumped into her vanity.

"How much time?" Jareth repeated, his tone dripping with an unconcealed heat that had Sarah's belly coiling in response.

She swallowed hard as he purposefully tugged a glove off and set it beside her, the determined look in his eyes leaving no room for misconstruing his intentions.

"The cab will be here at 6:30," she told him, feeling disappointment tugging her lips into a pout.

It faded as Jareth grasped her hips, lifting her to sit on the vanity's edge. His bare hand skimmed below the hem of her dress before splaying along the inside of her thigh.

Sarah's heart clenched, but whether it was from desire or nerves she couldn't be sure. "Jareth, we don't have time," she protested weakly even as a slick of heat bloomed between her legs.

Jareth leaned down to nip at her jaw. "More than enough time to take you apart with my fingers, I think." His nostrils flared as he pulled away. "You want to let me."

"It's not about wanting," she admitted. The pressure of performing under such time constraints had her rattled. "I just can't—"

"You can," he insisted, dipping to fan kisses along her collarbone. "Tell me, 'yes.'"

And despite her worries, the word slipped past Sarah's lips in a desperate whisper.

Jareth obliged immediately, growling when his fingertips found her warm and wet for him. "Gods, I've missed the feel of you," he said before pressing the palm of his hand hard against her already swollen clit.

Sarah gasped at the rough pressure of it. It nearly startled her, the urgency of it so juxtaposed with his careful, tender touches.

His eyes flicked to hers as if reading her thoughts. "Relax," he soothed, his palm grinding into her as his fingers traced her slick seam. "I've got you."

"I know," she breathed.

And she did.

Jareth always had her.

Sarah's hands searched for something to hold on to before settling on the jagged lapels of his jacket.

His lips moved over the exposed skin of her neck, her jaw, her chest—everywhere but her mouth. She assumed he was avoiding ruining her lipstick, and was thankful for it as much as it had her aching for his lips on hers.

Her memory briefly transported her back to the pool, where she'd taken him into her mouth before so much as a kiss had been shared between them. Of how he'd suckled and teased her folds with his tongue as she'd straddled his face—a warning and a promise of the kiss to come.

The thrilling thought of it had her more than ready for his finger as it pressed into her without preamble. She rewarded him with a moan, and her legs instinctively hooked around him to improve his access.

Jareth hummed, low and rumbling. The approval lacing through it had Sarah clenching around him in reverent possessiveness.

"Yes," he purred against her throat. The gloved hand at her hip tightened, holding her in place as a second finger joined the first. "You take my fingers so well, Sarah."

They curved, the pads quickly finding the sensitive, rippling flesh of her front wall. He massaged roughly, and the sudden friction of it sent a shock of electricity through her, knocking the air from her lungs. Each drag of his fingers over that spot was searing, made only more intense by the press of his thumb. Sarah's back bowed as he began to caress her clit in sharp circles, keeping rhythm with his thrusting fingers.

Jareth pulled back to stare at her, and the heat that had been coiling low in Sarah's belly flared at the look of determined passion in his eyes. Her breath was coming in short, ragged puffs as she struggled to hold his gaze, her hands clutching his jacket desperately as he pumped into her.

"That's it," he coaxed as her inner walls began to flutter around his beckoning fingers.

Sarah let the praise wrap around her as he fucked her over the edge, her climax abrupt and fierce as it shredded through any lingering doubts she may have had about the possibility of it. Her head tipped back, her eyes closed, and she could feel his lips at her throat, soothing and warm against her flushed skin.

Jareth's hand had barely slipped from her when she heard a car horn honk outside.

She let out a shaky breath as she righted herself. His gaze snagged hers as she slipped on her heels—the blown pupils twinkling with something between pride and arrogance.

She ignored him for lack of anything coherent to say. "Wow" and "Thank you" and "Jesusfuckingchrist" all felt a bit hollow.

An unspoken I told you so haunted her as she walked to the cab, feeling wobbly and boneless. Jareth, barely concealing a smirk, guided her into the backseat before slipping in beside her.

A long beat passed as the cab driver shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.

"I told you so," Jareth gloated, seemingly unable to hold back his self-satisfied glee any longer as he turned to beam at her.

Sarah shoved him with her shoulder but sent him a quick, indulgent smile anyway. "Consider me happily proven wrong."

Both his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Words I never thought I'd hear from you."

"Shush," she said, blushing.

Jareth did not shush.

"Where are we going?" he asked, poking her in the side with a needling, gloved finger.

Sarah grinned, thankful for the distraction, and rummaged in her purse. She withdrew two tickets before handing one to Jareth.

He snatched the black ticket decorated with a pair of lambent yellow eyes out of her fingers. "'Cats,'" he read aloud flatly. His brow furrowed as his gaze rose to meet hers.

"It's a musical," she clarified.

Jareth's eyes lit up and he—by the gods—actually bounced in his seat. He spent the rest of the drive peppering her with questions about the play that Sarah steadfastly refused to answer.

Chapter Text

The crowd was an eclectic amalgamation of patrons—some in evening finery, others in furry cat costumes. A few even had full-faces of makeup on, complete with prosthetic whiskers.

Jareth was entranced by the hubbub as Sarah led him through the throng. She had to pause and backtrack on the way to their seats several times after discovering he'd fallen out of step with her.

On one such occasion, she'd found him obliviously cutting in line at the merch table like he was immune to such basic social decorum.

"Sorry about him," Sarah said to the bemoaning patrons he'd confidently stepped in front of.

"Who does he think he is, some sort of king?" someone griped.

"Something like that," Sarah agreed over her shoulder, hooking her arm with Jareth's and towing him away.

Jareth, still ostensibly confused about why anyone was miffed at him, shot Sarah a questioning look. "I simply wished to purchase goods from the merchant."

"No cutsies, J," she admonished.

"Mine is a lawless life," Jareth told her, though he let her guide him to the back of the queue without further complaint.

Sarah quickly decided, after only a few short moments, that Jareth was an absolute nightmare to stand in line with. The linear path that was so clearly set for them seemed like an impossible task for him to stick to as he bopped around, distracted by the fanfare like an errant toddler. His excitement was contagious, and Sarah couldn't help but grin even as she wrangled him back time and time again to stand beside her.

When they finally reached the merch table, the seller eyed Jareth with lingering resentment, having apparently not forgiven his earlier faux pas of slowing her line down.

"You again," she said, before setting her mouth in a thin line of disapproval. "What do you want?"

Her tone was not kind or welcoming, and Jareth visibly recoiled at being spoken to in such a manner.

"Ew," he said with a hand clutching over his heart as though maximally offended, and then, "What?" when Sarah elbowed him.

She sent him a look that warned, behave.

Jareth huffed and turned back to the seller. "I'll take that poster, a hat, and two of those shirts." He leaned closer over the counter. "And ooh, is that a pin?"

The seller nodded, unimpressed with his enthusiasm.

"Two pins, then," Jareth added, rocking in place—heel-to-toe—giddy with anticipation of his new treasures. He pointed to a tote bag. "And that satchel."

Sarah—mentally crunching numbers as the seller added items to the pile on the counter—would have cringed at the total, had Jareth not had a record of mysteriously procuring human money.

When the seller looked dubiously between him and the merchandise in a you-gonna-pay-for-all-this? glare, Jareth grinned and flashed a credit card. Sarah choked back a laugh when she saw the tiny portraits of Teacake and Curd printed across the front.

The seller took his card with a skepticism that only seemed to double as she tonelessly read, "Jareth Lanks." She glanced up at Jareth with narrowed eyes. "I'm going to need to see some I.D."

Sarah, certain Jareth had no such thing, readied herself to intervene. She was surprised when an I.D. card inexplicably slipped from his jacket sleeve like it took up permanent residence there. She caught a glance at it as he passed it to the seller, and stifled another laugh at his photo that was at least eighty-percent frantic mullet, and the eye color listed as, 'N/A.'

The seller compared the two cards and shrugged before running the credit card through the reader. She looked shocked when 'approved' flashed across the LCD screen. She handed the cards back to Jareth, who smugly disappeared them in his sleeve. "All sales are final," she told him as both an obvious dismissal and invitation to never return.

Jareth gathered the rolled-up poster and bag of merchandise with the exhilarated air of a dragon adding to their hoard.

A warm affection bloomed in Sarah's chest as she watched him stroll away confidently without any idea where he was going. He looked so damn happy—'Cats' tote and paper tube clutched in his hands—despite being clearly directionless and overstimulated.

She couldn't help but love him all the more for it.

"Hey, Gangles," she called out to him as he pranced his merry way in the opposite direction of the stairs leading to their seats.

Jareth did a full about-face and looked genuinely surprised to see that Sarah was not with him. He strode over to where she waited.

"Are you regretting bringing me here yet?" he asked, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Not in the slightest," she told him, linking their arms again. "But the night is young."

Jareth stopped them on the way to the stairs with a jarring lurch, his attention drawn to something Sarah was too distracted to have immediately noticed. She followed his gaze to a bar he was taking inventory of.

"I don't think we have time, J," she told him, though it pained her to do so. She could really use a drink herself after corralling him for the past half-hour. "It'll take too long. We need to be in our seats by eight."

"It's 7:37," Jareth informed her, flourishing the garish watch that had made an abrupt reappearance on his gloved wrist like he didn't have an innate sense of time without it. "And I think I've proven I have a better grasp of how long things will take than you, my blushing beauty."

Sarah, against all effort, flushed at the reminder.

He smirked a self-satisfied smirk.

"Fine," she conceded, snatching his hand out of her face where he waved the watch demonstratively.

Jareth was slightly more tolerable as they stood in line, buoyed by his merchandise and Sarah's watchful gaze.

The frazzled bartender was unamused when they reached the counter and Jareth began pelting him with questions like, "How long was the bourbon barrel-aged for?" and, "Is the muddled mint spearmint or peppermint?"

Sarah stepped in and ordered for them both, sending the bartender an apologetic smile.

Jellicle Juleps in hand, she ushered him up the stairs. She was glad they had some time to spare, as it was quite a hike to the upper level where their seats were.

She'd known their tickets were for a private box, but she hadn't anticipated just how private the space would be. She was pleasantly surprised as an attendant directed them through a curtain leading to a balcony with only two red velvet seats. A short wall wrapped around the curved overhang of the balcony, separating them from the buzzing mezzanine below.

They took their seats just as the house lights began to flash, offering a warning to any straggling patrons that the show was about to start.

Sarah had seen 'Cats' before, and having left the experience unsure of how she felt about it, was more than happy to spend most of the first act observing Jareth. He perched on the edge of his seat, completely enraptured. His expression was ever-shifting—befuddlement, horror, and awe warring for dominance.

She couldn't suppress the fuzzy feelings bubbling within her as she watched him, so enthralled with the chaos of the production. Her eyes roamed from his face to his throat, where his Adam's apple bobbed as he chuckled. To his bare chest where his breath caught at a particularly melancholic melody.

Her thoughts meandered to less innocent corners of her mind as her gaze dropped lower, and she was reminded, with a tension coiling low in her belly, of the golden buttons of his trousers that begged to be undone.

Jareth briefly snagged her wandering gaze, a knowing sparkle in his eyes. He visibly inhaled through his nose as if to remind her he could smell the effect her thoughts were having on her.

Naughty, naughty, his smirk said as he booped her nose before returning his attention to the show.

And he was right. Sarah's brain had descended fully into the gutter, and she was already formulating a plan that had her celebrating the fact that she'd remembered to slip on a pair of panties.

Raucous applause startled her back into reality as the house lights came back on, signaling the end of the first act and the beginning of intermission.

"Oh, Sarah," Jareth said excitedly as he turned to her with a manic, face-splitting grin. "It's fundamentally grotesque and I love—" He broke off when he saw what Sarah could only assume was a lecherous, determined look on her face.

She felt the corners of her lips tug into a smirk as she pried his Jellicle Julep from his gloved hand.

"Thief," he accused, though his voice had dropped to a sensuous purr.

"You can have it back," she told him, setting the glass on a side table. "But you'll need your hands free to pull my hair."

Jareth's eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath his hairline. He cast a quick look around before meeting her gaze with a searing heat that told her he'd assessed the privacy of their seats and had determined they were properly obscured—or had decided he didn't actually give a single shit either way.

He was quiet as Sarah slipped from her seat and knelt in front of him. Her hands moved to his knees before guiding them apart. She lifted her gaze to his as her fingers found the cool buttons of his trousers, already straining against his growing erection.

His pupils were blown wide, and Sarah felt a deep sense of satisfaction at how he held his breath. She kept her eyes locked with his as she guided his half-hard cock out of his trousers.

Sarah stroked him until he swelled to fill her hand. She wasted no time teasing him, slipping the tip past the tight seal of her lips. Her fingers pumped up his length as she massaged the underneath of his head with the flat of her tongue.

Jareth hissed, his fingers weaving through the hair at the back of her head. His hold was loose at first but tightened as her cheeks hollowed.

She let her lips slide down the length of him and sucked hard. Small, breathy sounds escaped him as her tongue laved at the underside of his shaft, swirling at the tip before each descent.

"Teeth," he whispered, a plea and a command.

Sarah obliged, letting her teeth scrape gently across his velvety skin as her head bobbed.

Jareth groaned, a half-uttered, "Fuck" stalling in his throat.

Encouraged, she opened her throat and suppressed a gag as he hit the back of it, relishing the slight ache in her jaw that the suction of her mouth created.

His breath was hitching in short, breathy gasps that had Sarah moaning softly around him, mindful—to a point—of keeping quiet. As much as she dreaded the idea of being detected in the midst of giving a rough, passionate blowjob, it was becoming difficult to care as he pulled her hair desperately.

Her free hand scooped his balls and she rolled them, tugging gently. His cock twitched in her mouth as she massaged beneath his sack with two fingers.

Jareth looked nearly panicked, and Sarah could feel the tension in his body stringing tight with impending release. She locked her eyes with his, a silent confession that she wanted his come to be spilled nowhere else other than down her greedy throat.

Sarah held his gaze, battling her gag reflex again as she took him as deep as she could. He shuddered, a nearly silent, drawn-out moan escaping him as she did her best to swallow the hot salty-sweetness of the come filling her mouth.

A dribble slipped past the corner of her lips as she pulled off him, and she lifted her hand to wipe it away. Jareth caught her wrist, pulling her up and meeting her halfway as he leaned forward to lick his come from her chin in a hot stripe. He found her lips and kissed her fiercely, his tongue exploring her mouth like he couldn't get enough of her, of the taste of himself lingering on her tongue.

He broke away when the house lights flashed. His eyes were somehow heavy-lidded and luminous at the same time as he kissed both of her cheeks and rasped, "Well, that was efficient."

She laughed. "See? I can keep to a tight schedule."

Jareth hummed as he tucked himself back into his trousers. "Consider me happily proven wrong," he said, tossing her earlier words back at her.

They shared a smile as Sarah resumed her seat and the performers claimed the stage once more.

The second act had Jareth's mood palpably shifting between joyous and upset. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes at parts, and Sarah's heart swelled for her sensitive, lovely…something.

Her something.

That wasn't it at all, she thought, frowning to herself. What was he to her, she wondered, aside from everything?

My best friend?

Obviously, but that wasn't the whole of it.

My boyfriend?

Her frown deepened at the thought. It felt amateur and entirely too bound by archetypal limitations set in place by mortals.

My lover?

Certainly that, she thought, the taste of him still coating her mouth. But that wasn't quite the right word, either.

My destiny? My soul mate? The undeniable love of my life?

Yep.

It didn't come close to summing up what they shared.

Not really.

But it would have to do for now.

Chapter Text

The lobby buzzed with post-performance excitement as Sarah and Jareth pushed through the exit door. It was just as overstimulating outside the theatre, with savory smells wafting from food carts, honking cabs weaving in and out of traffic, and street vendors offering knock-off merchandise at desperately discounted prices. Sarah towed Jareth past one vendor waving a t-shirt that simply read 'Cat,' but Jareth was too high from the performance and general hubbub of the evening to notice.

His feet were light, the tune from 'Memory' an impassioned hum on his lips. He punched out each note of the final refrain with their joined hands before looking over at Sarah. "What's next?"

Sarah's eyes cut away as she wrangled back a sudden burst of nerves. She'd been so focused on keeping the plans for their date a secret that they hadn't discussed what came later. She'd thought about it, though—thought about it so much she'd nearly psyched herself out.

But here he was, the kind of happy that was as inescapably contagious as a giggle at a sleepover.

"Do you want to go back to your place tonight?" Sarah asked, the question tumbling out in a rush.

When Jareth didn't reply immediately, Sarah glanced at him to see that his jovial expression had become one of crestfallen confusion. She hated seeing his bubble burst even for a second. "Together, I mean." She smiled at him as he registered her words, his face lighting up as quickly as it had fallen.

"Is that what you want?" He sounded hesitantly hopeful.

"Steal me away to your castle beyond the Goblin City," she confirmed dramatically before squeezing his hand in warning when he looked a little too pleased. "Until I decide to go back home."

"Of course," he agreed, eyes sparkling, his entire face a grin. "Your wish is my command."

"I didn't say anything about wishes," Sarah corrected through a laugh, leading him away from the masses before ducking behind a large parked bus. "Let's go."

She closed her eyes, unconsciously anticipating whipping winds and glitter despite the ease of the last time they'd traveled to the Underground. The sounds around them came to a jarring stop. The air changed, clean and cool compared to the muggy pollution of the congested street. A breeze whispered against her warm cheeks. Jareth's same wide grin awaited her when she opened her eyes, though there was something like apprehension along the edges.

Sarah frowned at the expression but forgot it as she took in her surroundings. Part of her had expected the throne room or the tapestry gallery. Her heart did a series of somersaults when she realized Jareth had taken her where she'd hoped he would.

Dark wood flooring and walls complemented the leafy trees tucked in corners and the well-established plants hanging from the ceiling. Velvet, gold drapes were tied off at intervals along the far wall, revealing tall windows and a set of double doors propped open wide. Billowing gossamer curtains partially obscured what appeared to be an expansive balcony beyond.

The right corner of the far wall broke into a large, protruding semicircle ringed in stained glass—a breathtaking forest landscape that Sarah thought must be especially stunning during the day with sunlight filtering through.

A raised dais supported the rounded space, dominated by a large bed of dark wood with carved details accented in gold. The headboard was crowded with pillows in various shapes, textures, and shades of green and gold. A familiar-looking maroon chenille throw blanket warmed the foot of the bed atop a forest green, crushed velvet duvet.

The room felt like Jareth, but it wasn't what Sarah had imagined, and she'd imagined it more times than she'd be willing to admit. Her fantasies had painted a scene of stone walls, vibrant colors, garish fixtures, ostentatious furniture, and over-the-top decor—not this spectrum of warm earth tones. His bedroom was nothing less than cozy. Lived-in. A sanctuary.

What truly surprised her, though, as she took an exploratory step into the large bedchamber, was the absolute disarray.

"Jareth," Sarah scolded, doing nothing to conceal her open gawking. "You're"—her lips twitched with a self-satisfied smirk—"a slob."

Jareth waved a dismissive hand and began bopping around, an air of nervousness clinging to him as he tidied up this and that. "This gaggle of flea-bitten no-goods," he chided, the fondness of his tone belying the harsh words. "Filthying up the place."

Sarah scoffed. "This mess is entirely your own," she told him as she walked further into the room. "What's going on with all these clothes on the bed, Lanks? Were these your ensemble options for this evening?"

He didn't say anything, his scowl all-telling as her eyes fell to the pile of haphazardly kicked-off boots by the bedside and the several cloaks and capes strewn over a substantial standing mirror.

A mental image of Jareth frantically trying on options and having an outfit crisis played out in Sarah's head, and she laughed. "That's…" She searched for the correct word, shrugged, and went with "adorable."

Jareth harrumphed, crossing his arms defensively. "I wasn't expecting company."

Sarah laughed again. Throughout their long friendship, Jareth hadn't wasted a single opportunity to admonish her cluttered apartment, her car full of desiccated to-go cups, and her nebulous laundry system, which involved three baskets loosely labeled 'dirty,' 'clean,' and 'clean enough.'

"You give me so much shit for being messy, and this is what I find." She gestured broadly at the chaos. "I always assumed you magicked yourself into your outfits with little consideration. Now I know you put on fashion shows for your cats and leave the rejected outfits flung everywhere."

"Shush, you," Jareth hissed. "Allow me my vices unharassed."

"Fine," Sarah relented, though his deepening scowl made her grin. "For now, anyway. I'm feeling magnanimous." Her gaze slid over the room again, this time registering the half dozen or so sets of lambent, slitted eyes tracking her from behind and beneath various pieces of furniture. "Let me meet the family."

Jareth's expression went from sour indignation to proud parent in less than a heartbeat. He clicked his tongue three times in a way that only served to reinforce his status as an established Cat Dad.

A calico peeked at her from beneath a chair. Twin tabbies slipped out from behind a bookcase, followed by a Tuxedo. Sarah noted that all cats within her sight seemed well-groomed and cared for—not a flea bite or hint of dirt that would justify Jareth's earlier attempts at blame.

Jareth beamed. "Notorious spies, the lot of them," he proclaimed with honeyed affection as he swept over to one of the wingback chairs facing the fireplace. "Especially this beast."

Sarah followed, suppressing a squeal of delight when she saw the disheveled black cat sprawled across the cushion. "Oh my God," she whisper-screamed as she knelt in front of the relic of a feline. "Hi, Teacake."

Teacake mrrowed in reply, head lolling as her milky gaze searched for the source of the greeting.

"Just look at her," Jareth cooed, kneeling beside Sarah and giving Teacake a vigorous scratch behind a tattered ear. "Isn't she the pinnacle of perfection?"

Teacake issued a rickety purr of agreement, and Jareth beamed impossibly wider. He couldn't, Sarah thought, beam any wider if he tried.

She was beaming too, she realized, as Teacake nuzzled at her offered fingers after a series of wet, snuffly sniffs.

"Tea, you remember Sar—" Jareth began as if it were entirely possible for Teacake to have gleaned any concept of who Sarah was from his brief crystal-call home during their road trip weeks prior, like Sarah hadn't been forbidden to speak and wasn't essentially dodging Flit's searching goat-eyed gaze the whole time.

Jareth's introduction was cut short as his face became suddenly obscured by gray and brown fur. He toppled back onto his heels with a muffled "Oof" but didn't seem surprised that his head had become ninety percent raccoon. He reached behind him and patiently disentangled grabby paws from his hair before holding his assailant out at arm's length.

"Curd," he said in what Sarah assumed was an attempt at a disapproving tone. "Hello."

Sarah giggled but stifled it when the baby raccoon shot her a scathing look. "Is this her standard greeting?"

"We are working on it," Jareth said, his long nose rubbing Curd's round one.

"Hi, Curd," Sarah ventured. "It's nice to see you again."

Curd's eyes slid to Sarah with exaggerated slowness. She held her gaze for a long, unimpressed beat, her expression a study in dubiousness before snapping her head back to Jareth to deliver a long stream of angry-sounding chitters, ostensibly informing him that she in no way returned the sentiment.

Jareth set Curd down beside him, only for her to climb up his back in unmistakable defiance. She stood with a foot on each of his shoulders and began sorting through his unruly hair with quick little fingers like it was her job.

"She'll warm up," Jareth told Sarah with an abashed grimace as the baby raccoon made a rude sound that could only be described as a scoff. He ignored Curd and glanced around at the cats that had deemed it safe enough to show themselves.

"Who's this?" Sarah asked as the two tabbies approached and wound around Jareth.

"Pudding and Tartlet," Jareth supplied. "They are always together, the first to be involved in goings-on." He nodded toward the grey Scottish Fold that had settled on the chair next to Teacake, grooming the ancient cat with apparent deference. "And this is Shortbread. He's typically worshiping Tea, as he should."

Sarah giggled and stroked Shortbread along his spine. "What a good boy. Who's the Calico?" she asked, looking around. "I saw her earlier."

"Biscotti," Jareth called out softly. "Come on out."

A pair of olive-colored eyes glowed from beneath the chair opposite them. A white face with orange and black splotches poked out timidly.

"She's a bit shy," Jareth told Sarah. "Quite the opposite of her brother." He ruffled the fur of a black and white Tuxedo with olive-colored eyes that matched Biscotti's. "His name is Meringue."

Meringue stood on his haunches, stretching himself up to place his paws on Sarah's chest. He gave her a judicious sniff before leaning in to nuzzle her face.

"Oh, goodness," Sarah said, petting him as he erupted into contented purrs. "Isn't there one more?"

"Egg," Jareth supplied, pointing behind them to a long-haired flame-point taking up an impressive amount of real estate on a chaise lounge by the windows. "You'll have to go to him for a formal introduction, I'm afraid." He sighed adoringly. "It isn't personal. He's just a loaf."

Egg raised his lionlike head and blinked in sleepy acknowledgment, and Sarah thought she'd never seen a more striking cat.

She got to her feet and walked over to the chaise. "Just…Egg?"

"Egg Custard is his legal name," Jareth clarified, following behind her. "But mostly, he's just Egg." He lifted the colossal cat and gingerly slung him over his shoulder. "Time for bed, you scoundrels."

Egg didn't protest, and most of the others followed in a chaotic scramble, winding in and out of Jareth's legs as he strode purposefully toward the wall to the left of the fireplace.

And vanished beyond it.

Sarah blinked. Despite all she'd seen over the years, she still almost thought she'd imagined it, even with the cats merrily disappearing behind him one by one. As if to validate her observations, Biscotti, in an apparent moment of bravery, darted out from beneath the chair and disappeared after them.

Sarah stared at the wall. There was nothing remarkable about it. At least, not until Jareth sauntered back through it with unflappable nonchalance.

"Let me just collect the others," he announced like he hadn't just Pied Pipered six cats into a different dimension.

"Where did you go?" Sarah asked, watching him scoop up Teacake. She noted how he cradled her to his chest—so unlike the sack-of-potatoes approach he'd taken with Egg.

"Hmm?" Jareth glanced at Sarah distractedly. "There's an adjoining suite," he informed her as he walked back toward the alleged wall. "Several rooms that are essentially theirs." He paused, did an about-face, and took a few steps toward the armoire in the corner. "Mousse," he coaxed.

The door of the armoire cracked open. A familiar mink slithered out and loped toward the wall, only to be violently body-slammed by Curd. Mousse hissed, rearing up before lunging at the raccoon in an impressive display of fearlessness. The two began to tussle, spitting and hissing in a blur of teeth and claws.

"Stop." Jareth's voice rang with command, and the wrestling pair froze. "To bed." He supervised as they grumbled with resentful obedience and trudged toward the wall, swiping at each other along the way.

Jareth sighed. "Siblings," he lamented in that AmIright? kind of way as they passed through the barrier.

Sarah laughed. "Are there more?"

"Not in here." He chuckled. "I'm going to get them settled in for bed. I'll be right back."

While Jareth tucked in his menagerie, Sarah took the opportunity to evaluate the rest of the large bedchamber. Something caught her attention to her right: a large vanity with gilded leaves painted into the wood—the dark twin of the delicate one she'd had as a teenager. A tri-paneled mirror framed her growing reflection as she immediately made it her business to investigate.

When she first spied the numerous items decorating the vanity's surface, she'd assumed it was more clutter. But as she drew nearer, she saw that everything seemed purposely placed. On display. The objects shared no discernable category—trinkets, tchotchkes, random bits and bobs—but Sarah intuitively knew they all meant something to Jareth. Keepsakes from moments he wanted to ensure he didn't forget.

A cone-shaped party hat dangling from the left mirror panel drew Sarah's eye. A warmth spread behind her ribs as her fingers brushed the 'Happy New Year!' printed across it. She knew that dumb, sad hat. She'd worn a matching one so many years ago and cried dumb, sad tears into Jareth's shoulder.

Before I was brave enough to ask him to stay, Sarah thought, a wistful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. I wanted to, though. Even then.

And not for the first time, but for different reasons—new feelings that surpassed the familiar rush of curiosity and arousal. A desire for closeness had bloomed within her when she'd seen his face once the credits started rolling. His relatable reaction had made her feel safe, somehow, his damp features a striking mixture of devastation, denial, and outrage.

Jareth's pendant hung from another section of the mirror, and Sarah frowned at it. She'd never seen him without it, a constant presence through all the years she'd known him. She thought back to their evening together but couldn't recall if she'd seen him wearing it. Before she could think too deeply about it, her attention was snared by a gleaming seashell on the vanity's surface.

Her throat tightened as she reached for the scalloped shell, an oil spill of creamy sherbet shades. The weight of it in her palm immersed her in memories of their date in the pink, buoyant sea—their walk along the impossible stretch of pearly beach where she'd found the shell, no more beautiful than everything else around them, but special, somehow.

Sarah hadn't thought about the shell since she'd handed it to him, the moment just one in a blur of magical discoveries that day. But here it was in her hand, a shell—a moment—that had meant enough to him for him to keep. She set it back where she'd found it, feeling inexplicably close to tears.

What appeared to be a scrapbook was propped up against one of the mirrors. Sarah hesitated before reaching for it, momentarily weighing the rudeness of rifling through his things before she remembered Jareth's history of unbothered nosiness when it came to her entire life and everything in it. When she opened the cover, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of a familiar postcard featuring Charlie Brown's Great Pumpkin tucked securely in the plastic of the first page. Her own handwriting greeted her when she flipped it over, the first of many postcards she'd written to him over the years.

Gobking,

I hope your teeth are as immortal as you are because Karen pawned off the vast majority of everyone's loot on you. You, sir, are a sugar fiend. But aside from that, you're kind of alright.

When Karen called and said there was no one to take Toby trick-or-treating, I didn't expect you to suggest I ditch our plans and take him. It surprised me when you offered to come with me. Why did I take you up on it? I like to think it's because we're friends. If we weren't then, we are now. I hope you feel the same. If you don't…awkward.

My dad thinks you're some sort of pop star. Karen is charmed. Toby was caught trying to cut his hair into a mullet this morning, so she's now slightly less charmed. But still. You were great.

Thank you.

Sarah

Sarah flipped to the next page, and the next, her chest becoming tight when she realized it was full of memories of their time together. More postcards from Sarah, movie tickets for films she'd dragged him to that he'd pretended to hate but secretly loved (Cruel Intentions, 10 Things I Hate About You), and a few he'd dragged her to that she did hate (The Blair Witch Project, The Crow).

She paused to read the back of a postcard from her hometown, emotion gripping her as she remembered the bittersweet feeling of being back in her childhood bedroom during a trip home.

J,

Take a moment to imagine me like this as I write to you: Crammed on my tiny bed. Dinosaur pillow as a headrest. My journal from 9th grade is a make-shift writing desk—it has a fairy on it. Or, at least, what I thought a fairy was like.

PSA: Real fairies are cuter and much bitey-er.

Anyway, it's weird being here—unsettling. Not at my dad's, that's fine. But in this room. So many versions of me have occupied this space. I think of the girl who was so self-absorbed, so bitter and selfish that she made a terrible wish. There were versions of me that came after, but it's hard to access them while I'm here. Maybe next time I see you, you can remind me I'm a Champion, too.

I miss you, idiot.

S

Sarah sighed. He was my anchor, even then, she thought, emotion creeping back up her throat as she remembered that night. She'd returned to her room from putting the postcard in the mailbox only to find Jareth sitting on her twin bed with it in his hands. "You're a Champion," he'd said. "Then and always."

The next page held a photo booth strip with 'Coney Island' printed along the edges. It featured Sarah, Jareth, and a tiny Toby. Sarah chuckled as she studied the series of four images: The first of their three smiling faces, Toby's missing more than a few teeth. The second of just Sarah and Toby with looks of bewilderment as they looked around for Jareth. The third of an owl in the foreground, mid-screech with wings outstretched as Sarah and Toby screamed in the back. The fourth of the three of them again, Sarah looking unamused while Toby and Jareth shared a laugh.

She smiled down at the photo strip. It had been a great day, and a particularly important one. It was the first time Karen had allowed them to take Toby somewhere together. As much as Karen loved Jareth, she was still leery after The Mullet Incident™.

A Christmas Card with Kevin McCallister from Home Alone's screaming face greeted her on the next page. Sarah laughed, remembering how excited she'd been to find the perfect card for Jareth that year, as she'd always told him he'd have been that exact child were he born human, an assumption with which Jareth wholeheartedly agreed.

Lanks,

I'd say, 'Merry Christmas,' but I'm pretty sure you're a Yule kinda guy. Or maybe it's a Solstice… I'll have to check in with you about that.

The cookie-decorating supplies are from that bakery booth you like at the farmer's market—the one with the lavender snickerdoodles.

Toby is very proud of the eyeshadow palette. Said it was "totally you."

I would apologize for the Santa Claus pajama set my dad insisted on gifting you, but I'm not responsible for his decisions. Also, it's funny.

Rest assured, he and Toby have matching sets, so you'll all be group photo fodder at the New Year's Day brunch. Luckily, I can wear whatever jams I want because Karen thinks Mrs. Claus's lack of a first name is 'patriarchal hooey.'

'Santa' isn't a first name. But I mean, I'm not gonna tell her that.

I want you to know, I am mystified over what your gift could be this year. Riddled with anticipation. I'm definitely not 100% certain it's the next installment of Now That's What I Call Music. And I'm totally  not  looking forward to a dance party.

Be warm. And merry. And bright, jolly, holly, and tralala-y. All the good stuff.

Sarah

She chuckled, recalling how her dad had ended up buying Sarah and Karen Santa pajamas in a bid to prove how progressive he was. They'd all been in the photo, as it turned out. Sarah was pleased to see it on the next page; her dad giving the camera an enthusiastic thumbs up, Karen appearing thoroughly cajoled into participating, Sarah mid-blink, Toby, all arms and legs and broody expression, and Jareth, with his arm around Toby's shoulder and a grin on his perfectly photogenic face.

Sarah flipped through more years of memories and cringed when she saw a semi-recent postcard of the Hollywood sign. She pushed through her embarrassment and read it anyway.

Gangles,

The business trip has been…uh, interesting. Let's just say I went on a side quest that will make traveling with my woeful, mortal limitations a real pain. It must be immeasurably convenient just to be wherever you want. Ugh. Lucky.

I met someone here So, there's this podiatrist here at the conference, right? Pete, something. Nice guy. You'd despise him. We share a hotel, and I met him at the breakfast buffet. He asked me to dinner. I considered it, but then he bit into a toasted bagel with nothing on it and I don't know why, but it felt like an ill portent.

I called home and talked to Toby. He said he's getting really good at juggling and sounds unhealthily excited to show you. I heard several loud thuds throughout this conversation, so manage your expectations.

I'm restless here. I want to be on my couch, in my comfies, watching Practical Magic, and eating microwave popcorn with too much butter. That's the plan when I get home. If you join, I'll throw some Milk Duds into the bowl.

Just sayin'.

Sarah

She felt Jareth behind her before she clocked his reflection's cautious approach. She met his eyes in the mirror when his hand fell gently between her shoulder blades. "I don't know what I allowed myself to believe you meant to me."

Sarah didn't know what to say to that. She'd been thinking the same thing. Writing letters and postcards was something she'd done with her mom. The exchanges had trickled to a stop, and Sarah had started to write to Jareth instead. The fact that she'd done so, for so many years, had her wondering if she'd loved him for just as long.

Jareth peeked over her shoulder to see what she was looking at. "You thought you were being so cryptic about the harness," he said coyly.

"It's not like you would have found it if you hadn't been nosing around," Sarah defended.

Jareth quirked a brow and glanced at the scrapbook in her hands. "Ah, yes. Nosing. The ultimate sin."

"I wasn't—"

"You were."

She huffed but softened when he smiled at her. "I can't believe you kept all this stuff."

His smile faltered just enough for her to notice. He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Of course I did, I—" his eyes widened before narrowing on Sarah's reflection. "Oh, don't act like you don't have everything I've ever given you lovingly stowed in the trunk at the foot of your bed."

Sarah spun around and drilled a finger into his chest. "You unrepentant SNOOP!"

Jareth's hands lifted, palms spread in an innocent plea. "Would it help if I told you I was looking for your Pampers?"

She paused. "My what?"

He pulled her accusatory finger from his chest and kissed the tip. "The tablets you take to ease your feminine cramping."

Her brow furrowed. "My—" Realization dawned, and she laughed. "Do you mean Pamprin?"

A rapid series of knocks sounded at the door, and Jareth visibly braced himself before dropping Sarah's hand. He cleared his throat and called out, "Who dares to knock upon the door of the fearsome Goblin King?"

An audible sigh that could only be summoned after decades of compounded exasperation came from the other side of the door. "Wager a guess."

Jareth and Sarah shared a grin.

"Password?" he demanded imperiously as he strode to the door.

"What?" Flit blustered from the other side. "Don't test me, kingling."

"Security protocols demand a password," Jareth told her through the door.

"There is no password," Flit replied, voice shaking with agitation. "It's me, Flit."

"Well, Me Flit, if you don't know the password, I suppose you could—" he paused and tossed a wink at Sarah "—wager a guess."

Silence from beyond the door, followed by the sound of an impatient armored boot tapping on the stone floor as Flit considered. "Teacake," she finally said.

Jareth flung the door open. "Correct."

A fuming Flit stood in the doorway. "Have I suitably proven my identity?"

"You do appear to be Flit-shaped," Jareth mused, looking her over with feigned assessment.

Flit huffed before delivering a sound stomp to his foot. "How about now?"

"Ah, Flit," Jareth said, hissing as he felt his toes for injury. "You've finally arrived. You are rather late."

The tiny goblin charged past him. "Late," she grumbled. "You'll be the death—" she stopped when her horizontal pupils fixed on Sarah. Her hands flew to her cheeks as if witnessing a scene of impropriety. "Sarah! For goblins' sake, what are you doing in here?"

"She knew the password," Jareth offered.

Before Flit could attack his remaining good foot, Sarah said, "I asked to come."

Flit looked between them for a long moment, then smiled sweetly at Sarah. "Well, that's just roses." Her attention flicked back to Jareth, threat written all over her expression. "You'll be keeping the door open while she's here."

"I'll be doing no such thing," Jareth insisted. "Sarah can close it if she wants to."

"I taught you—" Her condemnation died on a startled gasp and she bee-lined over to Jareth. "Where is your pendant?" she demanded, jumping up and scrabbling at his jacket lapels.

Jareth's eyes cut to Sarah, and she was surprised to see a look of alarm pass over his features. The expression made her stomach sink, though she couldn't say why. She glanced over at the tri-fold mirror of Jareth's vanity where she'd seen the necklace hanging earlier.

Flit's gaze followed Jareth's to Sarah, then Sarah's to the pendant. When she gasped again, it sounded almost like a sob.

"What's going on?" Sarah asked, disturbed by both Flit's look of utter shock and the way Jareth appeared to be speechless for the first time in his life.

Flit's tiny clawed hands grabbed his larger, gloved ones. "Has it started?"

"No," Jareth finally said. "It was just tonight. I wanted one night without the yoke of—" He paused, glancing at Sarah. "Leave it be, Flit. For now." He squeezed her hands. "Please."

Flit stared at him, heartbreak in her large orange eyes. She glanced to Sarah, then back at Jareth.

Whatever Jareth read in her expression must have spoken volumes because he nodded a solemn promise. "I will," he said. "Give me time."