Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dreams of mortals are precious things. They are the projections of everything from our idle, whimsical thoughts, to our greatest desires. They're the place the last of our dying wishes go to shine their brightest, even when all last hope of actually fulfilling them has faded. Their power is at its strongest in the young, when magic is at its most real, and before the world has taught us that anything is not, in fact, possible. There are limits to our perceptions and our abilities – but never in our dreams. They are the greatest gifts we give to ourselves, and as such, they are to be treasured. The Goblin King knew this better than anyone.

Keeper of memories, granter of wishes, he had felt the pull, the power of many a young mortal's most heartfelt desire. Magical creatures such as he fed upon those dreams; he drank of them like the sweetest wine, and embraced the new rush of power that swelled within him. A single human child's belief in him could keep him hale and hearty for longer than their brief mortal lifetimes would allow them to witness. More than once, as a repayment of sorts, he had offered a gift to a youth he had deemed special – stronger than the rest, somehow. The dreams they exuded called to him the most. The offer was a simple one: all of their dreams made real, in return for their continued belief in him. Love, fear, hatred – whatever the chosen youth held in their hearts and minds for him, as long as he was remembered, the Goblin King would only grow in strength – and all for such a small payment. Some children had made a bargain with him without a second thought, greedy for all the riches and impossible magic he offered. Others had been too afraid to accept such power.

Only a single one had dared to tell him that he held no such power in the first place.

Sarah Williams. The power within her dreams, her sheer imagination would have been enough to keep him strong and youthful for centuries. To Jareth's great dismay, the girl also possessed the strength of mind to realise it. There would be no deal, no welcome boost to his magical abilities, when she had stripped him of his authority and asserted her own. She had defeated him, and even weeks – and, yes, damn the gods, even months – later, Jareth had still not forgiven her for it. He sulked, brooded and schemed, but still, in time, he forced himself to move on. There were, of course, plenty of other dreamers to be discovered, and so many more sources of power to be harnessed. Eventually, the wise and powerful Goblin King thought no more on the dream that had gotten away – the headstrong girl who had dared defy him. It was her loss, truly. By turning down his most generous offer, cutting him off from her power, she had also denied herself the chance to live her dreams – something surely only a fool would do.

Never for even a single moment had Jareth believed that she would find her way into his dreams instead. By turning down his gift, she had given him one of her own without quite meaning to. It was an unwelcome gift – a curse – that Jareth was most eager to be rid of.

You could say, if you were in a particularly playful mood – and the gods knew that Jareth himself was not, as of that afternoon – that the king who knew everything had never even dreamed such a thing to be possible. It simply had not occurred to him that, without even knowing the limit of her own power, a mere mortal could hold any sway over his own private thoughts. Of course, he had known the girl held a special strength – any human who had the courage and fortitude to best his labyrinth was bound to make him sit up and take notice – but she had gone home. Aboveground, the realm where technology was king and true magic had all but died outside of wishful thoughts, she should have been powerless in any way that truly mattered. It had been a grievous, but at the time, wholly understandable error on his part.

Certainly, she had the strength needed to summon her pesky little friends to chat to once in a while, but Jareth had suspected that even that would fade as the years went on and she grew older. A teenage girl reaching womanhood would have precious little time in her life for a mangy rodent, a walking shagpile, and your average garden-variety, snivelling hobgoblin. At first, Jareth was proven right. As Sarah Williams grew and grew, the last traces of the Underground that clung to her seemed to shrink to almost nothing. She called out her friends' names less and less, and Jareth's not at all – they had not parted on the best of terms. Oh, certainly, he had felt the occasional prickle of magic wherever he was concerned – a hushed, meaningful whisper of 'him' or 'that guy' in reference – but Sarah had never dared speak his name aloud. It was a minor annoyance, to be deemed so unimportant, but he was done with the girl, and so he allowed himself to ignore it. With hindsight, he supposed he had let himself be lulled into a false sense of security, spending his days finding other bones to pick at. A man, even an all but immortal one, could be forgiven for allowing himself to drift along the river of time.

In all, it took roughly four years, six months and eleven days following Sarah Williams' sudden departure from the Underground for her true power to manifest itself in the most embarrassing way.

It began as a day of rest like any other – a glorious Sunday, and the one day of Jareth's hectic week he insisted on enjoying total relaxation, and a goblin-free castle. There were absolutely no exceptions to this last rule, and the grinning Goblin King took an almost perverse pleasure in patrolling the silent and empty walkways of the place he called home, rousing any stubborn stragglers with a wave of his hand, and a sudden and smelly Sunday morning soak in the Bog. Even a king is allowed the odd moment of gleeful whimsy, and on that particular morning Jareth felt most whimsical indeed. As he shipped off another wailing goblin to the Bog with a crack of his riding crop and a cheery whistle, he started to consider indulging in another afternoon of his most secret and guilty pleasure.

His fascination with the strange world Aboveground had resulted in the procurement of one of the largest television screens in existence, along with a top of the line VCR and a slew of VHS cassettes of varying entertainment quality. Though Jareth had soon grown weary of the cutesy and colourful range of Disney branded films – a godforsaken realm of utter shite, where the heroes always triumphed and the villains always lost, and poorly – he took pleasure in locking himself away to enjoy various American action, drama, and comedy films. He enjoyed the soundtracks – the music scene Aboveground was so different to that of his realm – the unsubtle love scenes, the fighting and the humour, but most of all the glimpses he was given into a strange world beyond his reckoning. One recent viewing had been a title called Risky Business, and Jareth found himself put in mind of a certain scene as he walked his lonely halls. In the film, the toothsome protagonist had found himself alone at home as well, and had celebrated with the most ridiculous dance, whilst wearing only a shirt and his underthings. It had been a great source of amusement.

Oh, to be alone and free. Jareth could relate to the protagonist's excitement. He pictured himself then, shed of his tall boots, heavy cape and tight breeches, skidding along the stone floors of his castle. He saw the way his shirt would billow out around his spread arms, the subtle forward thrust of his crotch as he slid, his entire body a show of worship to the gods of dance and debauchery on this day of true relaxation. The thought made Jareth pause in his stride and grin, tapping at one sharp canine with the smooth leather tip of his riding crop. It was a ridiculous, yet wholly enjoyable scene, painted in vivid colour in his own private daydream, never to be acted upon – and especially not as the sharp tingle of a summons came over his body. A human had spoken the name of the Goblin King, and as always, Jareth was bound to heed the call.

With only a brief flash of annoyance at being called upon on his precious day off, Jareth reached inside himself to summon his powers of transformation; though he could travel at whim, his owl form was but an extra touch of magic to unsettle those brave enough to speak of him. To his great surprise, Jareth found himself torn from one world and dragged into the next before he had the chance to sprout a single feather. There was a sudden crackle of magic, a rush of cold air around his legs, and then the bewildered Goblin King was stumbling into the bright, electric lights of the Aboveground with not a clue as to who had pulled him there.

It took a dizzying few seconds for this new world to come into focus, and in that time Jareth heard more than one awe-filled gasp. It placated him some to know that, even without intending it, he had still managed to make his customary imposing entrance. The gasps came from behind him, and so with an attempted menacing swirl of his cape, Jareth turned to face his audience, be they friend or foe. To his greater shock, he found he recognised the dark-haired goddess standing there, wide-eyed and pale before her mirror. She was a ghost of his past, reminding him of the passage of time. Only a hint of the girl who had bested him still clung to this woman's face, but there was no mistaking her eyes.

“Sarah?” he blurted – gasped – before he could stop himself. It was most unexpected, and most unbecoming of a king. Jareth cleared his throat and made another attempt to throw back his cape – and where was the blasted thing anyway? He settled for tossing back his head and staring down at his unexpected summoner. “Why have you called me here?” he asked, seeking indignation rather than petulance with his tone, and on the whole succeeding. “Are we finally bored with our dreary mortal existence? Do you wish to change your mind? I'm afraid it's too late for such things, my dear Sarah. Such a pity.” He could almost taste the malice he left his last words marinading in, and yet Sarah seemed almost unaffected.

The changes in her were almost unsettling. She was older – almost twenty by now, he guessed – and beautiful in a way that startled him, with her thick, dark hair, cool green eyes, and those full, dusky lips that already took up far too much of his attention. Jareth didn't yet dare to let his gaze move any lower, content to look upon her face as, in contrast, she drank all of him in. Even in her shock, there was still that unwavering sense of confidence in her, and the bold way she looked at him made Jareth very much want to return the favour. Before he had the opportunity, he found his attention stolen by the mirror she was standing before, spying movement. Within the mirror's glassy depths, he recognised a congregation of familiar faces from his realm, all staring at him in slack-jawed surprise. Jareth cocked his head at them with a sneer.

“And what are you miserable lot doing here?” he went on. “Don't you all have holes to crawl back into? What are you all staring at me like that for?”

The snickers had started up by then, Sir Ratbag, the giant carpet, Hogbrain, and a handful of soldier goblins all doing their best to suppress their laughter.

The lush mouth that had caught his eye turned up into a grin. “I think the more pressing question, Goblin King, is: what are you wearing?”

Sarah's voice was fuller than he remembered it, of an almost musical quality, slightly husky, but in a pleasing way. Her words were soft, a distraction, but all at once the realisation struck him hard. Jareth felt the breeze somewhere around his calves again, and he looked down, dreading what he might find. It was worse than he expected. Somehow, he had been dragged here directly from the recesses of his mind – and now, as he had been in his thoughts, he found himself a little under-dressed. Even when not tucked into his breeches, his billowing white poet's shirt came down to almost mid-thigh, but there was no shirt in all the known world that could hide the fact that he was practically bare underneath it.

As in his daydream, his feet were clad in long, thin white stockings that could almost be called socks – a la Risky Business – but his own choice of underwear was far skimpier than had been given approval to be shown on film. Though he would remain thankful that he had even seen fit to wear the things when he chose so often to go without, the tight yet flimsy material covering the family jewels were cut far higher upon the leg – and upon the arse – for decent company.

For the first time in perhaps a century, Jareth felt the tell-tale heat of a royal flush heating his noble cheeks. Though such a startling scenario was made to be handled with as much dignity as a king could muster, there was precious little to be had with his bare thighs on show and a cool breeze tickling his nether regions. He was not a shy man, but anyone faced with such an intimate audience of assorted creatures might have undergone a little shrinkage right there – a fact he was glad the tails of his shirt just about managed to cover. An audible gasp escaped the blushing Goblin King, and it was then that the true laughter began – and clearly their giggling ringleader had taught them a few Aboveground songs of her own.

The hobgoblin – Hedgewort – pointed a gnarled, stubby finger. “I see London …”

The fox-rat captain picked up the chant with a yip of triumph. “I see France …”

The rug-monster lifted a giant, hairy paw. “Ludo see kingy's …”

With one brief look at each other, the goblins piped up with pure, unadulterated glee. “Dance, magic, dance!”

With a flick of his wrist, the humiliated Goblin King was locked away in his private bedchambers, the last echoes of laughter still ringing in his ears as he spelled his regular attire back into place. His face was on fire, his mind a whirl of subjects who must be put on trial for treason and various vile punishments that must be put in place to put the world to rights again. To be seen at anything less than his best was an outrage, and whilst he had no doubt that at least one person in that bedroom liked what she saw, given the look in her eyes, there was nothing in this realm or the next that would make him tolerate being laughed at.

He had no clue as to what had happened, no idea as to how a mortal girl – woman – could have had the power to summon him without his permission, let alone how she'd managed to pull him from his embarrassing daydream. His dreams – even those of the lazy daydream variety – were his own, private and never to be seen by anyone else. He was no mere puppet, for his thoughts to be paraded against his will for the entertainment of others – least of all the smirking girl – woman – who had already bested and humiliated him. No, he would not dance for her, no matter how charming her smile had been when she had looked upon him.

His appearance had been unintended – he realised that now as his mind began to turn and to study, twisting the entire encounter back and forth under his scrutiny as though it were one of his crystals. She was surprised to see him; it was possible that the girl – that wretched woman – did not even know until the very same moment that he did, that she held such power within herself. Such a power was unthinkable – or at least it had been until only a few humiliating minutes ago. The consequences could be enormous. There were a hundred questions on his mind, the most pressing of which being how to stop the entire mess from happening again. He had to find out, striding through his castle with tenacious purpose – and woe betide any stragglers he found lurking amongst the stone corridors this time, in his current temper. None could know of this. He had advisers, servants, flunkies who would fall over themselves to do his bidding, but he could not risk the humiliation. Finding a solution was a task he trusted only himself with.

At last, he found the room he was looking for. The irked Goblin King spent the entirety of his day of rest locked away in his private library, sitting cross-legged upon the highest shelf and poring over tome after tome of lore and rules and spells. Each one ended up read and discarded beneath him, tossed to the floor without care as he moved onto the next. By the time evening rolled around – a time Jareth registered with only an impatient flick of his wrist to light the room to read by – he had built up quite a pile. None of the books held the answer he needed. The frantic need to know, to understand how his power had been reduced to all but nothing, did naught to alleviate his growing headache.

Tossing the latest thick volume aside – and wincing at the solid thunk the book made upon his stone tiles and upon his aching head – Jareth slid down from his bookcase, his magic cushioning his heels as he landed upon the floor. He knew he'd been at it for far too long; his eyes throbbed within his skull, and his vision began to swim and dance before him. Spelling a clock face into the air before him, he grimaced at the time. He could toy with the hours, he knew, to give himself more of the day to read by, but his whole body sagged under the exhaustion of it all. It wasn't every day the world as he knew it was turned upon its head. It wasn't every Sunday afternoon that a mere mortal proved her power to be just as great as his.

There would be no more research that day – no answers to soothe his troubled mind. The day was done and darkness had already rolled in. Rolling his sore shoulders, Jareth heaved a deep sigh. There was only one thing for it: bed. With but a gesture of his hand, he stood at the centre of his grand bedchamber, staring down at silken sheets and velvet coverlets with a vague sense of unease tugging at the pit of his stomach. Perhaps it had only been a one off; just because she had seen him in one of his unguarded moments did not necessarily mean she could see inside them all. Regardless, he had no choice – he felt too weary right then to stay awake indefinitely. It was time to sleep.

Perchance to dream.

Chapter Text

Sarah glowered at herself in her bathroom mirror, then managed to glare a little harder when she spotted the dark crease that had formed between her eyebrows. It was already well on its way to becoming a permanent wrinkle, thanks to her own stubborn nature. She had still been a child when that obstinate groove first made its appearance. Her father had tried to use it to his advantage to coax her out of her worst sulking fits. 'If that thing gets any deeper, we'll be able to plant veggies in it,' he'd had the habit of saying, before getting her giggling over the potatoes he claimed were growing behind her ears. Sarah's current expression lightened some at the memory. She hadn't heard her dad say that in years. Toby had grown up into a relatively mellow preschooler, proving that the family's penchant for drama – in every sense of the word – ran solely on Sarah's mother's side. At the age of twenty, Sarah liked to think she'd put most of her own bratty tantrums behind her. It made it all the more frustrating that a single encounter with the Goblin King – the man who had helped to put her on that new path to maturity – had the power to make her feel like kicking and screaming all over again.

It had taken almost three exhausting hours to persuade her friends from the Underground to leave her alone with time to think. It was all well and good to make fun of their king in a realm where he held little to no real power, but back home in the Underground there would be summons despite his highness' request for solitude that day, with dire consequences sure to follow. Only Sir Didymus, in his own kindly way, expressed more concern for the lady Sarah's well-being than his own. He didn't want her caught up in the fray, despite said fray being one of her own making. After all, she had been the one to speak Jareth's name – an error Sarah swore she would not be repeating any time soon. She refused to acknowledge that her skittish laughter had been only the first of her reactions to finding a half-naked Goblin King standing in her bedroom. She thanked her lucky stars he'd seemed too occupied with his own predicament to notice her blushes. The mirror before her divulged that the damned frown line of hers was back in full force. Some habits died hard, it seemed, or not at all.

By the age of ten or twelve, she had already realised that her private thoughts and fantasies ran along a slightly different path to those of her friends. She knew that she would feel much more at home as the fabled heroine in one of her storybooks than she would as the star of one of the latest teen movies; she had always been much more sixteenth century, than Sixteen Candles. Though she had sometimes chosen to confide in those friends, sharing whatever idle fancies filled her head, there was always another, deeper layer hidden beneath, where her true secrets could live and grow, and where only she could reach them. There were no sprites or faeries living at the bottom of her garden, any baby knew that, but in her private world of make-believe, the leavings of their miniature civilisation were scattered all over the forest near her home. You just had to know where to look. That whimsical sliver of her soul could only be set free when she was certain she was alone, wrapped up in the richly woven fantasy worlds of her favourite authors, and in her own painstakingly crafted costumes and plays.

It was only at the age of sixteen, when she found herself pulled into a real world of magic – a place that she had foolishly wished her brother away to, and that no one would ever believe truly existed – that she came to realise that some fantasies might be better off staying buried for good. It was easier on her sanity, that way.

If she'd had the time, money and inclination to see a good therapist, Sarah guessed that he or she would have told her that the whole thing had been some grand delusion, something to be kept at bay with hours of talking about her feelings, and handfuls of mood-stabilising drugs. Perhaps it was the last vestige of a broken and troubled childhood, where her parent's divorce had sent her tumbling down deep rabbit holes of her own making, the entire Underground a flimsy safety net woven from fear and fantasy, for when the real world became too much to take. It had been over four years since the time she had walked the confounding paths of the labyrinth, watched over by a host of strange creatures, unearthly orange skies, and a bewitching and unforgettable king. To return there in any way was to cling onto the past, busying herself with childish games of make-believe instead of facing up to adulthood. The only problem was, she knew that no amount of psychotherapy or pills would be able to change the hard facts: it was all real, and it apparently wasn't going away any time soon. He wasn't going away any time soon.

She had spent the best part of her teenage years trying so hard just to forget. She had wasted most of the past four years trying to quash her yearning for the weird and the wondrous, the strange part of herself that yearned to burn its brightest. She had done all she could to make herself 'normal', putting aside her dolls and her costumes to concentrate on college choices and overall life choices. Her guilty get-togethers with the creatures she had befriended had been confined only to summer and winter breaks, when that memory of magic had been too strong to resist. She had endured hours of soul searching in her bedroom mirror, before it all became too much and she had to call upon her friends as a distraction. Unfortunately, that tiny glimpse they gave her of the Underground always whet her appetite for more. On that particular day, her damned curiosity had finally gotten the better of her. It seemed like the more she tried to distance herself from the Underground and its keeper, the more determined that magical world was to drag her right back in. The memories and bonds she had made there were too strong to just fade away. Now, she had accidentally reopened a door, his door – one that she had always sworn would remain closed.

Though a tiny part of her couldn't help but hope to one day meet the enigmatic Goblin King a second time, she had never actually expected him to appear – and especially not in just his underwear. From the look of confusion she'd seen in his pale blue eyes – eyes that she promised herself would not haunt her daydreams, the way they sometimes threatened to – he was as bewildered by their brief reunion as she. His sudden and quite startling appearance back into her life had given her little time to process a mess of unwelcome emotions, ranging from confusion and anger, to the much less acceptable exhilaration, and yes, even a little, shameful lust. It was that last emotion that bothered her most of all.

It took her a long time to realise that the sharp pain she felt then wasn't her overtaxed mind begging for mercy, but her poor, abused mouth; in her distraction, she had been scrubbing at her teeth for well over her usual three or so minutes, and with a grim determination that might have eroded stone. Her clenched fist flew open, her whitened knuckles darkening back to their usual pink. When her toothbrush clattered into the bathroom sink, the foamy bristles held bright red flecks of her own blood.

“Shit.”

Sarah scooped a handful of water from under the running faucet and rinsed out her mouth, wincing at the coldness against her lacerated gums. It was yet another thing to blame on the Goblin King. Just seeing him, even just for those brief couple of minutes, had been enough to turn her world on its head once more.

Of course, she remembered the scowling, sneering thief who had taken her brother; that cruel captor of innocent children. There hadn't been a day over the past four years where she'd fully been able to forget his piercing gaze, wild hair and elaborate make-up, and those tight, tight pants. Even the ridiculousness of the moment hadn't fully robbed him of that ineffable presence he seemed to carry with him in every step that he took, his majestic poise, every slight gesture of his pale hands a needlessly elegant performance in its own right. He had been every bit the king that she remembered, the one who ruled without question over all he surveyed – all except her.

He had no power over her, just as she had once stood tall to tell him. She had dragged him into her world with just a simple call of his name, pulled him from … well, whatever the hell he'd been doing in that outfit, and there hadn't been a damned thing he could've done about it. Before his humiliation had forced him to disappear – and that in itself was no small surprise, that he would flee from her – he had made no scathing last remark, and offered up no dark vows of vengeance for her audacity. For all these years, calling upon the Goblin King by name was, in her eyes, to give him the permission he needed to turn her life upside down at his whim. However, this time, unlike the foolish wish she had made as a teen, she had held all of the power. It would've been stupid to deny just how much she liked it.

She stared at her reflection for ageless seconds as she contemplated that last, short meeting – that too short meeting. She wondered if there would ever be another – oh, but not if she could help it, obviously. It would be even more stupid to put herself through all that again. Her heartbeat seemed to accelerate, in outright defiance of her denials. No way. She couldn't sit through that wild roller-coaster of emotions again … could she? Her stomach gave a dangerous little twist.

Oh, fuck it. Why not?

She watched as her reflection parted its lips with clear purpose. “Jareth,” it said, and that was all. There was nothing more, save for the slightest echo of her own voice. She wasn't surprised that the Goblin King did not make a second appearance that day. It was probably just as well – in a plain black tank-top and faded powder-blue pyjama shorts, she was hardly dressed for receiving royalty, that night. She watched the mirror sneer back at her before she snapped off the bathroom light.

“Asshole,” she muttered, more to her herself than to the absent king.

Jareth. The name had seemed to lack its usual pleasurable cadence, thrown back as flat as it had been by the bathroom tiles. There was no wonder in that word, no spark of passion or taste of magic upon her lips within those two cold and stony syllables. Earlier that day, when Hoggle had grumbled about His Royal Halfwit's latest orders, Sarah had virtually spat out his true name without thinking, caught up in the guilty satisfaction of a good old bitchfest. It had made her lips tingle and her lungs itch, her chest lifting and swelling to hitherto unknown proportions. The second she spoke that name, those two simple sounds that felt so strange on her tongue, some small spark within her had flared to life. It almost felt like a hand, one of enormous power, had reached out to seize him, surging up from deep within her body to make its claim over a king. That feeling of unworldly strength was something she could definitely get used to, if only she knew how the hell she'd managed to tap into it in the first place.

It was a puzzle that continued to niggle at her long after she climbed into bed, haunting her the way he always had. The last thing she recalled before sleep found her was the pale and perfectly-sculpted face she had almost managed to keep at bay for four long years, the sweeping hair and sinful little smile; those curious blue eyes that glittered like shards of ice, yet held more seductive heat than the midday sun. That face, and the two simple syllables that, together, might just hold the power to bring her world crumbling down around her once more.

Jareth.

She had dreamed of her time spent in the labyrinth more than once. There was still the occasional nightmare, where she found herself trapped forever in the blackest of oubliettes, or held back by an endless sea of disembodied hands until her time to save her baby brother had run out. She dreamed of failure, of panic, and would more often than not wake in a cold sweat, thankful that in real life, her journey had not taken such a bleak turn. More often, she dreamed of that strange time spent disengaged even further from reality: that glistening fever dream within a waking nightmare where she had been dressed like a princess, and she had danced with a king. After seeing said king in the flesh again only that day, it seemed only the natural path for her thoughts to take.

She floated through the murky grey sea of sleep for a while, and when she landed, she was in a pale and glittering ballroom, and she was not alone. Sarah felt her eyes widen in recognition. It was near enough the same party she had tumbled into so many years ago, after eating a certain enchanted piece of fruit: a sinister masquerade of grotesque and grinning faces surrounded her; heavy undertones of liquor and lust darkened their roaring laughter and stained every step of their ghoulish dance. She was accepted into their midst without question, though she retained some vague awareness that she was still dressed only in her pyjamas. She blushed at the exposure, but doubted it really mattered; there was more than enough bare skin on display as the crowd swirled and closed in around her, eager to welcome the naïve newcomer.

Behind the safety of their elaborate masks, the other guests enjoyed a certain degree of intrigue and anonymity that Sarah found herself longing for. Just as it had back when she was a teenager, she felt her stomach tense and tangle into knots, a mess of desire and trepidation. She envied these strange creatures, and longed to know the face behind every mask. She longed to float among them with just as much grace and strange beauty, but dared not think of what the consequences might be. There was already something amiss about this particular dream, and the longer she remained in it, the clearer the issue became – literally.

It occurred to her then that this was the first time she had ever truly seen this ballroom. Before, every shimmering chandelier, each gauzy white drape and flickering candle had possessed a fuzzy, dreamlike glow, awash in the fluid dance of magic. Even the tall, polished mirrors had been veiled somehow, trapped beneath some filmy layer that gave everything a softer, almost surreal quality. Even during her time in the labyrinth, that impromptu waltz, she had never dared to speak in that not-quite dream-place. Somehow, she had sensed that her words wouldn't taste quite right there; they would linger, heavy and greasy on her tongue, like the remains of an overly rich meal. It was all wrong, in some itching way she couldn't quite place, and she knew – knew – that it wasn't quite real.

Now, every surface of silver and gold shone brighter, and the chandeliers above would change their rich sparkle every time she shifted her head. She could feel the coolness of the floor tiles beneath her bare toes and, when she rocked her feet, the smooth texture of the stone pushed back against her soles, every weathered crack and seam pressing into her flesh. As vivid as her dreams tended to be, she didn't think that even her mind was capable of such fine details. It left only one, worrying possibility.

Without taking her eyes from the nearest revellers – a beautiful older couple with matching long, silver hair, and ornate volto masks – Sarah found her hands creeping up from her sides to fold over her stomach. She gave the tender spot just above her left hip a vicious pinch, hissing in air through her teeth when the immediate pain that bloomed did not show signs of leaving her any time soon. Two thoughts hit her simultaneously: she seemed to already be awake and aware, and she was still there – a confused guest once more in Jareth's kingdom. Before she had time for more troubling thoughts, a firm hand was on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around.

Her unexpected dance partner caught her mid-spin, one large hand spanning her lower back as the other seized hold of her trembling fingers. “What,” Jareth hissed, in what must have been a monumental effort to keep his voice low, “are you doing here?”

His pallor was even whiter than she remembered – not surprising, really, as during their last brief meeting he had been blushing – but his eyes blazed with cold fire. To his credit though, he seemed to be taking the utmost care not to let his rage reflect in his handling of her. The hands that held and subtly turned her were gentle, his dance steps elegant and effortless. It was only after she'd taken several drunken, stumbling steps just to keep up with him that Sarah realised she had placed her hand upon his shoulder of her own free will. Her fingers smoothed over the soft, dark blue fabric of his jacket without quite meaning to. She fell into step with him soon after, and felt an even more unexpected rush of pleasure at that easy sync the two of them seemed to have. If it wasn't for the confusion in one partner's eyes and the dull anger in the other's, one might never have guessed it had been over four years since their last ill-fated waltz. When she didn't reply right away, he gave an impatient twitch of his eyebrows, pale eyes wide and expectant. It instantly put Sarah's back up. What right did he have to be angry at her this time? She had been sleeping; it wasn't like she could have called on him a second time.

“I was hoping you'd tell me the same thing,” she hissed back, unwilling to let that piercing stare intimidate her.

The fingers clutching her own tightened marginally. “I will warn you only once, Sarah: I am in no mood for games. How did you come to be here? You will tell me, or-”

“Or what?” she spat at him. “You'll throw another snake, or … or a messed up cleaning patrol, or a whole army at me? You'll toss your little cloak, or roll those precious balls of yours in my face?” It was a poor choice of words, ones she would cringe over later, but in the moment she was too incensed to let it embarrass her. “'You're not going to scare me, or trick me into anything, and this time – this time, you lousy fuck – you don't have my baby brother to steal away.”

His eyes narrowed at the reminder. “Perhaps not, but there are all kinds of unpleasant places I could put you.” He did not miss a beat of the dance, losing not a shred of his elegant form, but he began to push her harder. The sweeping turns they took grew dizzying, pulling at her head and at her stomach as the Goblin King did his utmost to unsettle her. He was the only man she had ever danced with, but she had never imagined a waltz could be quite so vicious. The couples around them became nothing more than the odd discernible splotch in a swirling palette of colour. Her only point of focus was him. There was a fierce determination in those eyes of his, and it was almost enough to hypnotise her. She couldn't look away, trapped in his gaze and by the subtle strength of his hands, thrust along by his lithe body. Dark, masculine energy poured from him in waves – a raw sexuality that inspired his every movement. Though she had clearly surprised him again, he was determined to dominate that night, pulling her body close as the music grew louder around them, forestalling the need for speech.

When she stumbled, he was one stride ahead of her, dragging her along with him. When she proved slow to yield to him, he insinuated one long thigh between her own to guide her steps. With each one, she ceded more control to him, and a small and perverse part of her didn't mind at all. She could feel every shift of his hips, the full heat and hardness of his body hitting her above the waist and below. There was no carefully guarded embarrassment now, no hint of him backing down. She was wholly in his territory, and damn, it showed.

Confidence was something she'd always found sexy, and paired with that intense blue stare of his, it was proving to be downright irresistible. It really wasn't fair at all. He had her moving far too fast to think properly. She found herself starting to struggle for breath, but the Goblin King hadn't even broken a sweat.

“You will answer me, Sarah, and you will do it in haste – I swear it.”

Despite her clumsy attempts to keep up, the dizzying spin of her surroundings and the heave of her rising gorge, she mustered the will to scoff at him. “As if threatening me is going to make me more willing to tell. Even if I did know how I got here-”

The sudden, squeezing grip of his hand brought them to a complete standstill – the calm and unblinking eye at the centre of the roiling crowd. “You mean you truly don't know?”

Spared the confusion of their frantic dance, this time it was an absurd sense of guilt that flooded her belly, dampening some of the indignant fire there. It was the first time she had ever heard him anything less than sure of himself, and it caught her off guard. The uncertainty in his eyes, that quizzical note to his voice gave him something of a softer, more innocent quality, absurd as it was. As always, she was drawn in, unable to ignore anyone who was in need. She answered him before she realised what she was doing. “No. No, I really don't.”

Though he tried his utmost to conceal it, the slight sag in his posture was noticeable, just as she saw the fine muscles along his jaw lose some of their tension. That hand that held hers relaxed. When he next spoke, the Goblin King gave voice to the last thing Sarah would ever have expected him to be capable of. “My apologies. I thought you'd deliberately chosen to be difficult with me.”

Her need to refute him almost choked her. “I'm being difficult? You're the one who-” She cut herself off and forced herself to suck in a deep breath instead, releasing it again with a sigh. Arguing wasn't going to get them anywhere fast, no matter how tempting it was to really get into it with him – especially as he now seemed to be smirking at her. “Apology grudgingly accepted, but I gotta ask: is it normal royal procedure to threaten everyone who winds up here?”

“Hmm. Nothing is written in stone, but I find intimidation tends to suit my purposes better than mindless small talk.”

“You must be a real hit at parties.”

Jareth's low, rich laughter tickled at her spine, and served as a reminder of just how closely they stood, clasped together. He made no effort to let her go. “I think I've rather missed your insolence.”

He resumed his steps, leading her more gently this time, and the dance went on. The music itself seemed to bow to his better mood, slipping into a slower, more stately tempo. The dancers around them became mere couples once more, and Sarah caught more than one admiring glance thrown in their direction. She found herself in want of a mirror, so that she could see just what kind of a couple the two of them made, and quickly quashed the urge. Though his touch was light and innocent – hip and hand, never daring anything more – there was a growing intimacy between them that filled her with reluctant delight. Now that Jareth had stopped with the interrogation, there was silence, but it was far from uncomfortable. It startled her, just how close she came to admitting that she'd missed him too.

Though her mind would always remain on full alert around him, her body settled into the steady motion of his easily enough. He seemed to feel it too, more instructor than adversary as he guided her to the music's slow beat. His careful feet picked up the slack whenever her own were unsure. One small step was all it took to bring the warm, full length of his lean frame against hers. He was so close that he filled her vision entirely, so close that she could see the faintest golden flecks of stubble upon his chin, the tiny creases at the edges of his mouth and at the corner of each eye as he smiled down at her. The stimulating scent that tickled her nostrils – musk and leather, and something fresh and green and faintly smoky, that she could not quite place – cinched it so that he consumed more than one of her senses. It occurred to her that she had been staring at his mouth for too long, and yet she could not make herself look away. It was that or his eyes, and she knew it would take only seconds to lose herself there. She had never been so conscious, so damned aware of him as a man. He made her feel almost weak, and she felt oddly grateful that he chose to speak first. Even the low, purring notes of his voice did a number on her.

“I must admit, I was … surprised to see you again so soon.”

Unable to hold back, she released a short burst of uneasy laughter. “To be honest, I think I'm more surprised that you don't know why I'm even here, seeing as this is your party I'm crashing.” Still keeping pace with him, she looked around, noting once again just how solid everything seemed, from the gilt-edged furniture to the river of people that flowed around them. “Though it seems less … floaty, here. Is it … is it real this time?” she asked.

“It is to me,” Jareth answered, after a slight pause. “I've been to this place in person many a time before; when you saw it in the past, you hadn't had the privilege. A mere projection of a place in one's mind doesn't hold as much realism, no matter how detailed it is. However, if a vision has at least some grounding in reality through actual memories, and as this is my memory that this particular vision is feeding off …” When Sarah turned her full attention back to him, he had his head cocked in thought, his eyes fixed, trance-like, somewhere above her head. “I am, of course, dreaming at this moment,” he went on, his voice soft with contemplation. His gaze seemed to sharpen when it met hers. “This ballroom is my own, plucked directly from my mind, but you … you aren't a projection or a memory. You're actually here, within my dream. The real question is, how?”

Sarah stiffened in his embrace. The idea of being a fragment of someone's dream, particularly his, gave her the most evil chills along her spine. It was like being told she wasn't real. When she spoke again, it was a little louder than usual, as if to assert that she was, in fact, a person. “How do you know I'm really here? How do I know you're really here? Maybe this is just another weird dream I'm having.” The fading ache just above her hip from where she'd pinched herself said otherwise.

“I assure you, it's not. This is all happening in my sleep, playing out within the supposed privacy of my own mind – and you, dear Sarah, are playing the voyeur once again.”

A hot rush of pleasure, sudden and unexpected, seized her body. Rather than trying to analyse or deny it, she was quick to move on. “So … you're sleeping now, and you were asleep before?”

“Not quite.” Their dance went on, seemingly eternal. “I was awake and … wool-gathering, for lack of a better word, earlier today. You happened to catch my mind in a rare moment of whimsy – a small moment of weakness, if you will. In a similar fashion, you've managed to come into my sleep, uninvited, while my mind was in an unguarded state. My dreams and daydreams are usually just that: my own. You'll forgive me if I'm not the best of hosts to an intruder.”

Sarah gave a snort. “Well excuse me if I don't offer to stay and clean up after the party, seeing as I didn't want to be here to begin with. I didn't even get the chance to shop for a ballgown.”

His gaze dipped down towards the tank-top she wore, as if noticing it for the first time. He lingered long enough to mark her, chin to cleavage, and collarbone to collarbone. “An interesting choice of evening wear,” he said, with a smirk. Those strange eyes found hers again, and they danced with mischief. “I assume I must've caught you in bed – and so soon into our reunion. What a scandal.” His mocking tut only showcased those plush lips of his further. Their appeal made Sarah speak up swiftly to regain the upper hand.

“I could say the same for you, with what you were wearing before. Do socks and g-strings pass for high fashion in your kingdom nowadays?” The Goblin King's answering rumble of laughter placed her lungs somewhere high up in her throat, and tied her stomach in a knot.

“I think you might be projecting, love; the shirt wasn't cut quite high enough for you to sneak a decent peek at what I had on underneath. However, you can consider me most flattered if you've fantasised, and then dressed to match me.” His palm slid downward an inch or so along her back, slowly enough for her to complain if she really wanted to. When she did not, he allowed it to drop even lower, just enough for his fingertips to probe along the waistband of her shorts. He did it with such finesse, such easy familiarity, that it took Sarah several heart-jolting seconds to realise that he wasn't actively groping her; he was searching for a panty-line. His left eyebrow arched to new heights when his efforts proved to be in vain. The smirk widened. “Or perhaps you didn't dress at all. Is that what you hoped I was wearing, Sarah? Or rather, what you hoped I wasn't wearing?”

Sarah flushed and huffed, and almost choked. “No! What I wear to bed is none of your business. I didn't try to look at you or anything! I just thought … the g-string … well, it's you, and you're all … showy … and I just guessed-” She bit down on her tongue before it could dig her any deeper. “I refuse to waste any more time talking about underwear preferences with you.”

“A pity. I rather like yours.”

“I'd like it if you just shut your mouth.”

“Impossible, I'm afraid. Now, if only you had something on your rather under-dressed person to gag me with. I wouldn't object.”

This time, when Jareth smiled, he ran the very tip of his tongue across the points of his teeth, almost as if he could taste her wariness of him. Like any apex predator, he didn't waste his time moving in. As Sarah was already starting to discover, he was far too easy to flirt with, irritating as that little fact was, and he seemed far too willing to delve further into such a dangerous topic. As it was, she had done absolutely nothing to reposition his hand. Instead, she just danced there and took it until, after a long silence, and with an expression containing more smugness than she had ever thought possible, Jareth moved it himself. He gave her hip a gentle squeeze as he drew her more firmly against his body, and Sarah was alarmed to find more than just her face growing warm.

This wasn't how her evening was supposed to be going at all. For over four years, she'd wanted nothing more than to somehow forget all about the Goblin King. Now, after being in his arms for little more than four minutes, she'd gone from a vague hatred of the man, to a more pronounced hatred, combined with the sudden and undeniable urge to climb the man like a tree. Her right knee twitched at the idea, far too ready to betray her and hook itself onto his hip, and she stumbled over her next step. It only brought her closer to her calculating dance partner, who smiled as if he could read her thoughts. After all the tricks he'd managed to pull on her in his labyrinth, she wouldn't put mind-reading past him. Unfortunately, a charming, flirtatious Jareth was proving to be a decidedly trickier foe than a just plain evil one.

It seemed like four years had done a lot to change them both. She, for one, had definitely done a lot of growing up during their time apart. If the subtle pressure she felt against her hip was any indication, Jareth had definitely noticed. She was almost in a position to start grinding on the ruler of the Underground, and it bothered her a whole lot less than it should have. It was tempting to do just that, and despite the steadily growing heat between her legs, she knew she had to come to her senses. She thought of the dank oubliette she had once fallen into; she thought of the seemingly endless wall of sentient hands that had probably saved her life, and she imagined every last gnarled one slapping her soundly across the face, one at a time. Lord knows she needed it, with the shit she'd just been contemplating. She wasn't there to fall in lust with a real-life fairytale villain; she still wasn't sure why she was there at all. It looked like it was up to her to get them both back on track.

“Can you stop cracking jokes and playing grab-ass long enough for us to figure this out?” she demanded, a little more harshly than she had intended. “Someone here must have the power to tell us what's going on – though guessing from the last time I saw you, that someone definitely isn't you.”

Oh, that sly little dig got him hard. That smirk of his might as well have been slapped off, for how quickly it disappeared. Though he didn't release his grip on her, he did take a small step backwards. The bit of extra breathing room was welcome, despite Sarah's sense of regret. Seduction needed to be last on their respective lists of priorities right now. When Jareth next spoke, his words were clipped and businesslike. “It goes without saying that you should not be here.”

“So send me back.”

Jareth waved away the idea with a roll of his eyes and an infuriating little flutter of his fingers, before he took up her hand again. “We'll come to that. First, tell me exactly what you were doing before you arrived here. Leave nothing out.”

“I was sleeping,” she told him.

“And?” Jareth pressed. “What did you say? What did you do that brought you here?”

She let loose a frustrated sigh. “And nothing. I was just … asleep. I didn't do anything.”

Jareth scoffed. “I beg to differ. My kingdom isn't in the habit of just admitting intruders without provocation – not even those who believe themselves to be … to be …” His lips parted, and then quickly closed again. When Sarah looked at him more closely, there was a gleam in his eyes that she swore hadn't been there a minute before. Then, it was gone. Whatever piece of information had come to him, however small, it was obvious he wasn't willing to share. His gaze hardened once more, and he offered her a cool smile. “You brought yourself here, Sarah, and now, as pleasant as this little catch-up has been, I'm going to have to insist that you leave, until I've had the time to contemplate this situation of ours further.”

“What?” Sarah shook her head. “You're the one with the magic; you send me back. I can't make myself leave. I don't even know how to-”

Jareth leaned further into the respectful gap between them, and the intrusion was enough to effectively cut her off. “Yes, Sarah, you do.” His every word was a soft whisper across her lips. His eyes – those deep, soul-fucking eyes – captured hers wholly once again, leaving her with no escape. They twinkled with mischief as he smiled. “Unless, of course, you'd prefer to stay. Is that what's stopping you, precious thing? Is this all just one big hint that you'd like another stroll through my kingdom, perhaps even a second try at my labyrinth? Bear in mind that you're a big girl now, love, and I'd have to treat you as such. I'd have you screaming and begging me for mercy in minutes.”

The twisted smirk that accompanied his last claim told her just how much the idea intrigued him. Sarah decided to speak up before his undoubtedly filthy thoughts could take him any further down that path. “You know you're not going to scare me or charm me into giving you a second chance at beating me, right?”

The Goblin King only chuckled. “Give me time.”

He bent his head towards her with clear intent, eyelids heavy at half-mast, his lips angled to take. Without thought, without question or protest, or even pause to draw breath, she opened her mouth to him. She would worry about reasserting her disinterest in him once she'd finally felt his kiss. It was the only plan her rattled mind was capable of making right then, but as it turned out, Jareth had other ideas. As instinct curled her body into his in readiness for her surrender, his gloved hands moved along her body with purpose, skimming up along her back until they reached her bare shoulder-blades. There, his grip tightened marginally, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as anticipation clutched at her chest.

With no warning, he flattened both of his hands against her shoulders and shoved.

Panic erupted inside Sarah's head, white-hot and blinding. She was falling, tumbling backwards to crack her head on a solid stone floor with no time to save herself. In those terrifying few seconds, her single, desperate thought was 'soft'.

She hit some kind of plush surface with a low grunt, her eyes flying wide. She found herself on her back, sinking into softness, and surprisingly free of pain, staring up at the man standing over her in confusion. There was just enough time for her to catch the expression of sheer astonishment on Jareth's face, before he had hidden it away again.

“Just as I thought,” he said, his lips pulling taut.

Sarah spluttered and tossed her hair out of her eyes. She couldn't believe the sparkly son of a bitch had actually pushed her over. She tried to at least haul herself into a sitting position, but as soon as she did, she began to sink back down into the yielding surface beneath her. When she pushed again, a softness that felt like silk encased nearly her whole hands. When she twisted her head to find out the cause, she realised she was lying on a well-stuffed cushion; at the same time, she realised that the cushion was covered in winding gold embroidery – almost an exact match for what had once been her favourite vest. It was soft enough to break her fall, and almost soft enough to keep her trapped within its warm clutches for good. Struggling to her feet to try to reclaim her dignity was all but impossible. “You asshole!” she cried, too caught up in her present, tortoise-like predicament to even think about how she'd managed to find that mysterious cushion. “I could've split my skull open!”

“Yet you didn't.” Unsmiling, Jareth came two steps closer. It was only when he stood, towering over her, that Sarah realised just how goddamn regal he seemed; just how tall and commanding. She had a moment to think that he might help her to her feet, as he came to stand with one boot planted on either side of her legs, yet he offered her no aiding hand as he bent down closer to her. “It's extremely rare I act without already knowing what the outcome will be, Sarah. You'd do well to remember that.”

Did he have to lean in quite so close as he spoke, close enough that he just had to see the way her blood came pounding to the surface of her skin, lighting a fire beneath each cheek? No, of course he didn't. Lording it over her in her one minute of weakness was His Royal Jerk-off's way of trying to put her back in her place. Clearly, he hadn't forgiven her for that little dig, not to mention his afternoon of embarrassment.

It was just like her visit to his labyrinth, where he'd come to mock her misfortune in person, and she'd been unable to resist the urge to call him on his bullshit. Fresh out of oubliettes to throw down before her, the Goblin King had wanted a tired, scared little girl, awed by his twisted creation and repentant for her bullheaded efforts to defeat him. In the dark tunnels of the Underground, she'd given him boredom and contempt instead, refusing to play the timid little mouse in his game. His immediate response had been to raise the stakes even higher, successfully calling her bluff. Now, he had a grown woman to play with instead of a stubborn girl, and it was clear he'd decided a little change in tactics was in order.

With his toned thighs spread on either side of her body, the unsubtle v of his crotch all but pointing her in the face from that height, he wanted her cowed and submissive, overpowered this time not by his cruel tricks, but by his raw sexuality. It wasn't going to be that simple. Sarah struggled to sitting once more, keeping her eyes locked with his and ignoring the fact that the tip of her nose was now only a foot away from his crotch. She scrambled onto her feet with as much dignity as she could lay hands on – and all without laying a single finger on him.

“I guess I'll be leaving, then,” she said, with more confidence than she felt, and was stunned to see Jareth already beginning to fade, along with her surroundings.

She fell out of sleep with an almighty crash, left panting and floundering as if she'd found herself clutched in icy water, rather than the familiar, if slightly sweaty sheets of her bed. Though it took her precious seconds to grasp that fact, to come down from the pinnacle of that blind panic, there was no part of her mind that doubted what she had witnessed, no sweet relief to be found in the concept of 'just a dream'. It had been a dream, all right – his dream. Somehow, without quite meaning to, she had stumbled once again into the Goblin King's private world, and she knew that he would not take it lightly. Her eyes rolled around the familiar grey tones of her darkened bedroom, as if she might suddenly spy a nasty little goblin sneaking beneath her dresser, or even worse: an aggravating king sneaking his way into her bed.

The thought was enough to send her rocketing out from beneath the covers, and well on her way towards the kitchen. It was time for coffee. She had absolutely no intention of rediscovering sleep – or him – that night.

Chapter Text

The ball, as well as his dream, was long since over, yet Jareth still sat within its empty shell, frozen in time, lost in his thoughts. His surprise guest had fled back into the night, leaving only one small trace of herself behind to mark her brief stay. Of course, given his lifelong fascination with all things Aboveground, the Goblin King was familiar with the age-old tale of Cinderella, in its many guises. Now, in place of Sarah, or indeed a glass slipper, he held a plump, cream and gold cushion in both his eyes and his arms. He could not seem to put it down. He could not look away.

In truth, he had seen finer things decorating the decidedly messy servant's wing of his castle. The cushion was crudely made and lumpy, barely held together at the seams, all that gold embroidery work clumsy and almost childish in execution. The uneven stitches began to unravel at the slightest pluck of his fingers, and yet the fact that it existed at all – existed still, even after its creator had long since left the scene – was testament to a power far beyond what he had anticipated. This went far deeper than lucid dreaming. In particular, the winding, golden pattern that adorned the cushion continued to fascinate him. It was identical to the one Sarah had worn on their first meeting; he had seen that cursed waistcoat and its owner in his nightmares long after she had defeated him.

The fact that she had been able to conjure something so specific to their encounter was truly remarkable, and hinted at just how much potential there was to her new powers. It only fed his suspicions. At last, he set the cushion back down almost as if he feared the thing, which he supposed a part of him did. Until he had established for certain that her abilities did not surpass his own, he thought he was entitled to be a little wary.

Jareth woke himself with some reluctance, his body still heavy with sleep and his mind still full of Sarah. He supposed it was for the best to rise early to face his woes head-on, and yet he remained there between his sheets, staring up at the familiar ceiling of his bedchamber. He needed that extra time to come to terms with what had just occurred.

Seeing Sarah during the daytime, as humiliating as that had been, had stirred the ghosts of his memory. He hadn't been at all surprised to find his dreams chose to show him a glimpse of what once had been. He had found himself within the exact same costumed ball he once tricked her into attending, down to the very last glistening chandelier and grinning, masked guest. There, he had expected to encounter the shadow of a teenage girl, the haunting of a time over four years past, when she had shattered his best efforts to distract her. What he hadn't expected was for Sarah herself – the real Sarah – to come waltzing into his sleep instead, invading his privacy once again. It appeared that nowhere was sacred to her.

Anger – outrage, even – had quickly given way to admiration, and nothing could have prepared him for just how much he had enjoyed their brief chat. It wasn't as if he was short of good conversation, despite his daily dose of goblin nonsense. It was simply … her. Teasing her had lit up something in the back of his brain that he hadn't even realised he'd been missing. Jareth supposed it was the challenge she posed to him. Though no precise terms or conditions had been established this time, at least not yet, she would always be an opponent in his eyes – one who would not be persuaded to back down easily. It was now painfully clear that she knew even less about this new game than he did, and yet she still refused to cower in his presence, as determined as ever not to let him win. Hell, if he didn't appreciate a strong, driven, beautiful woman.

He could still remember the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her skin and the warm, vanilla scent of her hair. There was a stirring of heat in the pit of his stomach as he recalled touching the intimate place that lay between her back and her bottom. His cock pulsed and tried to stir as he remembered the perfect smoothness of her body beneath its soft cotton covering, unhampered by the harsh lines of underwear. That, combined with the sight of her flat on her back before him, was almost enough to make his mouth water. He could still picture her beauty: all that long, dark hair, spread wild around her head; the indignant pucker of her lips and rapid heaving of her breasts; those long, pale legs splayed wide enough for him to make himself very much at home between them. He had stood over her as king, as cool and commanding as he could manage, when in the heat of the moment, he'd wanted nothing more than to kneel before her as a lover. It wasn't enough for her to have caught him in two of his weaker moments – no, the woman had the audacity to make him want her while she was doing it.

Jareth groaned to himself and scrubbed at his eyes with both hands. He had things to do, no doubt some important decisions to make, and if he wasn't careful, his cock would only compound an already difficult situation.

A bright flash on his right hand caught his eye, forcing him fully alert. He sat up in bed and brought that hand a little closer, squinting in the early morning light. A pale golden puff of thread was caught on the slightly rough edge of his middle fingernail, and he tweezed it free, his brow furrowed in concentration. There was nothing in the waking world – or nothing in his bed, at least – to explain it; he was entirely nude between the sheets, which themselves were a darkish, sage-green silk. He gaped at that little scrap of gold, stunned by the implications. The only golden thread he had touched lately might have been weak and fraying at the ends, but it was evidently strong enough to follow him straight out of his sleep.

“Unbelievable,” the concerned king whispered, but in truth he did believe it. The evidence now sitting in the palm of one hand made it foolish to doubt her abilities, as worrying as they were. He set the piece of thread carefully aside, suspended inside one of his crystals, to examine later.

He took the few facts that he had and mulled them over. When Sarah had beckoned him while he was awake, he had been drawn straight into her world. Whilst that sudden loss of control over himself had been awful, he was certain he would be able to keep her at bay in future, provided she didn't catch him off guard again. If he was awake, he would be ready for her. That only left their second meeting, within his dream. Sleep was much trickier to contend with. Though he could control what happened within the dreams, there was little he could do to shield his mind from the outside. By succumbing to sleep, he left his unconscious body completely vulnerable. Given his already flourishing attraction to his new-found night terror, he could already imagine the darker turn his dreams about her might take – dreams that, if he didn't act immediately, she might also bear witness to. Gods, the sheer humiliation of it …

There was nothing else to it. She had to be stopped.

Jareth hauled himself out of bed in a hurry, willing himself clean and into fresh clothes even as he strode towards his chamber doors. Anyone he came across would give him a wide berth that morning, if they valued their hides. His ongoing dignity was at stake, and he was on a mission. In all of his searching the day before, there was one book he had yet to crack open, and now he was certain that it held the answer.

He had lived long enough by then to have accumulated a fair hoard of useless trinkets, and a castle vast enough to house them all in. The Goblin King did not consider himself to be a particularly sentimental creature by any means, but it pleased him to keep at least some record of the passing of the years. Every so often, he would bestow the arduous task of clearing out the worst of the clutter onto a trusted pair of his goblins, knowing full well that the greedy little fiends would take it upon themselves to furnish their hovels with their pick of his leavings. One man's trash, after all. However, there was one small corner of his collection of oddities that he had deemed strictly off-limits – one that even he had not cared to revisit for several years. That day, it was necessity, rather than nostalgia, that led him to the very back of his locked storeroom.

True to their word, the goblins had not set foot here, not even to clean. Jareth's own heavy boots left distinct tracks upon the filthy stone floor. Above his head, it seemed an entire band of spiders had decided to make their mark: countless layers of webbing covered the ceiling in a pale, ghostly shroud, and hundreds of tiny, sparkling eyes peered down at him from between the strands. They didn't seem to fear him at all as they scuttled about their business. Even as Jareth surveyed the mess they had caused, one of the blighters – shiny in the dim light, and easily as big as the span of his hand – lowered itself down on slim yet sturdy legs to inspect him. It alighted onto his right shoulder and gripped him through his shirt, a living spaulder of gold and green plating. A wave of Jareth's hand had the cheeky thing spellbound and sent back on its merry way, before it could get too comfortable on his person. When he was certain he would remain undisturbed, Jareth sank to his knees before an old friend.

The ancient carved oak chest was big enough to hold a good-sized child, and had belonged to him ever since he was a babe. Jareth still remembered the childish excitement of his eighth birthday, when he had finally been deemed responsible enough to hold the key to it. He drew that same key out of his pocket then and fingered the worn, smooth metal, smiling as it warmed under his touch. It had been enchanted long ago to respond only to him. With his free hand, he wiped at the thick blanket of dust that obscured the chest's ornate lid. The tips of his fingers slipped into the familiar shapes that were etched into the wood, gathering puffy grey curls of the dust as they went. The handsome visage of an owl soon peered out at him through all the muck, followed by a noble wolf, and then a stern-faced bear. He still knew each one by heart. When his head had taken its fill of nostalgia, and his lungs their share of stray dust particles, Jareth found the gilded lock and slid the key home. The old tumblers turned without protest, and a moment later the chest's heavy lid began to rise.

Inside was an odd collection of items that still retained some importance to him: there was a little toy soldier he had adored as a young lad; a thick sheath of letters, songs and poems he'd collected over the years, some of the pages so worn by repeated handling that they felt like cloth. There were memories documenting his travels both Underground and Above: crystals, postcards and sketches, a selection of photographs, and even a daguerreotype or two. A weathered leather pouch held a mixed handful of coins, shells and semi-precious stones, picked up during one journey or another. Beneath it all was what he sought: a single book that had been buried deep, never to see the soft light of his library. Jareth lifted it from the chest with both hands. Its leather-bound cover had not aged a day, the golden letters of its title still as sharp and clear as they had been on the day of its purchase. The Labyrinth. Now that he had what he had come for, the rest of the chest, and the entire storeroom beyond it paled into insignificance. The Goblin King sat down amidst the dust and the dirt, and the jewel-eyed spiders, and began to read.

Some time later, he was back on his feet and headed to the first of his afternoon meetings, a little wiser but no less frustrated. The book had confirmed his suspicions, but it had given him no clear answers to his troubles. If anything, he felt weak and unprepared, now that he had some idea of the many trials that now lay ahead. He desperately needed to speak to the woman responsible for the messy situation, but his schedule, not to mention his pride, would not let him. Not yet – not while she still might hold the upper hand. It irked him no end, to be left to wield so little power over the whole state of things, when she might yet hold so much.

His stomach howled at him like a living thing, and as he walked he pulled a ripe pear out of the empty space above his head, as if plucking the fruit from a tree visible only to him. His first bite was both spiteful and satisfying. Jareth had almost ducked his head for a second, when the pear's sweet juice seemed to sour on his tongue, and his ferocious hunger all but withered away. Now that he was fully alert, he could feel her – Sarah – tapping at the very edges of his mind once again, trying to find her way in. She was thinking about him, he realised, her thoughts stretching out tenuous fingers towards his own, trying to draw him to her. Like the cushion, it was a crude attempt at contact at best, but for her to have come so far so soon, able to consciously reach out to him this way, was incredible.

Thankfully, as he had suspected, this time he had enough presence of mind to ward her off. With her new powers still on such shaky legs, it was easily done. Jareth didn't want to think of a time in the not too distant future, when it might become far less simple to dismiss her. He could have sent her some message, a kind word to let her down easy, or perhaps even a witty taunt to snub her, but he chose to give her stony silence instead. Let her think that she had already lost her new power before she had even had the chance to really use it – at least for a little while. It would be a short-lived victory at best; soon, she would press harder, straining against him as she tried to figure out the full extent of her strength. Now that her curiosity had been piqued, there was no telling how far she might go to satisfy it.

His appetite now fully gone, Jareth tossed the pear out of the nearest open window, mostly uneaten. He went out of his way to slip back into his private rooms, needing a little reassurance before he could be expected to hold court. To his alarm, he realised he could feel his heart thudding against his ribs as he approached his bedside table. His fingers were slightly clammy as they gripped the crystal he had left behind that morning. Jareth looked into it, and heaved a sigh of relief. The piece of gold thread had been small to begin with, but now it had shrunk to little more than a pinprick at the centre of the glass orb. Before he set the crystal down only a minute later, the thread had disappeared entirely. It had been strong enough to follow him, yet too weakly conjured to remain in his realm for long. That obvious flaw in Sarah's powers added a spring to his step for the rest of the afternoon. The day was his.

There was no real hope of keeping her out of his dreams, though.

Jareth had always been a lucid dreamer, able to mould the random shapes of his sleeping thoughts into something to better suit his tastes, but there was some good in letting his dreams simply run their course, at times. It was a decent enough release of any stray, negative emotions that might have otherwise plagued him throughout the daytime. So, when Jareth succumbed to sleep that night and found himself inside one of his old, recurring nightmares, he was not immediately alarmed. He had forced himself to swallow down the unpleasant feelings the dream evoked often – a bitter taste of what it would feel like to be truly weak and worthless.

It began, as always, in his throne room. There was something important to be announced that day, only Jareth could not quite recall what it was. Near enough all of his loyal subjects had assembled before him at his command, the stone walls of his castle stretched to exaggerated proportions just to accommodate them all, and the Goblin King had not a single, sensible word in his head to offer them. His tongue felt thick and mushy, too wide for his mouth to contain. There was fresh, nervous sweat on the back of his neck, and plastering his limp hair to his forehead. His stomach was a boiling pot of anxiety, and his chest was squeezed tight enough to allow only the bare minimum amount of air into his burning lungs. Out of sorts, Jareth rubbed his clammy palms together and ran his slobbering tongue out over his dry, scaly lips. No matter what vile sorcery had rendered him so hopeless, he was still the king, and he would persevere. He would do his duty – whatever it was.

“Tank you all for tumming,” he said around his thick tongue, and blinked several times as he absorbed the words. Something wasn't right. He felt himself starting to blush as few soft titters came from the crowd. He had spoken so softly, only the first few rows had heard him, thank the gods. “Thank to for coming.” That wasn't right either. Twatting hell. “You,” he said, louder, wincing at the high break in his voice. “Thank you. F-for coming.” Hot sweat trickled into his left eye, and he blinked at the salty sting. In the third row of his sizeable audience, he spied the harsh, disapproving face of his childhood tutor, just to make everything that wonderful bit worse. He offered the old codger a tight smile, and received a frosty glare in response.

“I suppose you're all w-wondering why I called you here.” Of course they were wondering. The first two rows had already begun to speculate quite loudly amongst themselves, further adding to Jareth's distraction. More sweat ran down his scalding cheek, and without thinking, he extended his wet tongue to lap it away. More laughter swelled from the middle of the crowd as he begged for their flagging attention. A drunken goblin heckled him to hurry it up, and instead of sending the impudent little whelp straight to the Bog, Jareth stammered out a soft apology. He could hear his voice was getting weaker.

The first six or so rows were talking over him now, and his requests for silence began to grow desperate. His bladder clenched painfully, and he shuffled his feet in the old, familiar dance. When he looked down at said feet, he saw that a set of dark, ugly claws had pushed through the leather. He wished he had thought to wear a better pair of boots – a higher pair of boots. The people at the back of the crowd could probably hardly see him where he stood. His stomach dropped when he realised that he had actually begun to shrink.

As always, it was at that point in the dream that he started to grow smaller and smaller, warts and coarse bristles erupting all over his puny body, until Jareth was as ugly and insignificant as his least favourite goblin. Those in the crowd that didn't point and laugh at their king's misfortune ignored him completely, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about any of it – not until he chose to take ownership of the nightmare and wake himself from it. He was ready to do just that, when he saw her. There, right in the middle of the front row, filling a space that had been empty air only a moment before, stood Sarah, conspicuous in yet another revealing set of nightwear.

The gods only knew just how much of his mind's cruel trickery she had just borne witness to. The trying woman had embarrassed him enough the day before, and yet it seemed that she still wasn't satisfied. She had to watch him as his own brain made him look the fool as well. Though she had one hand raised to cover her mouth, it couldn't completely hide her smile. She was chuckling at his predicament along with all the rest. Oh, what a long way he must have fallen in her eyes, from engaging yet intimidating, to downright amusing. It was too much. He was certainly not a clown, and he absolutely would not stand to be seen as a snivelling little goblin any longer. Scowling, Jareth stepped forward to take back control.

“I think that's quite enough, don't you? You can go now,” he said, and relished the sudden wince that appeared on each face – save hers – as his voice echoed throughout every corner of the room. The fearful crowd began to disperse at his will, and then, when they did not leave quickly enough for his liking, to disappear entirely, fragments of his dream as they were. Jareth began to grow to his regular height, and the rough, hardened skin sloughed from his body, leaving him tall, smooth and fair once more. Once he found himself to be presentable enough, he fixed Sarah with his best sneer.

“Here again? I'm flattered that you find me interesting enough to persist in invading my sleep for yet another night. Do make yourself at home, by all means. Since you're here, would you care for a cup of tea, a glass of wine, perhaps? No? Something to eat then … a light repast? Maybe a small sandwich … a piece of cake, even? Or – now here's an idea – maybe you'd prefer to just fuck … off.”

The dark look she threw him just before she disappeared caused a tiny, gratifying tremor at the base of his spine. Once again, he had managed to best her, despite the embarrassment he had already suffered at her hands. Once again, he was left alone. Jareth came out of his sleep soon after, angry at being caught unawares yet again, and absolutely livid at himself for handling the situation so poorly. He vowed to do better next time.

It bothered him no end that he had already assumed there would be a next time.

Sure enough, it did not take long for Sarah to reach out to him again. He felt her late the next day, tugging at the edge of his mind. Already, it felt a little stronger than her last attempt, perhaps fuelled by the rotten way he had treated her. Once again, Jareth chose to deny her, but this time he sent a clear message into her thoughts.

'I was rude to you, and I apologise. Please, leave me for today. I will be in touch.'

He knew that she had heard him, for that pulling sensation inside his head ceased its pestering – albeit reluctantly. As always, the persistent thing couldn't seem to leave him alone for long.

She returned to him often throughout his days, chipping away little by little at his mental fortitude. It was a struggle to concentrate on his royal duties, what with the added effort of keeping her out of his thoughts. Her presence made it all but impossible to appreciate the many small pleasures in life, particularly as he could no longer sit down to a good book or a quiet meal without being interrupted. One particularly bleak afternoon, Jareth found himself unable to enjoy something as simple as pissing in peace; Sarah found him even at his toilet, tap-tap-tapping as merrily as ever at his mind, as if she were an impatient patron hammering at his chosen bathroom stall.

An idle five minutes one evening found him perched on a window's edge, conjuring countless glassy, prismatic bubbles, all for the amusement of the handful of stray cats that frolicked below. The playful things always seemed to hang around the castle grounds, and he had taken something of a shine to them. Jareth had even gone to the trouble of naming some of his most frequent visitors, though he would never admit to it in the company of anyone worthwhile. The little game came to an abrupt end when the Goblin King felt an all too familiar intruder attempt to push her way into his mind. Once again, he was forced to raise his mental barriers to keep her out, and in a fit of annoyance, he burst the last few bubbles he had formed. His fun suddenly over, Mr. Mistoffelees gazed up at him with blank, shiny eyes and, consistent with his quiet nature, offered up a single, curious chirrup. Jareth sighed and waved the little fellow away, and in a silent slither of black smoke, the cat was gone. If only Sarah was so easy to be rid of.

Patience wasn't an attribute that came easily to him. It had taken him many years to blunt the worst of his sharp temper, and to learn to embrace the daily trials that came with playing ringmaster to a rogue troupe of goblins. He feared that the the challenge of having his own private mind-guest was proving to be beyond him. He told himself frequently that she was younger, new to the ways of magic and naïve to how she affected him; he bit his tongue and steeped in the bitter brew of his anger and humiliation. He tried, but he could not forget the numerous small wrongs she did him, and he wasn't prepared to forgive, as frustrated as he felt. There were many reasons a man needed his privacy.

The Goblin King considered himself to be a highly sexual being, with a healthy relationship with his body, not to mention with a couple of his kingdom's fairer maidens. Denying himself his accustomed level of physical contact was starting to take its toll. His frustration began to manifest itself within his dreams, showing him things he dared not imagine while Sarah lingered and watched from the wings. He fought off such thoughts at first, leading his sleeping self not into temptation, forcing himself awake before anything of real interest could occur. Still, his lustful thoughts did not abate. His cock had been left aching for release for days, weeks even, and even the slightest incidental brush of contact sent cold fire racing up along his spine. His balls were heavy and throbbing, and yet he was too afraid to seek out relief from a partner, or even to take himself in hand, lest he find himself rudely interrupted at a crucial moment.

He was, for want of a less vulgar term, gagging for it. Sex was on his mind almost constantly. There wasn't a single statement from his advisers that his mischievous brain couldn't twist up into knots of filthy innuendo. Starved of sensuality and beauty as he was of late, he found himself searching out the best parts of every person he met: a fine pair of legs on an otherwise average body, or a remarkably soft-looking pair of lips in a homely face. He suspected that, given a few more miserable weeks, even his least appealing subjects might start to seem like viable options, and the thought made him shudder. One way or another, he had to get out of this mess, and long before his twisted mind could stuff one of his goblins into a nice fishnets and heels combo, or squeeze a craggy horror such as that loathsome little Hoghead into a pair of arseless chaps. Jareth didn't think his libido could ever make a full recovery from something like that.

It seemed like he spent each day floating in some grey purgatory between the cold taunts of his dreams and an even crueller reality. The added bonus of sleep deprivation only added to his darkening mood. His temper flared up in sudden and spiteful bursts, encouraged by some of his most tiresome subjects. For the first time in years, the Bog of Eternal Stench had a waiting list, but even that petty torment wasn't enough to satisfy him. His surrender to pleasure was perhaps inevitable. His constant voyeur, bold and beautiful as she was, ensured it.

When one night's wishful dreaming took him to more sensual surrounds, somewhere between memory and fantasy, Jareth went willingly. The lighting in the gathering hall was low and intimate after one of the Goblin King's more raucous parties, the air perfumed with fresh flowers and incense, and thick with desire. The guests who had come only for the dancing and free wine had long since tottered out of his castle's grand doors. In their absence, the revelry began anew, akin to a true Bacchanalian orgy. Finger food and yet more wine was in abundance; Jareth had barely entered the room before a passing serving girl slipped a silver goblet into his hand and a plump, green olive into his mouth. The Goblin King smiled as he chewed, following the woman's over the shoulder smile just as well as he watched the sway of her bare bottom. He was tempted to follow her as she made her way towards a dark corridor, but the room as a whole called more loudly to him.

There was laughter and soft music, and not a few squeals of delight that were not out of place. To Jareth's perceptive eye, there was not a single inch of hard, cold floorspace left exposed; silken throws and plump pillows draped the empty spaces that were not already occupied by his guests. Some were sitting, others reclined, and all were naked. Those nearest to him had taken note of his arrival, and they offered up dark-eyed stares and lazy, welcoming smiles to their king. There were women and men to suit all tastes – a full banquet of beautiful bodies, each one painted in lust and glistening sweat. How Jareth longed to taste them all. There were almost too many to choose from, but one particular guest climbed to her feet amidst the crowd, and she made it her purpose to be the first he devoured that night.

The woman did not baulk under her king's hungry stare, taking her time as she picked her way through the writhing bodies that surrounded her. Her red hair shone like copper, the golden freckles that dappled her chest and shoulders leading his eyes on a downward dance along the rest of her inviting body. She came just beyond his arm's reach and paused there, and she smiled and crooked a finger at him. Jareth found he hadn't the will to refuse such a tempting invitation.

Stepping forward, he took her by the waist and pressed a hard kiss to her full, wine-stained lips. Almost immediately, she seized him by the tip of his belt, and he grinned as he allowed her to lead him to their own special space amidst the other revellers. In no time at all, Jareth found himself adrift in a sea of sensual pleasures, his wine still in one hand, and a warm, wet cunt pressed against the other. Another short skip in time had him robbed of his clothing, his partner on her back and in the last throes of ecstasy beneath him. Her hands clutched at his hair with surprising strength, her legs locked firmly around his hips as she came down from her orgasm. Even spent, she begged her king to fuck her harder.

Though the dream-warmth of being inside her tight body was nothing compared to the real thing, it felt like heaven to finally be permitted to just let go. Jareth groaned into the smooth stretch of his dream lover's neck as he thrust deeper into her, seeking that which had been denied him in his waking hours. Deprived as he was, he knew it wouldn't take long. For a time, he focussed only on the slick heat that welcomed him, the tight clench of her walls around his shaft. All too soon, however, he became aware of something outside of the rhythm of his hips – a certain someone whose presence alone demanded his attention.

Groaning, Jareth raised his head and trained his lust-glazed eyes on the woman who had so quickly and so surely made herself the bane of his existence. She was standing only a matter of feet away, more real than the strange woman beneath him, and she was watching him. Though the shock of seeing her slowed his thrusts some, Jareth found he could not stop entirely. He watched her, watching him, the sensation of those deep green eyes moving over his body sending prickles of excitement through his exposed flesh. Her gaze trailed over his bare chest and stomach, all the way down to the place where he and his fantasy lover were joined. Sarah watched as, with renewed passion, he began to fuck the deliciously tight creature below him into the silken cushions that surrounded them. He only wished that such cushions did not remind him so much of an entirely different dream; he remembered all too well the way he and Sarah had bickered as they had danced, and the way she had looked thrown onto her back below him.

Gods, she was beautiful. Rather than concentrating on the soft moans of his lover, Jareth found he could not tear his eyes away from the less than innocent bystander who watched their coupling. The sight of Sarah standing there, this time clad in nothing more than pale pink knickers and a clinging grey vest top, did more to him than all the bare flesh and debauchery that was on show. He drank in the vision: the plump, pink toes and long, lean legs; the gentle curves of her mound and hips and belly through her tight clothing; the full breasts, and what he believed, even at some distance, to be a hint of peaked nipple. Her face was a portrait in pleasure and wonder, lips parted and eyes glazed with desire, surrounded by a cascade of silky, dark hair. There was a soft blush to her cheeks – whether from shyness or simply from sleep, Jareth didn't know – and that innocent flush took his own pleasure to new heights. Just by standing, being, doing nothing but return his stare, she was enough to author his undoing. He wanted her, and before he could even think to prevent it, his fantasy began to change.

He glanced down, gasping, and saw that the beautiful unknown beneath him was no longer such a stranger. The smattering of freckles across the woman's skin had begun to pale and vanish, just as the vivid shades of red in her hair were overwhelmed by much darker tones. The mischievous blue eyes that had first targeted him were now a cool and gorgeous green. Her breasts grew heavier, fuller under his touch, the legs that remained wrapped around his hips gaining more length and tone. The woman wasn't Sarah, but she had become her double right before his startled eyes, and Jareth was too far gone to even think of changing her back. His head snapped back up in alarm, seeking out the real Sarah, and in the split second before he came, it was her keen, smouldering stare that he found. She stared back at him, she saw, and she knew everything. For just one precious moment, it was as though he was completely engulfed by her, mind and body.

Oh, Sarah … I never dreamed you'd take me this deep. Oh, gods, Sarah … please … fuck … oh, no, not like-

His climax stunned him, seizing his balls in a sudden and sweetly violent grasp, his hips locked at the pinnacle of one last, urgent thrust. Jareth screwed his eyes shut and groaned out in desire and dismay as his cock swelled and jerked, and began to spend. The pleasure that gripped his body was fierce, electric, draining him of all strength and leaving him shuddering long after it was through with him. He collapsed onto his forearms, panting, weak and cold all over, though he could still feel the sweat beaded on his skin. With gratitude, he saw that the hair he had buried his face into was a vibrant red once more. Though the lover that stroked his back and purred filthy words into his ear was only a figment of his fantasies, for one gorgeous and grotesque moment, she had become far too real. By the time he had himself back under some form of control, the genuine article was already gone.

Jareth snatched himself out of sleep so quickly he made his head spin, only to discover that he had experienced his first wet dream in decades. When he tore back the damp sheets, he saw that the entirety of his stomach was covered, warm and wet with his essence. The feel of the room's cool air upon his softening cock sent his body into fresh tremors. Fuck. He felt more than a little pathetic. Even the lingering endorphins from his unexpected climax could not prevent his sour mood. He was so used to commanding every given scenario, always able to pull himself from even the most erotic dreams before the critical moment, still sane enough to finish the job with his own hand.

This was something else – another unacceptable step beyond his comfort zone. She hadn't even touched him. With just one look shared between them, he had been pushed to lose all control, and all because of her. Jareth hadn't felt so artless and inept since his first early explorations into the world of sex, so many years ago. The unexpected sticky and cooling mess on his belly was just as shameful as it had been back then. He banished the lot from his slightly sweaty person with a grimace. He hated it, hated the embarrassment and the loss of control, and yet he could not help but wonder.

He obsessed over that dream for the rest of the night, and long after the the first fingers of sunlight had caressed the horizon. He wondered if she had liked the tableau their entwined bodies had made together; if she had enjoyed the shape the two of them had forged, or it the bluntness of it laid bare had disgusted, or perhaps frightened her. He wondered if it had thrilled her enough to make her wet. He wondered if she wanted the real thing.

When he concentrated hard on the subject of Sarah Williams, he could hear her agitation, manifested in the frantic repetition of his name – as if the woman had any right to be angry or upset over his desires when she had seen them uninvited. It was the final straw for the frustrated Goblin King. He was finally ready to talk, but not without a little sweet vengeance first. The next time his unsolicited visitor decided she wanted a peek inside his private world, he would be sure to give her a real show.

His chance came less than a week later. He had not seen hair nor lovely hide of a certain spying Sarah within his dreams since the incident, and she had perhaps thought it wise to avoid calling out to him whilst awake, at least for a short while. However, as Jareth had strongly suspected, she could not keep a lid on that insatiable curiosity of hers for long.

It was yet another of his peaceful Sundays – eight weeks exactly since the fateful afternoon on which their lives had become intertwined – when the Goblin King felt the familiar tug at one corner of his mind; the complete focus on him. It would have been so easy to let her draw him into her world, playing the obedient genie to her wish for contact. Instead, he took the time to position himself to his advantage for their encounter. He moved from one room of his castle to the next in a rush of magic, shedding his clothes along the way. He was ready soon enough, smiling as he settled into his warm, comfortable seat. When, after several seconds of silence, Sarah reached out for him again, Jareth reached back … and drew her straight into the Underground.

The look of pure, unfiltered surprise on her face when she appeared before him was almost perfect enough to make him forgive her for her past transgressions. Jareth enjoyed that hesitant, lost little lamb's expression for a moment as his new guest tried to get her bearings. Her shock did not dissipate, for he had brought her to a rather more intimate part of his castle than she had seen on her last, long ago visit: his private bath. She was a trifle overdressed for the occasion in jeans and a cream-coloured sweater, but with that delicious look on her face, Jareth could hardly complain.

“W-what are you doing?” she managed to stammer out.

Jareth flashed her a lazy smile and then closed his eyes. “I should have thought that was obvious, Sarah. You are familiar with the concept of bathing, yes?”

He gave a wholly unnecessary shift of his body within the warm confines of his bath, causing the water to lap at his bare torso. Only a thin film of bubbles kept him from being fully exposed. When he opened his eyes again, he kept them fixed on his stunned guest. Sarah, however, seemed determined to look anywhere but at him. She had been more than happy to gawk at him within the secret world of his dreams, yet now, faced with him in the bare flesh, the very idea seemed to be turning the poor girl redder than a poppy field. The Goblin King found the delicious irony of it most palatable. It delighted him to realise just how fun it was to make his most persistent challenger blush.

“Of course I am, you ass. I just don't know why you have to do it now!” Her voice reached new and entertaining heights as it cracked.

Jareth offered her his most winsome smile. He stretched his arms back so that his elbows rested on the bath's marble rim, displaying the toned breadth of his chest to its fullest. Oh, this really was fun. He smirked up at his captive audience. “My, the echoes in my private bath seem to have taken on a rather incessant, nagging quality, of late. As it happens, I've only just stepped in to escape the many woes of my world, dear Sarah. I did intend to finish what I've begun alone, but well … here we are. So, there you have it, Sarah – or should I say here you have it. Congratulations, you've gotten what you came for.” His head gave a knowing tilt to one side, and he gazed up at her through heavy lashes. The Champion of his labyrinth was all twiddling thumbs and bumbling lips as she tried to find an answer to that one. Her halting stammer might as well have been Jareth's victory fanfare.

“I … I do- don't know what you're talking about.”

She was about as good a liar as she was a babysitter. Jareth allowed his eyes to widen a fraction, just enough to suggest hurt – hurt! – that his meaning could possibly be misconstrued. “Why, my undivided attention, of course. That's what you've been striving for all the times you've called for me, isn't it?”

“So you did hear me,” Sarah almost whispered.

Clearly, the poor thing didn't like to be ignored. How fortunate, then, that the benevolent Goblin King had every intention of making all those missed connections up to her. She wanted him, and so he would give her far more of himself than she could hope to handle. Jareth almost laughed at the truly delicious, malicious compliance of it. Aloud, he said: “I have an entire kingdom to run, pet; you'll forgive me if I can't take every other afternoon as a personal day. I have things to do. Entire baronies might crumble in my absence, and opposing factions could very well go to war before my return. Lives could be at stake.”

Sarah, clearly having regained a little of her courage, huffed out a sigh. “Always were a drama king, weren't you?”

The colour in her cheeks and the furtive glances she threw his way belied her disgusted tone. Her eyes drank him down in tiny, pecking sips, like a hummingbird at its favourite flower. If he happened to be her preferred choice of nectar, Jareth could hardly complain. His throbbing cock had already convinced him that he would have her before this whole fiasco was finally through, and so he welcomed her interest. It was gratifying indeed to find he held at least some power over the woman after all, even if it was merely the potent trappings of physical desire.

“Your little witticisms aren't getting us any nearer to the point of all this, love. You've got me just where you wanted me: completely at your mercy. The real question is … now that you have me, whatever are you going to do with me?”

“I d-don't want to do anything! I'm obviously bugging you by being here, right? So don't you want to talk when you're a little more … I dunno, dressed?” she hedged.

“Oh, does the naked form make you uncomfortable? I wasn't aware. You didn't seem to exhibit any adverse reactions to it the other night.”

Jareth grinned outright as Sarah continued her attempts to look anywhere but at him. He kept his eyes on her, watching her flush darken as he made a show of crossing and uncrossing his legs. The suds stirred around him, and he used the subtle movement to his advantage, waving a hand at the surface to lower the water level by another couple of inches. The brazen woman had proven to be enough of a distraction to him over the past few weeks, and now Jareth was curious to see how she would cope with one of her own. Everything of any real import would remain covered – but only just. “You're welcome to stay a while, if you wish,” he invited. “After all, one's privacy is such a meaningless thing between friends, don't you think? Particularly after what you've already witnessed.” He uncrossed his legs again.

As he thought back to that night, the memory of her eyes on him as he pushed deep into another woman's wet heat had its effect on his prone body. He was sorely tempted to touch himself at least once in her presence, just to see if he could make her react in a similar way. He had only intended to taunt her, not to actually bathe with her in the same room, but he had already started to realise that there were no sure bets whenever she was around. Her presence alone was intoxicating, urging him on to new highs – or perhaps lows. Naked as he was, the Goblin King had no sleeves in which to hide his tricks, but in his head, a new and nefarious scheme was already beginning to form.

He took a deep breath and then submerged himself, sinking down into the deep marble recess of the tub until he felt the warm water licking over his scalp. He stayed under just long enough to put any observer on edge, before he resurfaced with a soft sigh. His soaked hair clung to his back and shoulders, and sent slick, ticklish streams spilling over his bare skin. It was almost impossible not to smile as he felt Sarah's eyes roving over his face and form. When Jareth blinked his eyes open again, tiny crystal droplets fell from his damp lashes.

“Besides,” he continued, unruffled, as he drew a tall, glass bottle of shampoo into one hand. “This is the only time I can spare, inconvenient as it is. As I said, I'm a busy man, and I'm afraid I have other plans that will take up the rest of my day.” Said plans involved dissecting this very meeting over a glass or two of wine, and most likely another skim through his VHS collection, but that was information he did not intend to divulge. He pulled the bottle's heavy stopper and let the rich, honey-coloured concoction flow into his palm. The Goblin King took a deep inhale of the familiar spicy, almost peppery scent, and smiled to himself as he watched Sarah do the same. He let loose a soft groan of pleasure as he began to massage the cool liquid into his scalp, relaxing into his own touch.

To his amusement, he realised that his keen observer must have been enjoying herself just as much as he was. Rather than speaking up to call his bluff, or to criticise him for his current lapse in manners, she seemed perfectly content to remain silent and to simply watch him. He took the time to give his hair a thorough cleansing, for once relishing being the focus of her attention. Feeling rather smug, the Goblin King gave a soft huff of laughter.

“Still with me, Sarah? It isn't like you to be this … meek.” He ducked under again to rinse himself off, and by the time he resurfaced, he could still hear Sarah's indignant splutters. This time, he did smile as he blinked open his eyes.

“I refuse to talk to you when you're like this,” his flustered guest finally managed.

“Oh, but you've been trying for so long.” Jareth reached for another, heavier bottle, and proceeded to pour a generous measure of the contents into his palm. Now, it was heavy notes of amber and oak-moss that graced his nose. He trained the bottle to hang in the empty air as he began to work up a lather over his neck and shoulders, coming back every so often for more. Creamy white suds rolled down the firm planes of his chest and tickled at his stomach. “Day after day, night after night, you've come for me, seeking my time and attention. Now you have both. If that still isn't enough, then by all means, enlighten me as to what is. What precisely is it that you want from me, Sarah?” He let one hand idly trail along his breastbone as he looked at her. The silent, nonsense shapes formed by her plush mouth fascinated him.

“I … I … I don't know!” At last, Sarah exploded. “I don't know what the hell's going on, why I can sometimes see you and feel you, or why you can hear it whenever I thi … whenever I say your name. I don't know how I keeping popping into your dreams and … and whatever this is, and … what the fuck, Jareth, could you stop rubbing yourself for a second? Jesus, this is weird enough as it is!”

Jareth smirked and chose to ignore her request. All at once, he was determined to be squeaky clean. He began to massage more of the thick gel into his stomach. “I'd appreciate it if we could discuss what's going on like adults. No more sneaking little sniffs at my dreams, or attempting to pull me into your world at will. In return, I'll tell you what I know.”

“I'm not sure I want to know,” Sarah muttered, clearly mortified.

“But you seemed so eager to learn, the way you've been hounding me. Really, Sarah. You've been most relentless as you've tried to build on that small power you find yourself in possession of … by choosing to test me – me, of all people. You've chosen to push your way into my sleep, insinuating yourself into my dreams and into my life, without even the slightest worry of what I could do to yours. A trifle foolish, don't you think? Particularly when you don't have the faintest idea of what you're playing with.”

Sarah grimaced and held up her hands. “Okay, I get the picture. I messed up. I'm sorry. You know I don't know as much about … magic … as you do.” There was a questioning lilt to her words, a faint spark of vulnerability in her eyes, as if she were seeking his input. When none was forthcoming, she went on. “It's just so new and … well, I'll try to control it a little better from now on, okay? So that I won't annoy you when you're … busy.” Another pointed glance at the waterline had her quickly looking away again.

Jareth snorted. “If you wanted to kiss my arse, love, you couldn't have picked a better locale for it. It's all but hanging out for you to pucker up to.” The crudeness of his words seemed to be have such an intriguing effect on the colour of her cheeks, and it made him grin. “Besides, how can you expect to properly control that which you don't understand? As I said, I'm feeling generous enough to explain right now. It may take a while though, so I suggest you get comfortable.”

Sarah scoffed and sputtered. “What, you want me to just jump on in there with you?”

“If you like.” Highly amused now, Jareth decided to tease his as yet unrepentant spy a little further. He had no shame in revealing his body to a potential lover, so long as it was on his own terms, and not in full view of several of some of his most infuriating subjects. He shifted so that he was on his knees in the deep bathtub, and the waterline lapped dangerously low on his belly. He was still semi-erect, and he made only a half-hearted attempt to cover up, cupping himself loosely with one hand as he rose to his feet. Warm, sudsy water sluiced down his thighs and buttocks, the air of the room cool and refreshing on his damp skin. Smiling, Jareth squared his shoulders and stood tall – proud. “Why, with all your unannounced appearances over the past few weeks, I feel like I have nothing left to hide. Are you brave enough to say the same, pet?”

The undignified squeak that left Sarah's throat was music to the Goblin King's keen ears. Before she turned her face away, blushing, her eyes raked over his wet body, and that helpless display of lust was the sweetest note in the entire symphony. Jareth all but trilled his pleasure. He decided he liked seeing her flustered and fully clothed almost as much as he had enjoyed seeing her half-dressed. It was so good to be back in control. He almost laughed aloud as his delightful guest finally gathered herself enough to clamp a hand over her eyes. She raised the other to point an accusing finger in his direction.

“You … you …!”

“Yes, Sarah. Me. All of me,” Jareth purred. His cock twitched against his warm palm, urging him to take the whole situation in a far more desirable direction for them both, but he knew he had to hammer the lesson home. Business always came before he did.

“You cut that shit out right now, Goblin King, or I swear I'll … I'll …”

“What you'll do, love, is listen and obey for once in your life,” he told her. “I'm entitled to privacy in my own domain, Sarah, but until you're willing to respect that, you can consider this fair warning. In future, if you choose to go poking your nose into my business, uninvited, you'd do well to prepare yourself for just about anything. As you can see, I'm through with hiding. It's just not in my nature. So while you're snooping around, examining my private business from all available angles, beware. You just might see something in my natural form that you find you don't like.” His jubilant smirk widened, and he found he couldn't resist the lightest squeeze of his aching shaft. “Or perhaps,” he continued, in a much lower tone, “you might like it far too much, judging from the way you keep on peeking. Yes, I did see you just then. You see, it's so very hard to keep any secrets from me, pet – and even more so if you insist on sneaking your way in to look at mine.”

Sarah slapped her other hand over the first, making it impossible for him to go on accusing her of peeping through her fingers. He hadn't been entirely certain that she had looked, but her reaction only confirmed his suspicions, and it delighted him. Sarah, predictably, was less thrilled. That barrier of flesh covered nearly half of her face, but even so, the burning heat of her glare was almost palpable through it.

“Duly noted,” she croaked out. “Can I go now?”

Jareth chuckled. “If you must. I think we've covered all of the basics. Bear in mind, though, we'll need to schedule a time to discuss your new abilities properly. I meant it when I said there are things you must understand.” With his free hand, he reached up and rubbed at his wet hair, taking the time to stretch out his whole body as he did so. “Given the circumstances, perhaps it would be best if I made the arrangements?” His amusement rang out clear in every word, but poor Sarah seemed to be having some difficulty in producing any words at all.

“Yes. S'fine,” she said, through clenched teeth, and still from beneath her hands. “Leaving. Now.”

He couldn't resist one last bit of mockery. “So soon? I hope it's not all on my account, but very well. You can expect to hear from me very soon, Sarah. I'm afraid you've managed to stumble into something far beyond your mortal grasp, and it needs to be taken properly in hand. There remains so much for you to discover that will truly open your eyes, so many new things to expose your mind to – but all in good time. Until we meet again, then. Be sure to enjoy the rest of your day.” The water swirled around his calves as he turned. “Oh, and Sarah?”

As anticipated, she uncovered her eyes in a shy attempt to meet his, only to be greeted with his naked back and bottom. Her attempt to stifle her gasp was hugely unsuccessful, and Jareth bit down on his laughter. He smirked back at her over one damp shoulder, and flexed. “Do try to behave yourself, love.”

Sarah, bless her bashful heart, did at least try to respond before she willed herself out of his world. Generous as he was, Jareth decided to let her have the last word, even if that word was only an inarticulate growl along the lines of 'hurmph!' His merry laughter echoed around the spacious room as he settled himself back down in the water. He'd finally assured himself a little peace. What hadn't been part of the original plan was the substantial erection he'd also managed to gain himself. Jareth considered ignoring it, as he had done so many times over the last few weeks, but quickly reconsidered. The day's sequence of events had given him more than enough material to fuel his fantasies, and now, at long last, he had the opportunity to truly indulge himself. He gave a deep groan of satisfaction as he curled his long fingers around his poor, neglected cock, and he smiled as he allowed himself to slip into a less guarded state. In his current fantasy, there was only one woman he wanted – only her soft hands that now began to work his aching shaft.

“Mmm, yes, just like that. Oh, you can toy with me all you want, Sarah, love, but only one of us will come out on top – and believe me, you have no idea just how much I like being on top.”

Chapter Text

Sarah Williams had been bad.

After everything Jareth had put her through within his twisted labyrinth, the struggles she had endured, it was only natural to want a little revenge. All those dangers untold and hardships unnumbered left a woman feeling relatively bitter, especially when the man who had thrown them at her still didn't seem to be sorry for all he'd done. Presented with the perfect opportunity to make him pay with his pride, how was she supposed to say no? It was about time the pompous Goblin King was made to do a little kneeling – and who better to do it than the woman who'd already managed to beat him once, back when she was still a teen?

She still didn't know exactly how her new powers had come to be, but while she had them, Sarah was determined to use them. Suddenly, just by stretching out her mind the same way as she would her arm or her leg, she could bridge the gap between worlds. With just a bit of extra effort, she could reach out to the Goblin King himself in the same way she had always called upon her friends from the Underground. Unlike her friends, Jareth didn't always answer – she knew he had deliberately chosen to ignore her call more than once – but she could feel him, sense him at the end of that flimsy line she cast out, his presence far stronger than all the rest of them combined.

The sheer power of that connection continued to floor her every time she felt it rushing through her body. The more effort she put into it, the sharper her sense of him became; if she pushed really hard, she could even send a word or two to him through that tenuous link. Speaking with her mind felt so much different to speaking with her mouth. It was harder to make coherent sentences, for one, but it was much more rewarding. It made her feel strong, special in some way. By shutting out the outside world and focussing on letting him in, she could even hear Jareth's begrudging reply within her head, just as clearly as if he'd spoken directly into her ear.

Though that link between them was intense, and far too intimate for two former enemies to share, it was excitement that it brought her, rather than guilt – at least at first. It was something new and magical, another secret link to a world far beyond what her friends and family would ever understand. Magic had always fascinated her, and to have even a tiny sliver of it to call her own meant more to her than she could ever hope to explain. Sarah meant to explore that power to its fullest, even if the mental exertion began to leave her feeling completely drained most days. She tried to look at it as being in training, pushing herself just that little bit further each time; whenever the inevitable exhaustion took over, she couldn't help but wonder how much stronger she could have been, had she known about that power from the start. Four years – almost five, really – was a long time to have remained ignorant. The Goblin King had a lot to answer for.

The little visits she paid his mind started off innocently enough – just a little nudge now and then to keep him on his toes, and to remind him of her abilities. Yes, she had gotten a little carried away, and yes, she had maybe poked the bear a little too often, frustrated by his lack of response, but in all honesty, her curiosity had just run away with her. She wanted to find out all she could, whether it was more about her powers, or simply what made the mysterious king tick.

After that first accidental meeting in her bedroom, she hadn't been able to draw him into her world again, no matter how hard she tried. She could reach out to him, straining to bridge that distance between worlds as her mind and body groaned in protest, but she just couldn't seem to snag him. Of course, there was still the secret world of his dreams to explore, but even that seemed to be hidden away before she could see too much, veiled by Jareth's desire to keep her out … until one night, that veil had been rudely ripped away.

It made her blush even now to remember that first obscene dream – that nightmare – where she had caught him at his most vulnerable: naked, and buried deep inside some other woman, lost in his lust. It went far beyond the intimacy of their connection – a sight that had not been made for her eyes to see, and yet she had been powerless to look away. She had been hypnotised by the pale contours of his body, the steady rise and fall of his hips; his soft sounds of pleasure – forbidden noises to her ears – had awakened a deep, twisting ache inside her, and she had known even then that there was only one way to soothe it. Just seeing him, wanting him had been bad enough, but when Jareth had caught her watching him and seen the longing in her expression – when it was her eyes he had fallen into just as he surrendered himself to pleasure … as he came …

Call it wishful thinking, but for one wild moment, Sarah thought the woman beneath him had looked an awful lot like her.

She had woken, panting, from that troubling, erotic dream, able to imagine nothing more important than having all she had seen for herself. For the first time, the urge to see inside the Goblin King's mind took second place to wanting him inside her body. Her right hand had been wrapped up in sheets that were as twisted as her thoughts, but without hesitation it had finger-walked its way down her stomach until it could slip into her panties. All fired up by what she had just witnessed, she had found herself already wet, and far too ready to be fucked. It had been so easy to shush her mind's muddled protests while she tended to the needs of her body. Only minutes after seeing him lose control, and with minimal effort from her own slick fingers, she came, all but screaming Jareth's damn name in her head. She only hoped he had been too busy with his dream woman to hear her.

After that embarrassing moment of 'me time', things had moved from bad to worse. Another foiled attempt to spy on the Goblin King had led to an unexpected visit to the Underground, paired with an even closer look at what Jareth had always been hiding – barely – beneath his tight clothing. Sarah didn't think she could even look at a bathtub again without growing just a little bit warmer. A soaking wet, downright seductive Jareth, complete with devilish smile and hardening dick in hand, had been too much for her poor brain to handle. He had warned her right there and then, as she blushed and tried her best not to stare, that there would be no more hiding; he had assured her, in no uncertain terms, that the tables had well and truly been turned.

Sarah had wished herself out of that awkward bathroom run-in so hard that she had almost given herself a concussion: the force of her exit from the Underground had been enough to send her stumbling head-first into her old dresser, nearly cracking open both her mirror and her skull in the process. The bruising on her forehead started to fade after less than a week, but she had a feeling the deeper impact Jareth had left upon her never would. She had gambled on the patience of a king who had no scruples about punishing those who dared cross him, and she had lost – big time. Sarah really didn't like how losing to the Goblin King felt. It was unnerving to know that somewhere above her loomed his thumb, silent and menacing, just waiting to press down and crush her beneath it.

Now that he had found her weakness, he no longer seemed to mind if she had the odd slip up when it came to invading his privacy. She managed to show up twice more in his dreams, but instead of changing the direction of his thoughts or threatening her into a hasty retreat, Jareth was almost … well, welcoming. The first time, she found him sprawled out on his throne in a disgusting display of self-indulgence, a topless brunette massaging his temples while another rested on her knees beside his throne, hand-feeding him figs and honey – “Would you care to join us, Sarah? You're a little overdressed, but by all means, feel free to remedy that,” he had purred. When he licked the honey from his lips, his eyes did not leave hers, and the suggestive flicker of his tongue made the muscles along Sarah's thighs quiver.

The second dream had been even worse. She found him floating on his back in a vast sea of stars, his hands loosely clasped about the hips of the raven-haired siren that sat astride him. The pair appeared to be lost in their lovemaking. In her fascination, Sarah had witnessed it all, from the steady rocking motion of their bodies, to the growing tension in Jareth's fingers as he urged his lover into a faster, rougher pace. She had felt guilty, shamefully aroused by her spying, and then Jareth had spoken up without even glancing her way. The bastard had seen her coming. “No cushions to impede the view this time, Sarah. I know how much you like to watch,” he had said, before his head tipped back in bliss, and he forgot all about her.

Looking back, both dreams had a staged feel to them, as if Jareth had steered the path of his thoughts just to mess with her, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he had. The man seemed to love messing with her – only now, instead of throwing crystal dreams and senseless staircases at her Underground, his tricks began to leak over into her world. He didn't have the means to harass her unless she reached out first – a handy perk of her long-ago declaration about power – but all it took was a single accidental vision of him in her mind, a particularly depraved thought that was loud enough for him to hear, and he was free to ruin her day. Whether she was at home or away at college, alone or in public, he had an annoying habit of finding her wherever she went.

On those days when she just could not get him out of her thoughts, he made his presence known in several not-so-subtle little ways. More than once, Sarah found herself walking by a newsstand and having to do a double-take, certain that – just for a second, and for her eyes only – one of the faces on the glossy magazines had pouted and winked at her. Grocery shopping on those difficult days was a nightmare, because whenever she passed through the produce section, the peaches had a nasty habit of singing, or sometimes chuckling at her as she hurried by them. Before then, she hadn't seen a single owl in the park she sometimes walked through, yet now the same large barn-owl chose to hang out there almost every night – or at least on the nights she chose to scurry past his tree. He waited for her, he watched her, and if she lingered too long in his domain, he made a great show of preening the pale feathers that covered the lower half of his belly, all while maintaining a frankly quite disturbing level of eye contact. More than once, she had stared into that owl's dark, glassy eyes, and seen the wicked gleam of conquest there.

Everything had to be under his control, including her. He wasn't pleased when she was at her most confident, pushing the limits of her new powers. No, Jareth was at his happiest when the two of them were right back where they'd been at the start: he at his most regal and imposing, calling all of the shots, and she still assuredly in the role of lost little girl, despite her age. Damn it, the man knew she wasn't sixteen any more – the shameless attempts at seduction made that obvious – but he was still trying to intimidate her. He had to realise that, just like when he'd challenged her with his labyrinth, she would fight back.

Which she totally would.

Just as soon as she'd managed to stop blushing.

The truth of the matter was, she no longer trusted herself around the beguiling Goblin King – not in the slightest. It was difficult to come up with a plan to take down your old nemesis when all you kept thinking of was new ways you'd like to fuck him. Sarah thought that opulent marble bathtub of his might have been a good place to start. It was disturbingly easy to picture the two of them naked and entwined, their bodies engulfed by the warm water as they moved as one. When Sarah closed her eyes, she saw herself seated in his lap, his strong arms around her back, his hot mouth free to rain down its torment on her tender throat and breasts, his cock hitting high and deep inside her with every forceful cant of his hips. In her mind, Jareth fucked her time and time again, and he left her body trembling. Sarah just knew it would be incredible, just as she knew that, if she succumbed, he would never, ever let her forget. Even so, even certain of the humiliation it would bring, it was disturbingly pleasurable to imagine just how good it would feel to belong to the Goblin King, just for one night. She had every reason to believe he would be a demanding lover.

What Jareth didn't seem to realise was that she might have some demands of her own.

She already knew that the Goblin King got his kicks from power. It should have been ridiculous to her, really, to realise just how much he seemed to covet power, but even she couldn't deny it was an aphrodisiac. Her initial journey into the world of sex had been a timid one at first, hampered by the fact that both her friends and her dog-eared copy of Cosmopolitan focused more on how to please her man, than how to please herself. Thankfully, it hadn't taken long for her to realise she deserved more than just a vague tingling sensation down there for all her efforts. After that revelation, she and her partners soon realised that she always came hardest when she was on top.

Sarah very much wanted to be on top.

It was impossible not to fantasise about what it would feel like to have a king beneath her, held tight between her thighs, and totally at her mercy. She wondered, as her body cramped with little stabs of pleasure, if Jareth would look just the way she remembered him from the dreams, as she brought him sweet rapture.

Thoughts like that were disastrous to her cause, and unfortunately, they came to her several times a day. It wasn't like she'd even set out to let her attraction to him grow, but between the taunting, the flirting, and those sneaky peeks at his body – not to mention the glimpses into some of his filthiest fantasies – she found herself deep in lust, regardless. There would be nothing on god's green earth even half as humiliating as Jareth finding out that he now played the starring role in her fantasies. The Goblin King's hard-on, both figurative and literal, would likely last for weeks.

'Yeah, well fuck the Goblin King.'

Immediately, Sarah winced. She hadn't meant to think that quite so loud. Silence reigned in her head for over a minute, but just as she had finally started to relax her tense shoulders, Jareth was there with a reply:

'Only if you schedule it around all my other appointments, love – and only then if you ask me nicely.'

Sugary sweetness powdered his every word, and Sarah was sorely tempted to put a hole through the nearest wall and pretend it was his smug face. The man was insufferable.

The two of them danced around one another for several months – always figuratively, after that last, memorable encounter in his ballroom. Sarah buried her head in her studies, while Jareth continued to do whatever it is that goblin kings are inclined to do, in between tormenting her. She attended classes, participated in all the necessary discussions, and handed in each assignment on time. Evenings and weekends, she served steaks and shakes at a local restaurant, for mostly adequate tips. She dipped her toes into the party scene only when her roommate complained that their place had started to stink an awful lot like nerd. She scratched her sexual itch on a couple of occasions with the same purposely dark-haired, hazel-eyed guy, and was content in knowing that their evenings of fun would never amount to anything serious. Just like with her future career, the thought of getting stuck with something long-term when she didn't quite have her heart set on it, was terrifying to her.

How quickly having the Goblin King back in her life – definitely for the long-term, by the looks of it – became 'normal' to her was even more terrifying.

One night, after yet another rendezvous with her friendly neighbourhood stalker-owl, Sarah was already feeling tense by the time she reached work. Her hurried pace led her to be almost forty minutes early, but she snatched up her apron and clocked in anyway. Her shift supervisor owed her a favour or two, but it still annoyed her to waste them on account of Jareth. The name had barely formed in her thoughts when she spotted an awfully familiar blond-haired patron, seated alone in her biggest corner booth. She finished tangling her apron strings around her waist, snatched up a menu and a water pitcher to keep up the pretence of playing server, and stomped on over. Jareth glanced up at her approach, a measured look of pleasant surprise fixed on his face.

“Oh, Sarah, good evening. We need to stop meeting like this.”

With that warm, mischievous smile of his, he was almost charming. He was neat and well put together in a dove-grey shirt, left open to his sternum, and perfectly tailored to his body. It looked as soft and velvety as peach skin, and the fluorescent lights above gave each of its pearl buttons its own inviting glow, begging Sarah to pull a few more of them open – preferably with her teeth. His pendant, she noticed, was absent that day. The shirt was paired with boots and tight blue jeans, a far simpler outfit than his usual attire, and yet there was still that unquestionable, otherworldly draw to him that had the trio of teenage girls in the opposite corner gawking and giggling.

It was in the fine bone structure and lean musculature; the piercing blue eyes that had only a touch of dark liner around them that day, instead of his usual elaborate markings. His blond hair was its regular shaggy, enticing mess that, judging from the admiring looks he was pulling in, more than one woman would have liked to tease her fingers through. All in all, it was the right kind of look to gain him the wrong kind of stares, maybe even a muttered insult or two from a narrower-minded clientele – but never loud enough for the Goblin King to hear. In spite of his flamboyant appeal and his slightly eccentric dress, Sarah could feel something powerful in the air that said not to mess with the man at booth three. The slight widening of his smile told her that her appraisal of him had lasted too long.

“You need to get out,” she finally managed.

“Without ordering anything? Don't be rude, I haven't even glanced at a menu yet.” Jareth took said menu from her hands with a delicate pluck of his fingers, but made no effort to read it. Still smiling, he set the laminated card down and folded his hands over it. A moment later, he repositioned those hands and made the action look leisurely; only by pure coincidence did he manage to dodge the heavy pitcher that she slammed down only inches from his fingertips. There was a silver band on his left pinky finger, bearing the same coiled symbol that Sarah remembered from his missing necklace. She only realised she had forgotten a glass when Jareth, helpful as ever, made one of his own appear, seemingly out of nowhere. “Aren't you going to tell me today's specials? I'm most intrigued.”

Sarah gave him a parody of a smile as one of her colleagues passed by, and managed her sweetest customer service voice while they were still in hearing range. “Oh, I think you're already special enough. You did say that you don't have any allergies, didn't you, sir – nuts, dairy, anything? We take cross-contamination very seriously here – after all, we don't want to accidentally kill you or something. I wouldn't want that on my conscience.”

His grin was impossibly smug – and also irritatingly attractive. “I rather like you calling me 'sir'. I think I could get used to it.”

“Oh, I'm sure I could come up with some other names for you, given half a chance.”

Her fake laughter died as she looked down at the table. The glass he had conjured was still caught in his power, wobbling back and forth as it tried to find its equilibrium. After a quick glance around, Sarah smacked a hand down over its rim, stopping it before anyone else could notice the movement. “Try to draw a little more attention to yourself, why don't you?” she hissed at him. “You're not exactly average tourist material, and you're already starting to stir up the locals. If you're going to show up here, you could at least try harder to blend in. Look like you're actually … I dunno … American.”

Jareth blinked up at her for just a moment, then broke into a worrying smile. “If you insist.”

As Sarah watched, mouth agape, he ducked beneath the table's edge as if to grab something from under there, though the floor around his feet was clear. He emerged with a black baseball cap in one hand and a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators in the other, and proceeded to put both on. The cap had 'I Love NY' emblazoned in white and red above the bill, and what appeared to be oversized Mickey Mouse hands standing out from each of the side panels. The sunglasses were dark enough that the wearer's expression might have been unreadable, were it not for his damned smirking mouth.

Sarah had to admit, if only to herself, it was a shame to see all that wild hair of his tucked back, especially considering the tacky alternative. It looked like he was sporting a full-on mullet under that awful hat. When she looked past his head, she saw that the gorgeous shirt he wore had been replaced by a stained and ugly plaid thing, which in turn was partially covered by a worn denim jacket. The jacket's right lapel was dotted with pins depicting various rock and metal bands; the left was embroidered with a patriotic bald eagle, underneath which rested a faded Dukakis-Bentsen '88 button. Jareth's neat fingernails were now painted in a gaudy stars and stripes motif, and there were 'love' and hate' tattoos etched above his knuckles. On his left hand, his ring had retained its symbol – presumably one of royalty – but instead of silver, the band itself now had the cheap, glassy finish of a mood ring. According to that ring, the Goblin King was the colour yellow, and he was feeling mellow.

He was a clusterfuck of clichés, a ghastly mishmash of Americana, and right then he was just too much for her to deal with. As she stared at him, Jareth lowered his shades just enough so he could peer at her over the top bar. He gave her a little wink, and as if the small gesture had prompted them, the hands on his hat came together to offer her a brief round of applause.

“How're your burgers here, Miss?” His grin stretched from ear to ear as he affected an exaggerated Southern drawl. “Well you're just as sweet as apple pie, darlin', but gosh darn it, I've got myself a hankerin' for a different all-American treat to sink my teeth into tonight. Boy howdy, do I!”

Sarah rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Oh, Jesus Christ, stop. Please stop.” Cringing, she took a quick look around, but despite Jareth's new persona being loud enough to be heard from space, she seemed to be the only one who could hear it. Even the Goblin King's teenage fan club had turned back to their fries and their sodas, oblivious to his presence. Clearly, Jareth had done something to hide himself from prying eyes. Of course, the vain king wouldn't want to be actually seen dressed like that in public. It meant that the entirety of his game of dress-up was for her benefit, and it pushed her patience to its end.

Thankfully, Jareth chose that moment to slide back into his usual tone of voice as he continued to taunt her. “Well, I suppose that's a wholly disappointing 'no' on the burger, then. Tell me, does your fine establishment offer milkshakes, by chance? Yes, I believe I'm in the mood for a nice thick, chocolate milkshake.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I'm even willing to share, if you like. One milkshake, two straws, and a nice heart to heart chat about your powers and the issues they bring with them. What do you say? I think it's about time we put aside all the silliness and really talked.”

Sarah sucked at her teeth. “Here's the thing: as much as I'd like to play along with whatever game this is, I'm working and I haven't got the time. So, I'm going to stand here and act polite for a few more seconds, and then you're suddenly going to remember that you left your wallet in your other pair of sparkly tights, and then you're going to make like a tree and get the hell out of here.”

The Goblin King pushed his Ray-Ban's back into place. “So that's a 'no' on the milkshake as well, then?”

It was so hard to keep her voice low when he was determined to do everything in his power to provoke her. She had to chew on her tongue for a few seconds before she trusted herself enough to speak, and even then she had to struggle to keep the volume down. “God damn it, Jareth, I work with hot plates, boiling water and knives – sharp knives!” she hissed. “I can and I will fuck you up – gladly. Just … just get out of here before I take you on a detailed tour of the kitchen!”

Behind the sunglasses, his face seemed to take on a more serious expression. “You seem more tense than usual, and that leads me to think you've been pushing yourself too hard of late. Have the headaches begun yet, precious thing?”

Immediately, Sarah stiffened. Of course, he knew about the strain she felt; he would know exactly what was happening to her. It was both unnerving and a huge relief to hear that at least someone might have an answer for the headaches. A part of her wanted to slide onto the vinyl seating opposite him and spill out all of her troubles, turning her most trying table of the day into a confessional booth. As always, when anywhere in the general vicinity of the Goblin King, she had to ignore the temptation. She forced her tense body back to life, snatching up the water pitcher with a shaky hand. “I told you, I'm done talking to you.”

Seething, she concentrated on plastering a grin onto her face as she walked away, determined to put the new fire he'd given her towards a productive evening at work. Only when she started to approach another table, ready to refill their water glasses, did she realise that her pitcher had gotten a little heavier, and the liquid inside it was no longer clear. Her false smile died before it had fully reached her lips. She was left holding the biggest chocolate milkshake she had ever encountered, complete with a fluffy mountain of whipped cream, a generous drizzle of chocolate syrup, and a ripe, red cherry on top. True to his word, the Goblin King had even been thoughtful enough to include two straws.

When Sarah spun around to thank – or possibly strangle – him for his little party trick, she found the corner booth almost empty. Jareth was long gone, but he had left her a couple of gifts. Placed neatly in the very centre of the table was that ridiculous cap of his, along with a selection of crisp twenty-dollar bills that had been carefully twisted into the shape of a small owl. She was still seething as she slipped the money into her apron. The hat, she tossed on top of a container labelled 'lost and found', in the hope that one of her sleazier customers might take a shine to it and claim it for their own.

In spite of her annoyance at him, she was reluctant to dismantle that little owl, but by the end of her shift her curiosity had eaten its way through her resolve. It turned out that her most difficult customer of the night had apparently valued their short chat at two hundred dollars. Sarah made a mental note to tell the Goblin King that she couldn't be bought, not even at a hundred bucks a minute, and definitely not by him. She kept the money though; after all he'd put her through over the past few weeks, she thought Jareth at least owed her a drink sometime.

Her shift officially finished at ten; minimal side work and a brief cab ride saw her back on campus just after ten-thirty. A shower and a small snack took her past eleven, but she was still far from sleepy. Utterly alone in her dorm room, courtesy of her roommate's demanding new beau, she felt hot, restless, and … empty. She had already pulled on her pjs and had no intention of going out again that night, but there was someone she was itching to see all the same. One little call might just bring him right to her bedside.

Now that her initial frustration had subsided, their earlier spat felt unfinished, somehow. Sarah was aching with the need to dig into him a little further; she had way too many insults still on hold for it to be over already. The silence, not to mention his absence, was getting to her. Studying was an impossibility, and she gave up on it completely after less than twenty minutes, tucking her books back into her desk. She clock-watched for a little while, but nothing could keep up with her racing mind. Boredom seemed to have settled in for the night.

She sighed and threw herself back onto her narrow bed, then kicked off her fluffy slippers with a little more force than strictly necessary. She clasped her hands over her stomach and hummed to herself for a little while. She tried reading for pleasure, but that didn't work for her either. There were certain other things she could have done for pleasure, but with the Goblin King so close to the front of her mind, she refused to even contemplate them. Eventually, she just stared up into space. The silence stretched on. She had to break it.

'Jerk,' she sent up towards the room's off-white ceiling, but she knew it went far further. Only seconds later, she felt Jareth inside her head.

'A good evening to you, too. Would you like to throw a few more truly wounding barbs my way, or have we calmed down enough to talk like a big girl yet?'

At least he was listening, even if he sounded even more smug than usual. Sarah screwed up her nose at the ceiling. 'Cute. It depends on what you mean by 'talk', Goblin King.'

After a slight pause: 'Elaborate.'

Sarah rolled over onto her stomach and tucked her arms beneath her pillows, resting her chin atop the soft pile. 'If you mean do I want to spend my evening being talked down to about magic, then the answer is no. If you, by some miracle, felt like … oh, I dunno … apologising for showing up at my workplace, uninvited, then I could go for that.'

The deep, hearty laughter that came in response was strangely pleasant to hear, and it set her insides fluttering. 'An apology? After poor, downright abusive service from one of the restaurant's most ill-tempered servers, during which I received neither the food nor drink I asked for, yet felt magnanimous enough to leave more than adequate payment for, regardless? An apology for that?'

'Yup.' Sarah found she was smiling in spite of herself, and in spite of the dull throbbing at her temples. It was nice to listen to that low, rich voice while she was feeling lonely, even if she was unequivocally pissed at the voice's owner. She wriggled around on her belly until she had found a more comfortable place to lie – a place that just so happened to press her panty-clad pussy more firmly against a small lump she found in the covers.

'Don't hold your breath, love. Now, if you're not going to consent to talk properly, you can just sod off, if you don't mind. I'm very busy here.'

'Uh-huh. So busy that you have the time to harass poor college students.'

'Poor? Hardly. I suggest you count the bills I left you again, cheeky thing. I wanted it to be the biggest tip you received tonight, so you wouldn't forget about me. We do need to talk.'

The retort was fully formed before she had the chance to think it through. 'It wouldn't be the first time you've tried to impress me with a big tip, would it, Jareth?'

Fuck. Shocked silence followed at both ends, until Sarah found herself groaning as she pressed her face into her pillows. What the hell had she been thinking? She was flirting with the Goblin King and, judging by the thick pulse that had settled itself between her legs, she liked it. Her hips had begun to rock without her permission, urging her prone body back and forth against that bulge in the covers until she was all but humping her mattress. Mind-play was one thing, but she was just so ready to be touched. She could imagine the Goblin King above her: his warm lips pressed to the nape of her neck and his hands covering hers; the firmness of his chest against her back and his hard cock pressed flush to her ass, controlling the arch of her body. She could almost hear the nasty things he would whisper into her ear as he kept her trapped, pinned on her belly beneath him. The image alone made the tender walls of her pussy contract. For one crazy moment, she almost considered asking him to come to her, but thankfully common sense prevailed. She quickly rolled onto her back, but couldn't resist squeezing her thighs together to stave off the worst of her ache as she waited, near breathless, for a response.

'It's amazing, the lengths a man will go to just to seek out one entirely necessary conversation.' The disappointment that single, matter-of-fact sentence evoked in her was crushing. Then, precious seconds later, a low yet impassioned murmur sounded deeper still inside her mind: 'I know you'd take more than just the tip, love. If I really wanted to impress you, you'd have it all.'

“Oh, fuck,” Sarah moaned aloud. Her belly felt hot and jittery, her core throbbing with molten waves of desire at just the implication of those few words. She wondered, if she was stupid enough to take their less than innocent conversation further, just how long it would take him to make her an offer in person – and just how eager she would be to accept. It was time to stop, before things really became dangerous.

'It's getting late. I should probably sleep,' she thought at him. Try as she might, she couldn't quite keep the regret out of her words. There was a shorter pause, and then she heard Jareth's soft chuckle.

'As you wish. Sweet dreams, precious. No doubt I'll see you soon.'

Sarah covered her face with both hands and growled into her cupped palms. What had she been thinking? Even a little bit of contact with the Goblin King was too much. It was definitely time to go cold turkey. From that moment on, she vowed to do everything in her considerable power to keep Jareth's name out of her mind, let alone allowing it to pass her lips – oh, and how that smug man would just love to slide his way past her lips.

Keeping him out of her life was easier said than done. For the last few months, he had been on her mind more often than off it; Sarah found that she had to retrain herself in the simple art of thinking, all to ensure that a certain name was totally excluded from her thoughts. It scared her to realise that it wasn't always possible. If you told your brain it was absolutely, positively not allowed to think of a polar bear, then you could guarantee without a doubt that the first thing to pop, uninvited, into your head would be big, furry and white. In Sarah's case, it was visions of kings and owls she was plagued with, no matter how much she tried to unthink them.

More than once, she had to practically shut her brain down, hauling herself back from whatever particularly dangerous path she had begun to stray down, before he could catch wind of her. Her walkman and her radio started out as her new best friends, drowning out most, but not all, of her mind's mindless chatter with an unbroken rota of pop and soft rock. Eventually though, even that became too much work, what with the constant need to edit the content before it reached her ears. Slushy love songs were a definite no-no, along with anything even remotely sexy. Once – and only once – just the opening chords of Animotion's 'Obsession' had been enough to ignite heat in her cheeks, and send her stomach into a wild and guilty tumble.

It was ridiculous. The last time she had been so fixated on a boy – or at least the idea of one – had been back in fifth grade. Even now, she still remembered the blond-haired, blue-eyed little hellion that had been Jimmy Simmons; she had doodled that name all over her notebook after he'd stolen her young heart with his rebel without a curfew ways. Her adolescent attraction had come to a swift end around the time Jimmy had begun to return her affections – albeit in the clumsy and crude way that all pre-teen boys seem partial to. Sarah wondered if, given enough time, the Goblin King might also start to pull on her hair, or snap her bra straps, or, if he was feeling particularly affectionate, mumble something unintelligible as he slugged her on the arm. Even at the tender age of eleven, she'd already been too switched on to tolerate that kind of happy horse-shit. She certainly wasn't going to fall head over heels for it now.

Of course, Jareth would never take kindly to being ignored.

It was more than a little satisfying to have the Goblin King himself reduced to sending one of his minions to beg for her attention, even if it meant being surprised by a goblin in her dorm room. The stumpy, grey creature's name was Clasp, and Clasp refused to leave until Miss Sarah read the king's letter, which was clutched in his grimy fist. At least, he initially refused, but Sarah's offer of half a candy bar, all the loose change in her purse, and a shiny, almost new tube of lipstick – 'for the missus,' so Clasp claimed – proved to be far too tempting. In his excitement over his new treasures, Clasp accidentally took the precious letter with him, and no doubt put himself firmly in Jareth's bad books for the foreseeable future. Fortunately, Sarah acted quickly enough to prevent the Goblin King from sending another, more reliable messenger in Clasp's place.

'Starting now, none of your subjects have permission to contact me unless I speak to them first. No power, Jareth. I mean it. Leave me the hell alone.' Angry as she was, the message hurt like a bitch to send, piercing shards of ice deep into the meat of her brain, but she was positive it had gotten through.

She received a curt 'as you wish' in return, and then the waiting game began anew. Intentional or not, both of them knew she would one day make the mistake of calling on him again.

Time passed as she continued to hold him at bay. Just as it had after her journey into the labyrinth, life went on – though this time, she remained firmly cut off from all things Underground, even her friends. Back in her hometown again, without the distraction of her studies, the temptation to call on Hoggle, Ludo and Sir Didymus rose as strong as ever, but she refrained. Reopening that connection between worlds was just the first step on a dangerous path that would inevitably lead back to him. There was still that realm of unexplored magic within her reach, but it had to remain off-limits. There was no other way. She felt like a child who had been gifted the greatest toy of all, only to be told that it had to remain in its original packaging. Without their daily use, her new powers would only languish. At long last, Sarah thought it might finally be her time to grow up, forgetting all about magic once and for all – and she hated it.

Her twenty-first birthday passed with little fanfare, and that was just fine in Sarah's eyes. She shared her first legal bottle of wine with her family in a relatively upmarket restaurant. The crisp tartness on her tongue, combined with the stable direction of her life, tasted very much like adulthood. She spent the rest of the night in subconscious denial of the fact, she and Toby fuelled by cokes and fistfuls of quarters as they charged around their favourite arcade. Her baby brother even managed to make a couple of baskets on the Hoop Fever machine, and the two of them crowed in delight at the addition it made to their ticket pile. It was the least mature, least magical ending to an evening that Sarah could imagine, and it was perfect. She refused to let that one weird coincidence at the claw machine tell her otherwise.

It cost her almost six dollars to finally snag the bright red dragon plush that Tobes had his heart set on. A random little thought – I wonder if they have dragons Underground – was all it took to bring Jareth's name back into her mind. As the large metal claw carried the dragon over to the prize chute, she saw with some alarm that it had a tiny stuffed owl wedged under one of its scaly wings.

“Two prizes! Cool!” Toby whooped, before reaching down to claim them both.

Sarah grimaced as she peered over Toby's scrawny shoulder for a closer look at the unexpected extra. The toy was meant to be a barn owl, judging by the mostly white fluff that represented its feathers – another eerie coincidence. More worrying were the sapphire blue highlights to its fluff, and the soft touch of glitter above each of its large, glass eyes, making it an exceptionally pretty owl. It might have been the perfect addition to anyone's stuffed animal collection, were it not for the slight manufacturing fault: the glossy black orb that was the bird's left eye was significantly larger than the right.

Toby took one look at the lovely owl, winced, and quickly thrust the toy into Sarah's hands. His little chest puffed out with what macho pride his weekly dose of Saturday morning cartoons had instilled in him. “Here,” he muttered. “'Cause you're a girl. And … uh …'cause it's your birthday.”

A look of worry flashed across his small face for fear of seeming ungrateful, and he was sure to hug his new toy extra tight as he thanked his big sister. The dragon gave an adorable roar when he pressed down on its plush tummy. Sarah had no desire whatsoever to find out what her new owl might have to say, were she to push on its fluffy belly. She could barely hold the thing without shivering.

She took the toy home to keep Toby happy, but the minute she was alone in her bedroom, she stuffed it down into the back of one of her little-used drawers, figuring it would be at home amidst all her old stuffed animals. She tried to hold onto her belief in coincidences even when the new addition to her collection seemed to possess the same magical, pussy-seeking powers as a certain deviant of a king. She later found the owl nestled into her silkiest pair of panties, a full drawer down from where she had first placed it.

She told herself it would have been easy enough for the stuffed toy to tumble down the back of that first, overfilled drawer, and that the tiny owl had worn that same, smug expression when she'd first laid eyes on him. It. Whatever. She was embarrassed to admit that the little guy looked so comfortable, surrounded by her panties, bras, pantyhose and stockings, all that feminine silk and lace, that she was reluctant to move him back to the other drawer. As much as she hated to admit it, it looked like the owl had found his new home. She dubbed Jareth Junior the official Keeper of the Frilly Things – though she was careful to keep that drawer firmly and fully closed whenever she pulled any of said frilly things on. The little bastard – both bastards, in fact – had already seen enough.

A week after the unfortunate owl event came a late but much-anticipated birthday treat: Fusion.

Her tickets had been reserved for months; the minute Sarah had heard that the famous Cirque du Soleil were finally bringing their new tour to her home state, there had been no other option but to go. The gushing reviews made it all sound so magical, and god knew just how much she needed just a taste of that to get her through the days. For months, long before her reacquaintance with the Goblin King, she had kept a flyer for Fusion tucked away alongside the tickets, and she would take it out every so often just to look at it. If the pictures of the performers in their intricate costumes and strange masks stirred up any old memories, Sarah refused to dwell on them. It was time to look forward to something for once, and not back.

The tickets for the show had cost a lot, the hotel room they'd booked into even more, but it was all worth it when the day finally arrived. As Sarah's three closest friends insisted on pointing out, loudly and often – Kristen and Tiffany and their luggage squeezed tightly into the back seat of Robin's dad's borrowed Buick, while Sarah sat up front – she only turned twenty-one once. As afternoon turned to evening, and with only a few hours left until the show began, the four of them were ready to celebrate in style.

Unfortunately, the bars of New York just weren't ready for them.

Chapter Text

After a few minutes of useless flirting with the hotel bartender, Tiffany came traipsing back to their table, shaking her head. “Hey, I tried.” She shrugged as she settled back into her seat. “At least we're getting a drink, and he isn't kicking us out. We shouldn't give up, though. There are other places we can try after this. The birthday girl needs a real drink.” As usual, she was determined to keep on trying, even past the point of sense, and her staunch optimism was met with a low groan.

“We've tried everywhere already, and these heels are already killing my feet,” Kristen groaned. “It's no use. Oh, this is all my fault. I'm completely ruining your birthday, Sarah. It's all just … ugh … ruined.” Ever the optimist, she stared down into her lap with a forlorn expression, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. She was the only one out of their group who hadn't yet turned twenty-one. Her lack of ID meant the strongest thing they'd been able to order earlier at the restaurant had been sodas, and since then had gotten them kicked out of two classier cocktail bars and one dive. The quiet hotel bar seemed like their best bet – possibly because the place was almost empty – even if the guy mixing drinks refused to serve them anything stronger than orange juice.

A few minutes later, four decidedly virgin mimosas were set down in front of them. The table seemed to blink and then sigh as a whole.

Robin poked at the orange slice that garnished the rim of her glass and said nothing. True to her quiet nature, she had said a whole lot of nothing over the last hour or so. There was awkward silence amongst the group, made all the more obvious by the soft strains of music – a slow, fairly dreary Phil Collins number – coming from the speakers nearby. Robin offered only a non-committal hum as she finally tasted her drink – the first one of them to do so. Tiffany had a certain gleam in her eye that said she was about to start up her bar suggestions again, even if it meant hiking three miles in every direction, and Kristen looked gloomy enough to throw in the towel completely. Once again, it was up to Sarah to keep the whole gang happy.

“You know tonight's not about the drinking, at least for me. It's about the show.” She took a sip of her mimosa. It wasn't half bad. “The drink is nice, this place is nice, Fusion is going to be amazing, and I get to see it with you guys. I don't need anything else. Besides, if you want to talk about really ruining things-” She cut herself off abruptly. Alarmed, she realised she had been close to spilling the details of how she'd spent the evening of her actual birthday. She didn't think her friends would understand having to cower away from something as innocent as a pretty little stuffed owl – not that the owl was actually innocent.

Jareth is never innocent. Oh … oh, shit.

All three of her friends looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue, but Sarah shook her head and gulped at her drink. “Uh … forget it. I'm just really glad you guys are here. It … it means a lot to me.”

She smiled and nodded her head along with the conversation as it began to slowly squeak forwards again, but inside her head she was screaming. That had been too close a call for comfort; she worried that she'd crossed too far over that line between thinking about Jareth and actually giving him an excuse to approach her. Only time would tell. More and more of the mimosa disappeared in quick, nervous sips as Sarah went into lookout mode. Any minute, she fully expected to be ambushed by a handsome blond server and a free mystery cocktail that was ten percent peach juice, and ninety percent revenge. She didn't think Jareth would go as far as actually trying to poison her, at least not in public, but after freezing him out of her life for so long, making him come begging for her attention, she knew their reunion would be more than a little awkward. She wished, futilely, that her drink contained alcohol after all. She brought her glass up to her lips again, then realised that she had already managed to drain the whole thing in her distraction.

Tiffany laughed. “Thirsty?”

Sarah gave her a bashful smile. “Yeah … I guess so.” Her eyes drifted back towards the man behind the bar. Still tall, dark, and decidedly not Jareth. The coast seemed clear, at least for now. “Does anyone want another-” She had already started to rise from her seat, but what caught her eye froze her in place. She had been so busy waiting for a certain blond to just emerge behind the bar, to make himself appear out of nothingness before her very eyes, that she had completely missed the fact that he was already in the room.

The moment she spotted him, realised that he'd followed her even here, was the moment she realised there really was no escaping at least one last confrontation with the Goblin King. His long hair had been cut to lie just below his collar, and thick tendrils of cigarette smoke formed a dark halo around him, but Sarah would have recognised that profile anywhere. He had casually invaded one of the few other occupied tables, charmed its occupants into accepting him as one of their own as he waited for her to approach. Despite the lack of alcohol in her system, Sarah staggered considerably as she rose to her feet. She really did need another drink, because every last drop of moisture had been pulled from her throat the second she set eyes on him. Her friends' voices began to fade away, and as if on cue, the sound of soft, unobtrusive pop was replaced by something a little raunchier. Sarah could feel her pulse quickening behind her temples and at her throat, as though to match the new drumbeat that invaded her. She had never before associated 'Black Velvet' with the Goblin King, but now she feared the two would be forever interlaced within her head.

It was a song that had been huge around last Christmas – a slow, bluesy tribute to the lost king of rock and roll, with seductive vocals, a catchy chorus, and one hell of a bass-line. Though the singer crooned out her praise of The Pelvis' infamous hip gyrations, his music and his legacy, the only king on Sarah's mind was seated right in front of her eyes. It was as though Jareth had dressed in deliberate tribute to the music, clad all in black yet far from 'velvet Elvis' level kitsch in a dress shirt, monk strap shoes, and sinfully tight denims. The playful, little boy's smile that winked on and off around his cigarette only completed the picture.

Apparently blind to her scrutiny, the Goblin King was perfectly at ease with the attractive young goth couple he shared a table with. Absorbed in whatever story he was telling, he spoke with his hands a lot, Sarah noticed, his cigarette nodding with every animated gesture. More than once, his rough, throaty laughter permeated the air. The sound turned her blood to syrup, thick and heavy as it flowed through her body, piquing the interest that had already begun to tingle beneath her skirt. He looked good – really good, if she was honest – and if he had been a total stranger and human to boot, she might have seriously considered dragging him back to her rented room, uncaring of the inevitable flack she'd catch from her friends. God damn the Goblin King! Her friends had no idea that the handsome stranger sharing their bar wasn't a stranger at all; they wouldn't know that he was sitting in on her night out without the slightest business being there, spoiling her evening once more. Well, she knew, and she was determined not to let him get away with it again.

She was across the room in nineteen sober but shaky steps, walking onward once more into the Goblin King's domain of magic and torment – only this time, she was going to hammer home her victory over him, once and for all.

“Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you are not the king here, and this needs to stop.” She swooped in to clasp his shoulder, catching the attention of his startled companions, but all she cared about was twisting him around in his seat to look at her, seeking out the confrontation, the confusion-

Her eyes widened as she realised the man she was holding onto – the one whose expensive-looking shirt she was wrinkling with her angry grip – was a stranger after all. Up close, there wasn't even a hint of the Goblin King in his facial features: the nose was too big and the lips were too thin; the cheeks were pale, high and hollowed, but in a way that spoke of heavy drug use rather than good bone structure. Even the fine blond hair that had first caught her eye hung dull and limp under her appraisal. It seemed that the Goblin King, wherever he was, had found some new tricks to play. The strange man stared up at her with wide, dark eyes, relaxed despite the fingers digging into his person. He sniffed and took another drag of his cigarette.

“Do I know you, sweetheart?” he asked. His tone was even enough, given she'd almost assaulted the guy, but Sarah had already begun to back away, shaking her head.

“No. No, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to … I thought you were … someone …” Turning abruptly, she stalked her way back to her friends, her head hanging low, her face on fire. There, back at her own table, she dug into her purse and extracted enough money – Jareth's money, she realised, with a despairing sense of irony – to cover her drink, plus an extra few bills. She dropped the money onto the table, against the protests of her friends.

“Sarah, what the hell's gotten into you? Are you feeling okay?”

“Shit, Sar, you're white as a sheet. Are you sick? Do you want me to get you some water? What did that guy do to you?”

“Hey, sit down before you fall down. Do you know him?”

“No. I thought … actually, I don't know what the hell I was thinking,” Sarah managed at last. “Long story, and I really don't want to get into it right now.” She gestured weakly at the money. “Just … please … buy their table some drinks on me, as an apology. I'm leaving. I feel like enough of an asshole already. Need to walk it off – clear my head before the show. I'll see you guys at the theatre.”

She hurried on out of there despite their protests, one hand holding her purse in a death grip, the other pressed to her burning cheek, shielding her face from the other table's curious looks. As she dashed through the hotel lobby and pushed her way past its heavy glass doors, she swore that the Goblin King's dark laughter stalked her out onto the night streets.

No one was more surprised than Sarah herself when she made it into the venue without having a nervous breakdown. Her friends were still concerned – understandably so – about her disappearing act, but Sarah was grateful when they didn't press her too hard for answers. Even Kristen, the undisputed worrier of the group, could see that she was too spooked to be interrogated. She linked a protective arm through Sarah's own as they climbed the wide steps towards the Dress Circle to find their seats.

That funny little case of mistaken identity had shaken her royally, and despite how much she'd been looking forward to it, Sarah just couldn't get back into the mood for the show. She stayed mostly quiet as Tiffany and Kristen tried their best to keep the excited chatter going without her input. Even Robin came out of her quiet shell and really outdid herself on the conversation front. Over and over again, Sarah fought against her brain as it tried to drag her away from what should have been a precious moment with her friends; she didn't want to focus on someone she hardly knew whether to call friend or foe – someone she hardly knew, period.

His face was everywhere within her mind, that cursed name so close to being drawn across her tongue that she could taste it. She was virtually on the edge of her seat, her head flitting from side to side like a bird's as more and more people poured into the auditorium. They sat in front of her and they lurked beside her, behind her, hundreds of pairs of eyes darting along the back of her neck, crawling along her skin, and she probably already looked crazy enough without craning her head around to try to see them all. She realised that her hands were sweating, hot and slippery as they clenched and unclenched around the strap of her purse, drawing the thing higher up her lap until it was digging into her stomach, clutched the same way her lungs were locked tight beneath her ribs and still shrinking-

A swift elbow to her side made her gasp, forcing air back into her chest, and it got her attention back just in time for her to notice the house lights going down. The show was about to start. Sarah flashed Kristen a grateful smile and then directed her eyes towards the stage. She had time to savour a warm surge of gladness that she had friends who would rather be doing this on a Saturday night, rather than looking for the nearest kegger. She was grateful that, no matter what Jareth might do to her, no matter what hell she might have to face for letting him back in, there were rare moments like this – the white space between an open book and its first word; the breathless seconds before you allowed yourself to tumble down into a new and unknown world. Excitement held her on the dark edge of nowhere, embraced her, and then it let her go. Sarah felt herself fall, but it was with a smile on her face. Then, she was lost in the show.

Time ceased to exist as she watched the antics of the performers, sketched out across a gorgeous musical canvas, laid bare under an ever-shifting glow of red and blue lights. They were beautiful in their vivid colours as they manoeuvred their toned bodies for the audience's pleasure. They were mysterious behind their heavy make-up and strange masks, but they were strikingly human beneath all their sewn-on sequins, ribbons and feathers. There was nothing to fear there. Sarah felt like a big kid at her first real, grown-up circus, gasping and clapping along with all the rest as the acrobats leapt and soared, and tumbled safely back down to earth. She glowed with pleasure as she watched the scarlet-clad contortionists twist themselves into impossible positions, their bodies writhing like living flames; she fell slightly in love with the woman who danced in the air without fear, and tied herself up in midnight-blue aerial silks. Sarah clasped her hands between her breasts as if in prayer, and just looked at them. She couldn't keep the goofy grin off her face. She didn't try to. It was all so magical.

Though nothing was said in words – at least none Sarah understood; the singing was all Grammelot – the driving music and the talented artists that moved to it were enough to convey the storyline. Fusion, on its surface, was a melding of fire and ice in the age-old tale of good versus evil, the power of light pitted against the dark. The Demon King who controlled the Netherworld had set loose his wicked little minions, and the noble Archangel who ruled above had made it her duty to protect the Kingdom of Light. Both kingdoms went to war, confounding the audience with their perfectly choreographed battle. The stage descended into complete chaos as the two factions fought, but of course, it was all part of the evil king's plan.

Far away from the noise of the battle, the Demon King had his coal-black heart set upon the beautiful Archangel, and made it his mission to win her love through whatever trickery or temptation he could conjure. He took up his crusade at centre stage, striking in his fiery scarlet costume as the Archangel sat suspended above him, swathed in icy blues. She performed a delicate dance within her silver cerceau as the Demon King did his best to tempt her down with forbidden fruits. His pale hands were a blur as they kept a half-dozen juggling balls in motion high above his head, each one soaring close enough for the angel to snatch it out of the air, if she really wanted to. The balls were a glossy, impenetrable black, devoid of the goodness of any normal fruit, but to Sarah's wide, enchanted eyes, they might as well have been peaches. As much as she wanted to warn the angel never, ever to take that tainted fruit, the small part of her heart that fluttered with dark and unthinkable longing hoped for nothing else. It scared her, just how much she wanted the other woman to succumb.

As it was, the silver hoop began to rise back up towards the ceiling, carrying the Archangel along with it, and the defeated Demon King had no choice but to skulk back into the shadows. Sarah pulled in a shaky breath and heard it catch in her throat even over the thunder of the applauding audience. When she recovered enough to clap her hands together along with all the rest, she found that her fingers were almost numb. Her poor heart felt like it had started to pound out an uptempo samba. The Demon King wasn't even blond, and yet she could clearly picture a certain other monarch in his place – one that might just have given the devil himself a run for his money when it came to forbidden temptation. His fruit was one that, despite knowing better, Sarah was greedy to taste.

Thinking of his temptation caused a now familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach. She knew she shouldn't, couldn't go on thinking about him if she wanted to get through the rest of the night with her sanity still intact, but her mind had already been set on fire. Everything about that substitute king was a painful reminder: the effortless grace and skill of his juggling; the tightness and subtle eroticism of his costume, combined with the outlandish make-up that streaked his face; the potent mix of allure and amazement he aroused with his performance – maybe the closest that simple humans could come to real magic … unless they knew the right otherworldly king to ask.

“Fuck … Jareth,” she breathed.

That forbidden name had barely touched her tongue when the entire stage went dark, and the enthralling music was replaced by a deep and brooding silence.

Oh, fuck, I've done it now.

In the predatory darkness, Sarah was positive that she could hear her heart, with just how hard it began to pound. How stupid she had been before, to think that the Goblin King would hide from her among the audience when now – now – she could feel his regard so clearly. The auditorium began to buzz with confusion and impatience; there was muttering about power outages and technical malfunctions from people who were completely blind to just how badly one of their own had fucked up. Only two souls residing in that building knew the true score, and just how much danger might prowl, hateful and hungry, in that darkness. It made their short and cringeworthy meeting at the restaurant seem downright subtle; Sarah had the distinct feeling that this time, the Goblin King had no issue with making their ongoing disagreement a lot more public.

'Jareth,' Sarah quickly sent. 'Please don't do this. I'll meet you wherever the hell you want, whenever the hell you want. We can talk all night if you want to, only please – please – don't do this here.'

It was one desperate wish that the Goblin King refused to grant her.

Emergency lighting flickered on overhead, and immediately began to hum and sizzle with too much energy; Sarah just had time to register the bewildered faces of her friends before the bulbs started to explode. Scattered shrieks sounded amidst the popping of glass. There was some scuttling at the edges of the stage as artists and crew members alike tried to seize control of the situation, and then an unearthly, glowing mist began to rise up through the stage itself, casting back the blackness and halting everyone in their tracks. The mist stretched out silvery fingers into the audience, most of whom settled back into their seats as they waited for the performance to continue. Only Sarah seemed to realise that the real show, the terrifying one, had just begun. She peered through that glowing fog along with her seatmates, and felt her heart lurch up into her throat when she realised a solitary figure had taken centre stage. When the few spotlights that remained whole flared back to life, they each turned their focus on him.

The lights to his left side were the warm glow of firelight, the ones on his right the deep, inky blue of shadows, and yet the Goblin King was illuminated in pure, brilliant white. His chosen garb that night was simple yet eye-catching, barefoot and bare-chested as he was in only a pair of form-fitting leggings. They winked and glittered with the diamond brightness of a snowfield with even the slightest shift of his legs. The ends of his pale hair were tipped with frost, and minuscule crystals dotted the corners of his eyes and mouth, and glistened at his temples, emphasising the severe lines and cold charm of his face. He was unsmiling, untouchable in his elegance, and good Christ, he was beautiful.

Before Sarah could even think to squeak out a greeting, music spilled from nowhere and everywhere at once, the ambient thrum of a keyboard behind almost otherworldly guitar licks. There was a deep voice – a woman's. Startled, Sarah turned towards it, and saw the Goblin King had roped one of the performers into carrying out whatever evil he had planned, forcing her to sing at his will. One look into that woman's face was enough to see she had no clue what she was doing. Her hands were clasped loosely to her throat as strange sounds of seduction were pulled from her painted lips. With her adoring eyes fixed on the resplendent king who had stolen the show, pure devotion staining every note she sang, she did not seem to be suffering – much. Sarah managed to send only a single, nonsensical sound of protest towards the Goblin King.

Jareth met her eyes. 'I warned you to let me pick the venue for our next meeting,' he sent at her, and though his expression was icy, there was a mischievous flicker of heat about him. 'But as usual, you didn't listen. I tried to make this happen sooner, but you were too stubborn to have it out with me in a place that might have offered us a little more privacy. Well, now that we're both here, let's get on with the show, shall we? I wouldn't want the audience to be disappointed.'

Though there was no dark love in his eyes, he looked up to her in her humble seat as if she were his angel, just as the Demon King had only minutes before. His face was upturned and intense, his naked arms stretched out towards her as though in plea. There was something held within his cupped hands, only Sarah couldn't seem to make out what it was. It could have been something as innocent as another juggling ball, or perhaps a much more tempting slice of forbidden fruit – a new attempt to coax her down into the darkness, where the Demon King had failed. Before Sarah's startled eyes, the object he held burst into golden flame.

To her alarm, Jareth created four more of the fiery orbs, and he began to juggle.

Sarah understood at once that this was not entertainment, but a shameless display of his power. The paid performers had only played at controlling fire and ice, but the Goblin King had to prove his mastery over the elements. Just like within his dreams, he moved to the rhythm that best suited him, for his own purposes rather than for her amusement; her subjugation was his only goal. Even now, he wanted to rule her. As he kept the spheres of fire up in the air, he crossed the stage in slow, steady steps. When the strip of lights that marked the platform's edge should have stopped him, he stepped out onto thin air instead. The air quickly froze beneath his bare foot, forming a solid layer of ice that hung, suspended, several inches away from the stage, with nothing to support it. After that one impossibility, and with the pounding music building to a terrifying crescendo, he just kept on coming.

Every flick of his wrist sent a fresh, blazing orb into the air above him; every footstep conjured a new, icy shelf to bear his weight. The steps he climbed carried him upwards at a sharp incline, directly over the audience in the Stalls, who arched back in their seats and gaped up at him in amazement. The Goblin King ignored those first few rows entirely. The lower balcony of the Dress Circle – Sarah's Dress Circle – was where he was headed. His feet moved with determination, uncaring of the frozen, and no doubt slick surface they crossed. When fire rained down towards his hands, he did not hesitate to catch it, rolling the balls of flame across his bare wrists and forearms to make room in his hands for the next. The fire became a part of him, glowing in his eyes and through the golden strands of his hair, and yet he did not burn; the ice beneath him glittered with its shocking cold, yet not so bright and pure as his skin. He was tundra and inferno both, that power he possessed incredible, ethereal, and it robbed Sarah of what little breath remained in her lungs.

She and the audience could have watched him all night, maybe even forever, but it didn't take long for him to grow bored with the showy display. Once he had reached her balcony, he balanced himself upon it with ease, and he banished the fire and frozen water he had created with the insouciance of a man brushing lint off his jacket. The music came to an abrupt end. Faced with the Goblin King in person, now standing only six or seven rows away from her, Sarah did not feel quite so confident about confronting him as she had back in the hotel bar. Likewise, now that the impossible display of magic was over, the audience had descended into stunned silence, rather than applause. Jareth had made no effort whatsoever to hide what he was from them.

'Stop it!' Sarah threw at him. 'Can't you see? You're confusing them – scaring them.'

Jareth turned a sly smile in her direction. 'Are you sure of that, Sarah? Perhaps you should look again. You seem to be the only one displeased by my presence here.'

He was right; the sneaking shit always seemed to be right. A quick glance around the auditorium was enough to show her that he had the whole audience under his thrall. The people above were virtually hanging over their balcony to see him, and the ones below had their faces craned up in wonder. The people around her were dazed, yes, but they were unafraid. To Sarah's right, she heard a soft, appreciative sigh, and when she looked over at her friends, it was like seeing them hypnotised. Their eyes were shiny, adoring, and fixed solely on their new king. It was unsettling to see how easy it was to fall under his spell, and just how far he was willing to go to prove his strength to her.

'It takes a lot of work to control a crowd of such size,' Jareth sent, as if he had read her mind. 'It is possible though, with the right training, and provided you have the proper reserves for it. Observe.'

The Goblin King raised his hands, and the entire audience, apart from Sarah, rose with him. Sarah almost moaned her dismay. At her side, her friends swayed on their feet like they were drunk, their hands loose and twitching at their sides, their eyes still locked on the cruel creator of their plight. They were his puppets, bowing their heads and bending at the knees to obey even the slightest twitch of his fingers. The Goblin King held no power over her, but the rest of the audience were his to command. It was twisted just to sit back and let him do it, but for a minute, Sarah felt almost as helpless as his victims. He was just so goddamn powerful. She should have expected as much; she had already seen him twist time and gravity to suit his purposes, but she had never taken the time to consider just how much more he must be capable of. If the tiny bursts of magic she had made could one day be even half that powerful …

She quashed those kind of thoughts before they could fully form. There she was, admiring Jareth's skill, while he took advantage of her friends and all the innocent people around them. 'Stop it,' she demanded again, and finally rose to her feet to oppose him.

'Surely you don't want the fun to end just yet, do you, Sarah? We haven't even reached the climax. As impressive as the show has been so far, I think we're missing one last aerial act.'

Grinning, he clapped his hands, and all but two of the audience sank back into their seats with boneless compliance. He turned his back on her, his attention now pointed towards the stage, and Sarah followed his gaze. In the very front row of the Stalls, a man and a woman still stood, swaying as if to music only they could hear. When Jareth shooed them away from their seats, they lurched forwards on shaky legs until they each stood at opposite ends of the stage. They climbed up as Jareth made a brief beckoning gesture at the ceiling.

Down from the rafters, the aerial silks Sarah had found so appealing earlier now slithered like vile blue snakes, ready to ensnare and carry the spontaneous performers up to their fate. Sarah groaned in horror as the man and woman each gripped one. Once they got up in the air, one flick of Jareth's wrist, a single stray, distracting thought, and his puppets would find their strings cut, and there was no safety net to guard them from the inevitable fall.

'I hope I manage to get this right,' Jareth thought at her. 'I imagine it'll get a little tricky to keep them both up in the air if they're not in perfect unison. Still, I think they look resilient enough to survive a short fall, don't you?'

'No!' Sarah sent back at him, then: 'Safe. Please, god, safe,' towards the poor couple. She could hear herself starting to pant with the effort of that thought. Pain bloomed and grew between her eyes, and there was hot, oily sweat at her temples and beneath her arms. It was like she was being squeezed but from the inside, her chest rising and falling in rapid bursts as her lungs swelled and tried to climb their way out of her throat. Fear tried to clamp its cold hands around her body, but she shook it off to reach out to the Goblin King instead. In some wishful place inside her mind, she already had her fingers wrapped around his pale throat. 'This ends now, Jareth. Let them go. Let them all go right now, and go back to where the hell you came from.'

Jareth levelled his gaze at her. 'I don't think so, Sarah. I don't think that's necessary. Look closer.'

Sarah cast another panicked look at first the man, and then the woman on stage. Their hands were still wrapped around the silks, but they had not begun to climb, and the silks had not yet started to rise. For the time being, they were safe. Even so, Sarah could see their bodies trembling with the urge to go on. It was only a matter of time. 'Stop them,' she pleaded. 'Please, Jareth, you have to stop them!'

“No.” For the first time that evening, Jareth spoke out loud. “Look again, Sarah, and tell me what you see. Look beyond them, and see what controls them. Focus.”

She shook her head. “What-”

“Focus, damn you!”

At his command, that strange, squeezing thing inside her gave another fierce surge. “All right, all right!” Pain screamed behind her eyes, drilling deep into her sinuses and echoing around her skull, but she squinted and forced herself to look at the couple. She strained to see past the glassy eyes and gaping mouths, past even her own anger and fear, and at last, she saw. The man and woman were both enveloped, head to toe, in a strong, silver light. It seemed to glow from each thin strand of their hair, radiating from every last pore – a clear sign of the magic that possessed them. That heavy layer of silver could belong only to the Goblin King, and yet on its surface, only if she squinted, Sarah saw the faintest glimmer of gold. She gasped, her jaw becoming unhinged. “I … I … is that …?”

“It's yours,” Jareth said. His voice still carried across the distance between them, but it had lost its edge. If Sarah wasn't mistaken, he sounded almost relieved. “Your power, Sarah. Your protection over them. It's weak right now, but it's there. You can let them go now. I'm not going to hurt them – I give you my word.”

Trembling, Sarah shook her head again. The force within her chest trembled with her, and for a minute her vision seemed to blur. She blinked and struggled on, swaying on her feet now. “Y-you need to leave them alone,” she said, and her voice was thick with unshed tears. “All of them. I need your word that they'll all be safe.”

Jareth offered her a small smile. “Sarah,” he said, gentler still. His eyes held hers. “Look around you. Look what you're doing for them.”

Her head ached more than ever, but she did as he told her. She turned to her friends, her row, and then the auditorium as a whole. Her eyes swam with water, but there was no questioning what she saw. Every member of the audience was bathed in their own bright shell of silver light, all under Jareth's command, and yet faintly, so faintly, their edges gleamed with gold. The swelling power inside her let go at roughly the same time as her knees did, and Sarah slumped back into her seat with her hands clasped to her mouth. “Oh, god – oh, my god.” The worst of her headache began to fade away, and at last she felt the warm spill of tears on her cheeks. It was just too much. “I … I don't know what's happening to me,” she whimpered.

Soft footsteps approached. When Sarah glanced up, Jareth stood above her, balanced upon the back of the next row of seats. “You overexerted yourself, that's all, love. May I?” At her weak nod, he bent down to her. He cupped her face in both hands, and Sarah moaned at the sweetness that washed over her. His fingers were gentle, his palms warm, but not even the most tender touch could explain the way her whole body gave to him, the rest of her pain spilling away with her tears. She squeezed her eyes shut, but her sobs were of relief.

“You can do so, so much,” he whispered down to her. “I think tonight more than proves that, but you need time. Right from the start, you've been trying to run before you've learned to walk, and that never ends well. You need to be taught how to control this, if that's what you decide you want, but there are several options here. I need to know what it is that you need, just as much as you do. We need to discuss this properly; all games and overblown gestures aside, it's been a long time coming. Will you agree to meet with me now?”

Sarah blinked her groggy eyes open. “Now?”

Jareth smiled at her as he finally let her go. “Not now, but tomorrow. You need to rest up tonight. Tell your friends you've taken ill, and get them to escort you home. I could do that for you, but I imagine there'll be questions you don't wish to answer if you just disappear. You can call on me tomorrow whenever you're ready.”

Silently, Sarah nodded. She watched as Jareth picked his way back to the end of the row, bare feet dodging heads and shoulders with a grace that matched any of the performers she had seen that night. Only when he dropped down into the aisle, did he look back at her.

“Sarah? It must be tomorrow. I refuse to wait any longer. You've overindulged, and I know from personal experience how terrible that feels. Because of that, I'm willing to work with you as much as I can, but don't mistake compassion for lenience. I may not hold the power to reach you directly unless you reach out first, but if I haven't heard from you by midnight tomorrow, I will come looking for you. I'll come Above and hunt you wherever you decide to hide from me, and this time I won't be in disguise, nor will I make any attempt to alter the memories of those around you to excuse my presence. Is that clear?”

She offered him a weak smile. “My very own Prince Charming, coming bravely to stalk me,” she slurred. “Just what every modern woman needs.” She raised a mollifying hand at him before he could retort. “Okay, okay, I get it. I feel like crap right now, but I get it. I won't keep you waiting that long. Tomorrow … tomorrow, we talk.”

Chapter Text

Jareth awoke from the most satisfying sleep he'd had in weeks, a full hour or two later than was his habit, judging by the bright sunlight that filled his window. His rest had been deep and dreamless – a much-needed recharge after the exertions of the evening before. He eased out of bed and, gingerly at first, submitted himself to a series of slow stretches. The exercises would suffice to ease the kinks out of his body, and to bring balance back to his magical core. A sorry little smile pulled at his lips as he discovered a sharp twinge in his lower back, and he began to rub at the sore spot. If he could feel the ache of overexertion so strongly, then Sarah must have been suffering from the magical hangover from hell. He'd overdone it himself in the past, particularly in his arrogant youth, and he didn't envy poor Sarah her misery that day. Still, he thought it was a necessary evil he'd inflicted on her. Finally, he had managed to get through to her, and for better or for worse, she had agreed to meet with him. At long last, she would learn what it was they were dealing with.

After a heavy breakfast, eagerly received by his bellowing stomach, the remainder of the morning passed slowly. Cursed with the time to twiddle his thumbs and ponder, he could only guess how she would react to his news. He wasn't entirely sure he'd fully detangled his own thoughts on their predicament, and the future still remained uncertain. Considering the enormity of the decision Sarah would one day have to come to, the sacrifices she would have to make and their consequences, a few measly months were nowhere near enough to have come at the problem from every angle. There were weighty decisions to be made, and he hoped that Sarah would be strong enough to shoulder the pressure. Jareth thought she would. She wasn't the type to back down without a fight. They were each as stubborn as the other, and unfortunately, that would soon lead to its own problems. At present, they hardly seemed able to spend a few minutes in one another's company without squabbling. The gods only knew where a few years might take them.

The Goblin King allowed himself a smirk. He had his own ideas of where he wanted to move their budding relationship: his bedchamber, for starters. All of the hostility between them, the scowling looks and endless bickering, was building to something momentous and explosive. He could see it in her eyes; the longing that darkened her every stare and the lust that simmered just beneath her temper. She was only one little push away from unleashing it, whether that meant fucking him, or simply slapping him across the face. If he provoked her that day, Jareth fancied his chances at perhaps fifty-fifty.

It would be hard to hold his own desires in check that day, particularly since simply being in her presence temped him to misbehave. He loved making her blush, and it was probably a little shameful just how much her insults to his royal person seemed to turn him on. More than once, his mind raced ahead to the days when she would be stronger and more proficient. It was easy to picture her in the throes of deep magic, that dark hair of hers made all the richer by her new power, her pale skin all the more radiant with that previously untapped strength. He had to remind himself over and over: that day she would be his to inform and to teach – not to take. One of them would have to remain strong, at least for the time being, and it irked the Goblin King to realise that, in his position of greater power, it would have to be him. Pleasure, no matter how achingly sweet, would simply have to wait.

Intimacy between them might have been inevitable in the long run, but the two of them might have managed to tear one another's heads off long before it came to picking out curtains, or other potential domestic matters. Jareth grinned at the thought. From what he'd witnessed, the woman who once beat his labyrinth did have a way of making conflict entertaining, but it would be a shame for her to miss out on something more than simply trading insults – particularly when there were far more interesting ways to pierce her with his tongue.

He wondered, and not for the first time, just how long it might take for the novelty to wear off for both of them.

It was just past midday when he first felt her, timid and exhausted, at the edge of his thoughts. 'I'm ready,' she sent to him.

Jareth frowned and marked his place in the book he was reading. 'Are you sure? You don't sound it. Have you rested at all? Eaten?'

After a lengthy pause: 'Sort of. And … no.' A weak laugh followed. 'I didn't sleep well, and food didn't seem like a risk my stomach wanted to take today. Besides, no one ate much at breakfast anyway, when they saw how out of it I still was. When I managed to convince Kristen – my friend – that we didn't need to detour to the E.R, I think we broke all of the speed limits driving home.' Her voice grew softer, less sturdy with every word. 'I … I'm still pretty tired, I guess – sore all over, like I'm getting the flu or something – but I finally convinced them to leave me alone.'

'Alone?' Jareth set his book down in his lap and raised an eyebrow.

'Yeah. We weren't meant to be back until later today, so I guess my family decided to go out without me. It's just me here, for now. Sitting. Feeling sorry for myself. And talking like this hurts. So … come on, let's do this before I pass out or something.'

Jareth stifled a snort. Even if the stubborn thing did keel over, she would no doubt drag herself up again, and it reminded him a little of himself. Had it really been so long ago that he had suffered his first magical hangover?

'Eat,' he told her. 'Something warm and hearty, and drink plenty of clear liquids.' He couldn't keep the smile from his face when he heard her groan.

'Oh, god, don't be concerned about me. I don't think I can handle the Goblin King worrying about my nutritional needs right now. I feel like my head's about to fall out of my ass – or my ass out of my head. I … I don't really know which way is up right now.'

He chuckled a little. 'Relax, precious. I simply want you well and alert enough to avoid having to explain everything twice while you sit there goggling at me. As I said, try to eat something. Nap a little, if you can. You shouldn't exert yourself until you have at least some of your energy back.'

'But-'

'Sarah. Your magic is untrained, you pushed yourself too hard last night, and now you're trying to run again before you can walk. Call on me again in … shall we say six hours? I promise you'll feel better for it.'

'Seriously? I thought you wanted to talk about … ugh, you know what? I'm too drained to argue. You're hard enough to speak to even when I don't feel like I've been hit by a steamroller. I'll see you later.'

The Goblin King chuckled as he found his page again. It was certain to be an interesting evening.

He went to great effort to set the scene, ordering his war room to be swept and mopped until its stone floors glinted in the day's last strains of sunlight. The great oaken table was polished to a high sheen, and the grand wall tapestry displaying the royal sigil had been beaten to within an inch of its life, so that not a speck of dust remained. As a finishing touch, Jareth swept a hand before him, and at once, the few torches that lined the walls flared to life. Their golden glow pushed back some of the growing gloom, but left the corners of the room steeped in shadows – a tactic he had taken to using to keep the more disagreeable dignitaries on edge when they came to visit.

Jareth considered the slightly ominous scene before him. Given the fact that he'd spent the evening prior chewing the scenery with shameless delight, it was probably best to keep theatrics to a minimum that night. Another gesture of his hand set the torches burning brighter, and he beckoned the walls around him in a little closer, halving the room's imposing size. The massive table came next, shrunk to better suit the new dimensions, but not so much as to make the room too cosy. Though he wanted her on his side, he still wished his guest to be kept on her toes.

Last came the seating arrangements; Jareth felt the sting to his pride as the high-backed throne that usually served to set him above the rest of his guests became just another plain wooden chair, simple yet sturdy. Those chairs had been chosen centuries ago by his mother, who had always said that a discussion of war and peace should never be a comfortable one. It was still said that the former Goblin Queen did not consider a meeting to be a real success unless she had sent her opponent away with not a word left in argument, and a bruised backside in the bargain. Jareth did not intend to leave Sarah in quite the same level of discomfort. Hers was far too lovely a bottom to be abused, at least not without consent and the proper mood set. Besides, on that day, his arse was sure to be left as sore as hers.

It occurred to him then just how long it had been since he had last sat down with another guest as equals. Somehow, he didn't think Sarah would be appreciative of the great honour he offered her that day. Once recovered, she would be back on her guard, suspicious of even the smallest kindness. It didn't bode well for the thin hope he still held of ending their evening on much sweeter terms. Considering the gravity of what he was about to offer her, it was probably for the best.

In the end, it was closer to eight hours when Sarah came to call on him again, but she sounded better, stronger for the added rest. Even with the physical distance between them, he could feel her resolve. When asked, she expressed no concerns about meeting at the castle. Right away, she would be put at a distinct disadvantage, away from her own world. She had to understand that, and yet she accepted it; already, she believed enough in him, and in her own strength, to know that she would not be harmed, nor taken advantage of. However much she had tried his patience in the past, Jareth had to admire her for that. She reached out to him with her mind, and once more, he drew her into his domain.

Like any good strategist, he began to size up his opponent from the moment she entered the room. Her long hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, as if in preparation for battle, but the plain white blouse and black pencil skirt she wore cried business. Clearly, he wasn't the only one prepared for the inevitable negotiations. Her sensible heels tapped against the stone floor as she approached. Though his first instinct was to cast an appreciative eye over her legs, he found he was proud of her for the outward confidence of her stride, and the cool look of indifference she had fixed across her face. She had done everything within her power that day to appear ready, and yet there was obvious disquiet in the rapid blink of her eyes and the thin, pale line of her mouth. Her exhaustion showed clearly in the pallor of her cheeks, and in the bluish-grey half-moons beneath each eye. In her distracted state, she had skipped over at least two buttons at the bottom of her blouse. Jareth was careful to give no outward sign as he fixed the small oversight. Even so, he was positive he saw her falter in her stride for only the barest moment as his magic washed over her. Such perception made him long to smile, but he remained stoic.

He gestured at the chair opposite his. “Please, take a seat. Would you care for anything to drink? A serious offer this time.”

Sarah slid into her designated seat willingly enough, but the look she shot him was far from that of a gracious guest. “If you were me, and you were sitting here right now, would you take even a sip of water in this place?”

In spite of himself, the Goblin King grinned. “A fair point. I can assure you, I've no intention of offering you anything I wouldn't hesitate to imbibe myself, but I won't be offended if you choose not to believe that.”

He kept his eyes on hers as, with careful strokes of his finger, he sketched a tall fountain glass into existence upon the tabletop, and then filled it to the brim with chocolate milkshake. After adding a long straw, Jareth leaned in to indulge his sweet tooth with one eyebrow raised at his guest, daring her to speak up. The thick, creamy chocolate rolled over his tongue, but it wasn't half so sweet as the look of barely concealed fury that crossed Sarah's face, before she tried so very hard to hide it. He took his time in licking his lips clean before folding his hands behind his glass.

“So,” he began. “I'd like to thank you for joining me today, and … I'd also like to apologise.” It was almost worth it for the way she rocked back in her seat. He had to bite back a chuckle as she gripped the edge of the table and fixed him with a protracted, unblinking stare.

“I'm sorry, for a minute there it sounded like you wanted to apologise.”

Jareth rolled his eyes and plucked at his straw. Already, he could see just how hard it was going to be to hold his tongue. “Don't be pert, Sarah; I'm trying to be sincere.”

“I guess that'd be a first for you, wouldn't it? Well, apologise all you want, but you're going to have to be a lot more specific about what you're apologising for, after all the shit you've pulled in the past.”

“You're never one to make things easy, are you?”

“Oh, that's real rich coming from you. When was the last time you tried to make things easy for me?”

“Would you like to hear my apology or not? It might be the only one you ever get.”

Sarah huffed and sat back in her chair, flapping an impatient hand at him to continue. It was hardly the simpering, doe-eyed submission he sometimes dreamed of, but it was a start. Jareth supposed that, given their history, he was lucky to have even that small concession. He took another sip of his milkshake and then began anew.

“I would like to apologise for what happened last night. Everything in the past – the silly games at the park, the restaurant, the general taunting – all of those things were trivial. I won't apologise for toying with you, the same way you tried to toy with me. However, last night … the humans I manipulated at the theatre … that's the last petty display of power I'll put on that involves others. Despite what you may think of me, I'm not normally a fan of such obscene puppetry.”

Her arms had returned to their tightly-folded position, and her face retained that tense, pinched look, but there was the slightest softening of her eyes. She had at least chosen to listen to him. Jareth went on.

“This once, it served its purpose, as I wanted your attention – I needed you to understand what it is we're facing. I could have waited and hoped for the next time you'd call on me, but I'm not a patient man. You gave me an opening, and I chose to take action and make my point – something you couldn't simply brush off. If, after this, you choose to cut off contact with me again, I won't go to such drastic means to pursue you. Whatever sort of man you think I am, whatever cruelties you believe me to be capable of, I am sorry for using them to get through to you … and as I can't apologise to them, I have to say as much to you. Magic of such strength should never be taken lightly, and … I'm sorry. Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. You can choose to accept that or not, but my apology still stands. It won't happen again. On this, you have my word.”

Once the weight of those words were finally off his chest, he fell silent, watching as his guest absorbed them. It went against his nature to wait in discomfort for her response, and so he turned back to his drink to occupy his tongue. His ears pricked as, at long last, Sarah let out a sigh.

“All right. Apology accepted.” Her chin quivered, and her lips pulled taut, but the words continued to come, as reluctant as she so obviously was to say them. “It's … it's decent of you to take the blame for it, instead of just writing it off as another day in the life of the great Goblin King. Seriously, I mean that. I really don't like the idea of you using people as your toys like you did then. It's-” She cleared her throat and let her eyes wander from his. “As stupid as it sounds to say this when you have no problem whatsoever tormenting me, I think something like that is … well, it's beneath you. I think … ah, Christ … I think you're better than that. Hey, look at that, I guess I don't think you're the absolute worst person in the world after all.”

The very idea seemed to unsettle her; she placed her hands on the table before her and seemed to search the back of each palm for answers, refusing to return his stare. Jareth sipped at his drink and said nothing. He proceeded to polish off most of the sugary treat as his now uneasy guest fidgeted in her seat, making every effort not to look him in the eye. There was great satisfaction in letting her stew in the silence this time, and yet even as he savoured her disquiet, there was equal enjoyment in simply having her to behold. As his gaze dropped to her lips, he found himself wondering again at that undeniable physical attraction between them, and just how much it was going to fuck things up.

At last, her piercing green eyes found his. “Okay, so … you said we were going to talk about my powers. How did I get them, and what am I supposed to do with them?”

Jareth allowed himself a smile. As always, her impatience to move on would play to his advantage. She had no choice but to seek out his knowledge. “I'm glad you asked. However, to give you the answers you seek, we have to delve a little further back into history.” He watched his guest carefully as he summoned a certain little red book into his hands. The pad of his thumb lingered upon the book's spine, tracing the author's name that was etched out in gold beside the title. He knew it was a different one to the woman he had once met – different to the one whose face still haunted his thoughts from time to time – and yet still he felt his stomach give that old, familiar lurch. Even now, she refused to be laid to rest. He tossed the book over to Sarah's side of the table for her inspection, noting the way her fingers instinctively stretched out towards it before they curled back into her palms.

“I've already read that thing cover to cover, more times than I can remember,” she said, and yet her gaze lingered on the familiar book. “I still remember all the words.”

“So I recall. You once used the words within it to defeat me, but it was the same book that you used to summon me in the first place. Just an ordinary storybook for an ordinary girl … but not for you. No, you believed in what you read, didn't you? You gave it the power it needed.”

Confusion creased her brow. “I gave it …? I don't-”

“You will, love. You will.” Jareth grimaced down at his glass. The milkshake had served its purpose treat and to tease, but now it coated his throat and sat uneasily in his stomach, making him feel parched. He settled for sucking at the dregs at the bottom of his glass, before pushing the thing aside entirely. He hoped that last hint of sweetness would be enough to dull the bitter tale that was to come. “It's story time again, dear Sarah, and I'm afraid it's not an entirely pleasant one. Will you allow me to tell how The Labyrinth came about in the first place?”

At his guest's wary nod, he began.

“The Underground is a place far beyond your mortal world and all its dreams, but once upon a time it used to be far closer to your realm – long before your time, and long before mine. Before science and logic overcame all, it was accepted that there was magic in the land, just as much as there was air and water. Before that belief began to fade, and before the drawing apart of our realms, there was talk and trade between us. For a trifle such as a kiss, or a skein of wool, or a shiny new coin, your ancestors could buy themselves a tiny piece of magic: a lucky talisman, or perhaps a simple curative potion. Of course, there were those on both sides who let their greed spoil it for the rest. There were tales told of poor elven children who knew no better, coaxed Above by promises of sweets and toys, only to be enslaved, trapped in shackles of iron by their human masters. Foolish human babes heard our music and followed it into the woods, never to be seen or heard from again. Distrust grew between us, and the stories humans told of the fair folk twisted and grew darker. Eventually, most chose not to speak of us at all.”

“The two worlds forced themselves apart, and yet there remained some ancient lines who, even to this day, choose to remember that long ago time of fellowship we once shared. They are the ones who still recite the old tales and keep our legends alive, and their belief keeps us strong. It was one of those noble few who once called on me to demand a favour – an impossibility. She asked me to take her child.”

He rubbed his fingers across his mouth as he pondered how to go on. It had been many years since he had spoken of that time to anyone; he hadn't expected it to be quite so difficult. Still, he ploughed on, staring past his guest and turning his focus to the bare wall behind her head. He did not wish to see his own disgust reflected in her eyes.

“It was a simple enough request, on its surface. I had been king for some years by then, and though a wished-away child is never an everyday occurrence, I had already witnessed several, by that point. A needy human would offer up their most treasured possession – namely, their first born – to use as barter, in order to challenge me to a game of wits and skill. The ritual was always the same. Once the right words had been uttered, my goblins would acquire the babe, while I prepared myself to greet the one who had made the wish. Only … only on that occasion, something went wrong.”

He closed his eyes only briefly, and yet the tragic events of that long-ago day still flashed behind them. “The goblins returned to me in a panic, empty-handed and babbling nonsense. In the arrogance of my youth, I was too impatient for the deal to be done, and too annoyed by their incompetence to listen to their prattling. I travelled Above, deaf to their excuses. I had no other thoughts than to put right the hash they'd made of things and to make a new deal, but …”

Jareth cleared his throat and went on. “The child who had been wished to me was dead – had been dead for some time, by the looks of her. There was not even a trace of warmth left in her tiny hand. She was … very young.” In his peripheral vision, he saw Sarah cover her mouth with both hands, and he flinched away from her dismay. “To this day, I'm not certain if the young maiden who wished her away was the babe's sister or her mother. Her grief had aged her, of that there was no doubt, but I saw an impossible youth in her eyes. There was hope there, and when she turned it on me, I knew without question what she expected of me – what she believed I was capable of.”

A deep sigh rolled up from within his chest, and he let it out slowly, leaning his elbows upon the table. He folded his hands and rested his chin atop them. “We cannot create life where it does not dwell already. We can heal, and we can preserve life even when it seems close to its end, but we cannot forge it from what is already dead. It takes far less energy for us to destroy than it does to create, and even at our most powerful, there are still heights we cannot reach. For us, death is final. I tried to explain that as gently as I could, but it was no use.”

From across the table, there came a soft sound. “Jareth …”

“Please, allow me to finish. The young woman could not understand. Her name was Trea, and the child who had died in her arms was all she had. She screeched and she wept, and she pounded at me with her fists, and when she no longer had the strength to do so, she simply sank down onto the dirt floor of her small home, and held the child against her breast. She wouldn't move, and she stopped responding to my words. All she could do was stare down at the one she had lost, and stroke her cold cheek.”

Guilt prickled along his spine, and he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “I'll admit I lost my patience with her. She had grieved far past the point of sense, and there simply was no reasoning with her. I pitied her, but I was also sickened by the way she still clung to that corpse, refusing to let that little girl go, singing soothing songs and rocking a child who would never hear or feel it. I reached down and I took the child against her protests, and I carried her out into the village even as Trea screamed and swung her fists, and tried her damndest to claw out my eyes. I handed her over to the first person I saw, in the hope that they would bury her properly. Trea hardly noticed; by then, her quarrel was with me.”

“She called me child-stealer and murderer, and she vowed that one day there would be a woman who had lost everything, just like her, with powers enough to slay me where I stood. She did not have the ability to curse me, at least not in the ways of magic, but as you know, words still hold power – particularly those spoken in such passion. She made certain that everyone in her village heard her promise, that I would be found, no matter where I tried to hide, and I would be defeated. The story of the Goblin King and the one who would end him was passed down and down through the generations. It morphed over the years, as folk tales and legends are wont to do, with me always painted as the villain. I was a stealer of children, no better than those who took innocent babes from their beds in the night. As time passed, I went from a legend – something parents would warn their children of whenever they misbehaved – to nothing more than a harmless character in a story.”

He reached across the table to tap at The Labyrinth's cover. “Eventually, as tends to happen with most silly fairytales, someone thought to write it all down for another generation of children – but not without glossing over all of the grisly details, of course.”

After only a moment's hesitation, Sarah covered his hand with hers. She took him wholly by surprise, forcing him to look to her face again. He found the warmth of understanding there, as well as a certain pity that clawed at his pride, urging his body into rebellion. He didn't want her pity, and yet … the subtle pressure of her fingers as they curled around his was one he couldn't help but savour.

“You know that it wasn't your fault, right? You know there was nothing else you could have done for her?”

Those soulful eyes of hers dipped down, and they widened when she saw their joined hands. Jareth knew then that she hadn't set out to touch him. The gesture had been an instinctual one, born of that puzzling need to protect others that she possessed. In that moment, he appeared weak to her, open and vulnerable enough to be one of those damnable others.

“I know,” he said, gruffer than intended, and slipped his hand from beneath hers. “But as you know, I have a way of moulding even the most unfortunate situations to my advantage. The more people that remember and believe in me, the stronger I become, and sometimes fear can be the strongest reminder of all. If someone believes I hold a certain power, then you can be certain I'll reach out and take it. Before, whenever a child was wished away, it would be up to the wisher to try to trick me out of whatever they asked of me. When the people began to fear me, however, it made it far easier to manipulate them. They trembled in the face of my power and, as you well know, I was frightening whenever I was called upon, and the challenges I laid down were dangerous. I was guaranteed to emerge victorious … at least until you came along.”

The memory of his defeat brought heat to his face, and despite his need to remain calm, he found himself scowling down at that cursed book. “No mere mortal could ever call themselves my match, until one insufferable teenage girl with a vivid imagination and a head full of dreams turned the pages of a fairytale. She believed in every word that she read, and in doing so, she granted those words power. Her will truly was as strong as the king's, because there was no doubt in her mind, and nothing to tell her that it could not be so. And when she declared her kingdom to be as great as his, and meant every last word …” His narrowed eyes met Sarah's shocked stare. “Well, what kingdom could be more of a match than my own? What tools better to run that kingdom than the power which I myself hold? Like it or not, Sarah, you made yourself my equal, with all the clout to back it up. You gave yourself the power of magic – my magic, to be precise – and I would strongly suggest that you learn to harness that power properly, before you discover just how dangerous it can be.”

Sarah shook her head. “No. That's bullshit – I never asked for that.”

Jareth heaved a sigh and made a point of studying the nails of his right hand. “Sarah always knows best, but hmm … let me see. Yes, 'will as strong' … 'kingdom as great' …” A twist of that hand brought the relevant visual to his fingertips: a crystal in which his defeat at her hands played out inside, over and over again. He held the glowing orb out for her appraisal with a sneer. “I believe you'll find that you did, love. It's exactly what you asked for.”

Both of her hands came down hard upon the table. “I didn't know – how could I? Jesus, Jareth, I was a teenager, lost in some weird fantasy world, relying on some old fairy story I read. I never thought it could lead to something like this!”

“And I never thought you'd be this much trouble. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, don't you think?”

When Sarah next spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “Didn't it occur to you to maybe try a little harder to beat me then? Maybe, I don't know, to use one of the fancy tricks you've shown me lately? If you'd dragged teenage me into your bathroom while you were bare-ass naked, I probably would have been too busy blushing to remember I even had a brother.”

Jareth cocked an eyebrow. “Let's not forget that you were the one who first started this business of peeking, sweet Sarah. You and your little exploits into my dreams.” His expression hardened. “Besides, at the time, that was my best effort.”

The aggravating woman scoffed – actually dared to scoff at him. “Don't lie to me. You showed me what you were really capable of last night, and that wasn't even you at your full strength. What you did back then was nothing, in comparison. Don't try to blame me just because you're a sore loser who was phoning it in that day.”

“Phoning it-” Jareth almost choked on the words. “I can assure you, I did nothing of the sort, but perhaps you were too much of an ungrateful, self-absorbed brat at the time to realise it. Judging from your current attitude, I can see not much has changed.”

He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. Yes, the woman had a way of riling him, but he prided himself on his self-control. He could feel himself losing hold of his temper, and he closed his eyes and drew in breath in an attempt to steady himself. A great sigh escaped him as he heard his guest's chair screech back from the table, and his eyes rolled open. She was already on her feet, glaring down at him.

“Sarah, do sit down.”

“Fuck yourself.”

“Perhaps later. We aren't finished here.”

“As far as I'm concerned, we are. Enjoy your little pity party, and next time don't bother to invite me.”

His hands coiled into fists upon the tabletop, and he had to force them back open. “Sarah, I am asking you nicely to sit down.”

“No, Jareth, I'm not going to sit down, not until you-”

With a roll of his eyes and a twitch of his fingers, he beckoned her chair closer, just enough to nudge at the backs of her knees. The movement knocked her off balance, and Sarah sank back down into her seat with a muted squawk. Without missing a beat, Jareth clasped his hands and leaned forward to address her.

“Good girl. Now-”

“Oh, so that's how we're doing things now?” Seething, Sarah regained her feet, this time shoving the chair aside. “Every time you think I step out of line, you knock me on my ass, just like back in the ballroom?”

Jareth shrugged. “I find it preferable to running away, ignoring messages, and avoiding any challenge you might encounter. Such measures wouldn't be necessary if you weren't so stubborn in the first place.”

“I really hope you're not trying to blame this whole thing on me, because right now that sounds a hell of a lot like what you're doing.”

The Goblin King took a moment to consider. All it would take to defuse the situation was another apology. Two simple words, whether truly meant or not this time, would go a long way towards getting their discussion back on track. He pondered over those words, but he was already far too weary of trying to play the accommodating host that day. He sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, the point of his chin cradled in one hand. “If the wish fits, love. Perhaps you should have been more careful in making it. Might I suggest that in future, no matter how many interesting books you might read, you don't put all of your hopes on one? You never know what dangers might lurk within the pages.”

Sarah's eyes popped wide and she brought both her hands up to her cheeks in a mockery of fear. “Oh no, not danger,” she scoffed. “I think you're forgetting all the shit you've already put me through-”

“At. Your. Request.” Already discovering himself at the edge of his patience, Jareth made an effort to lower his voice. “I grow tired of having to remind you of that. You expected a cruel king, expected dangers untold, and I gave you all that was within my power.”

“And yet your powers still weren't enough to beat a teenage girl.” She fixed him with a cold stare, eyebrows raised in challenge. “Why do you think that is, Goblin King?”

Jareth repressed a growl. “Because, as I have already explained, your powers are equal to mine. You were only a fledgeling when you came to me, but you had already given yourself the tools needed to defeat me. At the time, I didn't understand. I simply threw everything I had at my disposal at you, and still you kept coming. Even in the most trying moments of your journey, you had it fixed in your mind that you would emerge victorious, just like in the story you so loved. Words hold much power in my realm, and when you finally said yours at the end, it bound us both. It didn't even occur to me that day to try to hurt you, or even to kill you. I couldn't touch you. Even back then, even though I didn't know it, I could never have won.” His frustration only grew in the new silence as he watched her turn the information over in her mind.

“I was only as powerful as you believed me to be, and at the time, it didn't even occur to me to question why. My powers were only as great as what you understood them to be, and as a teenage girl, you could only comprehend so much. I gave you all I had, everything within that newly limited power of mine, and didn't even think to question what had become of the rest of my strength. Do you understand? It never occurred to me that, before you came along, I could do more. Neither of us knew it that day, but I was never meant to beat you. Against someone who truly believed they could defeat me, and who had the strength and tenacity to back it up, I don't think I ever stood a chance. It really wasn't fair, Sarah – but not in the way you thought.”

Sarah looked almost deflated as she dragged her chair back under her, sitting down with a soft thump. When she gripped the table's edge, it was clear she needed the support. “So … your power … your kingdom-”

“-are also yours.” From the thin comfort of his hard chair, he offered her an exaggerated attempt at a bow. “I suppose I should say 'you're welcome', but as the gifts were entirely unintended, I'm sure you'll forgive me if I refrain. I should have realised it the moment you left my realm and yet still retained the power to remain in contact with my subjects, but I had other messes to deal with at the time. If you hadn't chosen to call upon me that … embarrassing afternoon, we might both still be none the wiser.”

His stunned guest seemed too preoccupied with her own thoughts to hear him as she muttered to herself. “I don't even know what to do with it all. I mean, Jesus, I'm still in college. I don't even know if I want a kingdom. I don't even have a house yet. How am I supposed to-?”

“There is another choice.”

As Sarah looked on with dazed eyes, Jareth began to turn The Labyrinth's pages, until he had reached the end of the book. Once he had nothing but blank white space before him, he pushed the book back towards Sarah's hands.

“You can write another ending. You seized that magic from me, and only you have the power to give it back. Give the heroine a different ending. The Goblin King doesn't have to win, but the girl cannot take his power. Write it, mean it, and if you can make yourself believe it, you can go back to the life you once knew. No more kingdom. No more magic.” His lips twitched at the corners. “No more me.” It might have been wishful thinking on his part, but he was sure he saw her eyes widen further with that last little titbit.

“So … I'd have nothing? I wouldn't even be able to call y-” Sarah scratched at her head. “You mean I wouldn't be able to call on my friends?”

Jareth shook his head. “No. You would finally be, despite all evidence to the contrary, an ordinary woman.”

“But if I want to keep my magic, I'd have to somehow rule over an entire kingdom with … with you?”

“I'm not planning on proposing if that's what concerns you, and it would require many difficult years of proper training, but for all intents and purposes, you would be queen. That would be another option, yes.”

“So there's a third option?”

A soft sigh managed to slip out. “Yes, but I wouldn't advise it. You can simply choose to accept your life as it is now, complete with never knowing what it's like to reach your full potential, searing headaches every time you choose to use your powers, unintentional appearances within my dreams, and the ability to get on one another's nerves indefinitely.” He saw the way her lips curled at that last, and shot her a hard stare. “Not recommended, love, as I won't hesitate to make the most of it, too.”

Sarah groaned. “So basically, if I want to keep my magic and not be driven crazy, I have no choice but to agree to train with you?”

“Considering I didn't have a say in you sharing my powers in the first place, I'd say that's quite reasonable, wouldn't you?” Jareth smirked. “No, of course not. Nothing is ever fair in your eyes.”

The sound that came from Sarah's side of the table was near enough a growl. “There wouldn't happen to be a fourth option, would there?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“I figured as much.”

“You figured correctly.”

His guest dipped her head into her hands, and another groan emerged. “I really don't want to have to train with you.”

The woman acted like she would be the only one inconvenienced by such a mentorship, and all the time it would take out of his busy schedule. Irritation reared its head, and Jareth nudged the edge of the book against her elbows. “Then by all means, Sarah, take the first option. Depending on how quickly you write, I could have you out of my hair by the end of the week.”

“Yeah, you'd just love that, wouldn't you?”

“Unless you particularly enjoy looking a fool in public, I think you'd also find it advantageous to move quickly. If you don't, well … who's to say what other unfortunate mistakes you might make in the meantime?”

Her hands fell away from her face so quickly that Jareth started in his chair. All at once, those cold green eyes were locked on his, and they only grew darker.

“Were you at the hotel bar last night? Did you show up and then disappear again, just to fuck with me?” The abrupt change of subject threw him only slightly off-kilter, and the delay in his reply was long enough for her to notice. “Damn it, Jareth, yes or no?”

He couldn't resist a tiny smirk. “No, I wasn't technically there, but … I may have gifted you with a faint vision of me, just to stir things up. Let's call it … hmm.” He bit at the ball of his thumb as he considered. A mischievous smile curled around it. “It was a subtle reminder to put myself more firmly in your mind, allowing me to eventually appear to you in person. Think of it as just a little tap of the crop, as a gentle master might give to coax on a stubborn mare.”

Just as he had anticipated, her cool expression turned fiery. “I am not your fucking horse, and I am not just some toy you can manipulate whenever you see fit.”

There were a hundred different ways he would have liked to manipulate her right then, most pressing of which being the urge to manoeuvre her over the very table they sat at. He could already imagine her flat out on her belly, breasts pressed down into the wood and that delectable rear of hers raised up in submission. Somehow, he didn't think that, at that moment in time, she would be agreeable to the idea. Still, it was good to see that angry fire in her eyes; gone entirely was that air of pity he had found so repulsive. That fire burned only for him as she rose to her feet again.

“Where do you think you're going?” he demanded.

“Not that it's any of your business, but I thought I'd go see my friends.” Her eyes narrowed when he scoffed at her. “Yeah, that's right, my friends – the only creatures in this goddamn place that I care about right now. You might know them; I think you might have intimidated them once or twice.”

“Sarah-”

“No. I've heard what you have to say, and I've had enough. I need to think. I need to get out of here. Frankly, Jareth, I need to see a face that doesn't irritate the shit out of me right now.”

Jareth stood, his jaw clenched tight. “I insist that you remain here until we've come to a proper agreement. I've waited long enough to have this talk with you, and I refuse to wait any longer for an answer. It doesn't have to begin today, but I need to at least know whether your intention is to hand over full rights to my kingdom, or to agreed to toe the line and hone your powers with me. This is my life as well as yours, Sarah, and I refuse to be kept in the dark any longer. You must have some idea of which you'll choose.”

“Because you make it all sound so easy. Choosing between Goblin King boot camp or saying goodbye to my friends forever? No thanks. I'm going to need at least a few days to think it through. Maybe even a few weeks.”

“I'm afraid that's unacceptable.”

Sarah tucked her chair underneath the table, making it clear she had no intention of staying. “Well, as unfair as it might seem, you're just going to have to accept it. I'm leaving now.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

In the blink of an eye, he was standing on her side of the table, one elbow leaned high up on the stone, effectively blocking the small gap between chairs and wall with his body. Sarah flinched, but barely; clearly, she had already anticipated his move.

“Get out of my way,” she demanded.

“I think not.”

“If you don't move, I'll move you myself.”

Jareth leaned down towards her smaller form until the tip of his nose almost touched hers, using the proximity, and the unyielding length of his body to intimidate her, just as he had in the tunnels all those years ago. The dark gleam in her eyes outmatched even the deepest oubliette. In their depths, he could see uncertainty at war with her anger, but she held herself firm, refusing to yield even a single precious inch of space to him. When he breathed warm air across that sweet, stubborn mouth, her lips parted slightly. All at once, there was heat in the pit of his stomach, and he felt his balls beginning to tighten. Allowing himself so near to her was a mistake, but one far too delicious to rectify. He remained close, and his voice rumbled out a note lower.

“Oh, love … you wouldn't dare.”

He could have delved back into history, into law and long-standing traditions, and the proper etiquette while in the presence of a king. He might have launched into a lecture about the precautions one should take when handling all otherworldly beings. There were multiple paths he might have chosen in that moment of frustration, but in Jareth's whirling mind there was only one that made any real sense: kissing her maddening mouth quiet, seizing hold of those delectable hips, and driving deep and hard into her welcoming heat. The chances of further argument seemed minimal as he pictured her quickly warming to him, yielding to him at long last as he worked her open on his rigid cock. In hindsight, the uncomfortable chair had done little to keep his spirits down, let alone certain other rapidly stiffening parts of him. Evidently, lust was a far greater opponent than he had been prepared to face.

Sarah, too, in her present mood, seemed beyond him – a challenge too great for even the most seasoned negotiator. Her face was cruel and beautiful in the tempest of her rage – the hard mask of a warrior. Her nostrils flared and her chest heaved with the force of her breathing, and those dark eyes sparked with magic and fury. So much potential and power. He wanted to punish her for that strength, to make her pay for ever daring to believe; he felt the dark urge to put her through the nearest wall, just as much as he longed to have her pressed up against it. All that anger had to go somewhere, and with all the blood in his body quickly sinking south of his belt, he couldn't think of a single, sane reason why he shouldn't be the one to reap the full benefits of it.

“Now, go back to your seat, settle yourself in like a good girl, and we'll thrash this out in no time. If you behave and ask nicely, we might even have time to work out some of your other … hmm … frustrations, afterwards.”

Oh, that slight widening of her eyes was glorious. He could almost smell the lust, the unbridled rage that lay simmering to perfection within that body of hers. How he longed to bend his head to her tender throat, to run his tongue across that rapid hammering of her pulse and taste the ire that soaked her skin. He wanted to lap the salt of her sweat from between her breasts as he held her, panting, beneath him, fucking his way deeper and harder into her as her body jerked and writhed in ecstasy. He knew the power that ran unchecked inside her would be far too addictive not to crave again. She was off limits until at least they had come to a decision, and yet she smelled so fucking good. The unsubtle throb of his now stiffening cock matched the steady tick of muscle at his jaw, and he clenched his teeth all the harder.

Her hands came up, reaching for his shoulders, and he had to stop himself from simply succumbing to her touch. “Come now, Sarah, let's just be sensible and-”

The hard shove she gave him was enough to knock the words from his lips completely. There was strength behind her hands, and to his embarrassment he found himself stumbling back a step or two. At once he retaliated, using not his palms, but his body to urge her completely off balance. He stepped deep into her space, rounding in on her so that her back was pressed into the wall. There was nowhere to go but into him. Both of them were breathing hard, and he had yet to even lay a finger on her. It was so close to what he had wanted only moments ago, that he could almost feel the press of her thighs around his hips, and the clawing of her nails against his back. Fuck, he wanted her. The path of his thoughts must have shown clearly on his face, because no sooner than his lips begun to curl upwards than his seething guest sneered at him.

“Why do I really not want to know what's going through your mind right now?” she snapped.

Jareth offered her a tight smirk and a lazy shrug of his shoulders. “Perhaps because you're afraid you'd like it?”

“I'd prefer it if you got the fuck out of my way.”

Jareth leaned closer still. “So move me. Go on, just give me a little shove. You've already proven you aren't shy about that.”

“You're an asshole. I don't even know why I agreed to come here today anyway, and now … what? You're expecting me to just … just …” Her words failed her, but her eyes were fixed on his mouth.

It did not surprise him to realise that he was already rock hard. “Give in? Perish the thought. No, you need someone to blame for this, don't you? Some way to go storming out of here of your own accord, in spite of your feelings, and yet still have something to lay your latest fit of pique upon. Nothing is ever your fault, is it, love? Well, if you really want me gone, you can do it yourself.”

He spread his arms, leaving himself wide open for attack. After only a moment of hesitation, Sarah brought her hands up to his chest. She shoved him again, and then again, before he could recover his balance, forcing him away from the wall and back into the hard table's edge. She came in hot pursuit, stealing his space this time, her body warm against his. The palms against his chest quickly curled into fists – fists that clung onto his shirt, keeping his body against hers.

Jareth meant only to reach out to grip her shoulder – a decent, safe place to hold her at bay. He ended up with an armful of her instead, one elbow locked behind her back, his other hand darting down to grip her by the arse. He seized her, crushed her body to his tightly enough to make her seem a part of him, and stared fire down into her soul. She was light enough for him to lift her easily, and he soon reversed their positions, turning to set her down on the table top. The moment her arse hit the wood, he was on her, hiking up her skirt and pressing her knees apart, so that he could stand between her open thighs.

Though her body was as soft and warm as he had dreamed it, pliable against his own, there was not a hint of surrender in those wide green eyes. How they still burned for him. At that moment, given the chance, she would have torn him apart, and knowing it turned his throbbing cock to steel. It thrilled him to realise that she would feel it – had to feel it, hot and heavy against her lower belly. Her every outraged breath was moist and hot upon his lips, and her breasts grazed against his chest. She did not back down. She would not look away.

His belly clenched with want. He could feel his pulse racing away, blood and lust and fury forging their way far ahead of his mind. All he wanted was to bury himself inside her. He smoothed his hands around her hips and downwards, until the warm, firm length of each leg lay beneath his hands, hidden from him by only the thin barrier of her pantyhose. Without quite meaning to, Jareth squeezed down, letting the pad of each thumb sink into that tender place on the inside of each thigh, just above her knees. She seemed to quiet at once, even the heavy draw of her breath stilling in the moment, and he swore he felt her shiver. She was so sweet on the precipice of pleasure, her body drawn taut with expectation and longing. He needed to feel that mouth on his – to taste her anger and her longing, and the softness of her lips – but he made no move to kiss her. The decision would be hers.

“So, Sarah,” he almost snarled at her. “Precious thing – what now?”

Chapter Text

Sarah tipped her head back to allow herself some space to think. Jareth had given her little enough of that as it was, and with the way his sheer proximity was causing her temperature to sky-rocket, the way his hands and body seemed made to mould to her own, her mind was already having trouble adjusting to the fresh hell it had been thrust into. It was an unfortunate time to find she and the Goblin King had something vital in common: neither one of them seemed to care much for subtlety when it came to what they wanted. Those crystal-blue eyes of his were eternal, boundless and accusing and far too bright, and they saw everything. Refusing to meet them bought her a few seconds, at most, but she could still feel his gaze on her, slipping over her skin like he already owned her, fierce and near-predatory, drinking in both the plush line of her mouth and the heavy pulse that pounded at the base of her throat. In that moment, she wasn't sure which one he was more likely to attack first.

If she could have slapped some sense into herself, she would have in a heartbeat, yet right then, clinging onto the maddening man in front of her seemed like a far more crucial task for her shaking hands. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so angry, so helplessly frustrated, and it was taking all of her willpower simply to hold herself in check. The Goblin King stood before her, all patience gone, and no amount of railing against him would send him away. It truly wasn't fair, the way he had sunken inside her, making himself at home beneath her skin. Somehow, he was winning again, but with him so hard and hot against her, his hands already tightly squeezed around her thighs, she couldn't quite remember why she was supposed to care.

If you think he's insufferable now, just wait until you let him have you. He will never, ever let you forget this. All of that 'no power over me' crap will stand for nothing if you let him win.

“Well, Sarah? I'm waiting.”

She met his glare with a scowl, trying to focus solely on the anger she saw there, but she needed no magical powers to know he was just as lost as she was. The sneer on his lips proclaimed he wanted to cast her down into the nearest oubliette without a single, regretful thought, and yet the fire behind his stare confessed he simply wanted her. The tension that hummed through his whole body said he longed to punish her for every last slight he had suffered at her hands, real or imagined, and yet the way he held her, thumbs starting to knead her tender flesh, promised rewards. Alone, the two of them would suffer, burning up into nothing with all their rage and not quite righteous indignation. Together, if they dared, they could have something passionate – something powerful. All it would take was giving in. Mutual surrender. A chance for all those months of bickering and torment to finally come to mean something.

How good would it feel, she wondered, to triumph over him again and be the one to leave him wanting, when it meant she, too would suffer? How much more satisfaction would come from finally having the power to take what she so longed for? Her heart was thudding in her chest, her face hot and sweat beginning to bead at her temples, but her mind, at last, was clear. She wanted to see where this would take them. God help her, but she wanted him.

“Oh, fuck it,” she murmured, and reached up to sink her fingers into his hair, drawing his mouth to hers.

The soft, surprised sound he made as she finally kissed him was almost enough to make it worthwhile. Jareth had time to whisper a curse against her lips before he returned the kiss, his mouth hot and demanding, and open against her own. Those cruel lips had teased and tormented her for longer than she could remember, stealing her comfortable, ordinary life and all its preconceptions, pushing both her wits and her patience to their very limits. Now, they gave way under the force of all her pent-up passion and fury. She finally had him, and the part of her that had been waiting impatiently for it for what felt like years almost howled in victory.

Jareth groaned his pleasure as she bit at his bottom lip, his hands moving higher and higher along the insides of her thighs. His lips were soft and sinful, and when she rolled her hips against him, feeling the hard outline of his cock through his tight leggings, he moaned and slipped his tongue into her mouth. The heat of him pulsed through her lips, spread through her skin as one firm hand smoothed over her hip, stroking up her side to cup her breast. She sighed into his mouth, and he echoed it with a grunt of his own as his thumb rolled across her nipple, drawing it to a taut peak.

Sarah wound her fingers deeper into the heavy silk of his hair, needing him closer, needing him to take the full brunt of all those lost years where she had wondered in secret, and too many maddening months where he had plagued her thoughts, keeping her hoping and wanting, and so very wet. The kiss turned hard, heavy, each denying air in favour of devouring the other, and she felt a desperate, fluttering delight down in the pit of her stomach. There was no turning back for either of them. She had needed this for far too long already. There had been too many months of waiting, and too many half-finished thoughts she had denied herself. This was happening. It was crazy, and yet it was finally happening.

He tilted her head back solely with the firm press of his lips, urging her to give in. With the pale line of her neck bared to him, he took full advantage of the exposure, abandoning her breast to run his thumb up along her throat. That gratifying pressure just beneath her jaw, that slight hint of danger made her moan, and she felt him grin against her mouth. Somewhere deep down, she had always known their play would be a little rough, and she pressed her body into his, letting him see she was unafraid.

His hand moved higher, releasing her throat to sift through her hair, cradling the back of her head and at the same time denying her any escape from his kiss. It hit her again, just how much he needed to be in control, and she squirmed in indignant delight, ready to take whatever he offered her, and to give as good as she got. She all but snarled against his lips as his other palm crept up the inside of her thigh, a violent jolt of her hips accompanying the teasing press of his fingers. Even through her pantyhose, even with the added barrier of her underwear, she knew he had to feel how hot she was for him. She squeezed her thighs together around his hand, and he growled into her mouth.

New air seared her lungs as she finally tore away from their kiss, gasping. Jareth did not let her recuperate for long. He coaxed her back to him with little nips of those devilish teeth, and the gentle brush of his lips. The hand between her legs persisted, pushing harder until he had her trapped, rocked up against his palm. There was a slight pressure, the sting of his thumbnail against the very top of her thigh, and then the subtle whirr of ripped nylon as he tore his way through to her. Jareth groaned as he uncovered bare skin at last, and bit at her mouth as he teased a finger around the lacy edge of her underwear.

“Easy access,” he murmured, before his mouth covered hers again.

He wasn't wrong. Only then, as he began to stroke her through the damp material of her panties, toying with the pouting lips of her pussy, could she admit it had all been for him. Only when he began to push her harder, teasing open her slit through the thin fabric, would she let herself admit that the bastard of a goblin king had been firmly in her thoughts as she set aside pants in favour of the skirt and pantyhose that, in the end, had proven such a futile defence against him. In her mind, she had come here prepared for battle, but now, as she rocked her hips for more, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she had come wanting, hoping to be conquered.

She voiced all her frustration and fleeting shame into his smirking mouth as she hooked her legs around his hips. For all of his touches and searing kisses, the aggravating man still wasn't anywhere near as close as she needed him to be. His hard cock pushed against her belly, but when she reached down to try to set it free, Jareth twisted his hips and nudged her hands away. When she reached for his belt instead, tugging at the stubborn leather with an impatient moan, he disarmed her with just a finger. She had no idea exactly when he had managed to slip his hand inside her panties, but when he sought out her clit and began to stroke it, she shivered and then went still against him, able to do nothing for a moment but yield to his touch. Her eyes were squeezed shut when he pulled back to admire his handiwork, her mouth open in silent bliss, but she could hear the smugness of his tone as his breath spilled warm against her lips.

“How long have you dreamed of this, love?” he demanded. His lips brushed the very corner of her mouth, allowing his words to spill along her burning cheek as he continued to pet her. “How long have you been this hot, this wet for me, hmm?”

The shuddering sound of her breathing seemed to be answer enough for him; he purred laughter as his fingers forged a tantalising path from her swollen clit down to her needy entrance, clearly in no hurry as she twitched and squirmed against him. At his own leisure, he dragged those soft, teasing lips along her jaw as he murmured against her skin.

“How many nights since you discovered this special connection of ours have you lain awake, longing to reach out to me, yet not quite daring?” His warm breath tickled her ear. “How long have you needed me to fuck you, precious?”

“About as long as you've needed it, at a guess,” she groaned. “Oh, fuck, keep doing that. Yes…”

Jareth gave a dark chuckle and bit at her earlobe. “Always so defiant, and yet all the more delicious for it. I think we're both going to enjoy this greatly, sweet Sarah.” He dropped his head to mouth at her throat again, and she had to bite back a moan.

“Mmmjust … just because this is happening, it doesn't mean I forgive you for all the shit you've pulled … or that I actually like you …”

“Of course not. The only things you have to worry about liking for the immediate future are my hands … and my mouth … and my cock – and we both know just how much you'd like that right now, don't we, love? All you have to do is focus on how much you want that pleasure.” Sarah shuddered as his sharp teeth grazed her collarbone, and then those sweet lips latched on. His hot tongue darted across her skin as her eyes flickered closed, and that determined hand between her legs just kept on stroking. “That's all this is, Sarah – just a little touch of pleasure mixed up with this business we have with one another. I don't know about you, but I can't think of a better way to seal the deal. We're at our most open and honest at the height of passion, no secrets to hide in that one moment of pure ecstasy.”

“Does that … oh, fuck, yes … does that mean you sleep with all of your business partners, then?”

“Mmm. Only the ones as sweet and wet as you.” One finger brushed against her entrance, and he chuckled as she whimpered and bucked against him. “Gods, you're going to make my cock so wet. I can almost feel you around me already. So tight …” He groaned the word against her mouth as he finally sank a finger, and then two, into her needy pussy. He waited for her cry of pleasure to subside before he added: “You needn't be jealous of anyone else, silly girl.”

Her eyes flew open, and caught the full brunt of his sharp-toothed smile. Clearly, it was too much to ask for them both to just enjoy this, twisted as it was. Clearly, it made both his cock and his ego swell more to treat her like some giggling young thing with a crush – one he had finally deigned to bestow his time and almighty hands upon, no less – rather than his equal. They had both reached breaking point together, both given in to lust rather than sense, and yet she was the one with her skirt rucked up around her hips, ready to give him everything. In comparison, he, still in that pristine white shirt, still seemed so aloof, so in control of himself, even as slowly he drove her insane. She needed that practical barrier gone. She needed him naked and with her, fully.

Her mind clenched – hard – and before her eyes, the fabric covering Jareth's chest tore open. She could hardly believe it had worked, and for a moment all she could do was gape at his bare chest, all that pale skin now on show. Rather than being annoyed by her small act of aggression, that tiny bit of revenge, Jareth took up a fistful of her blouse, just above her hammering heart.

“Tits for tat, love,” he said, and wrenched the blouse open. Buttons snapped free, and a hot wave of lust made her cunt clench around his fingers as he exposed her bra. His eyes were full of heat as they slid lower. “And what beautiful tits they are.”

“Pervert,” she managed to pant out.

“Shh. If that truly bothered you, you wouldn't be here with me, ready for me to fuck you right here over my war room table if I liked, would you? Besides, my particular perversions are to your advantage – unless you want me to stop doing this?” The fingers inside her curled, making her wail, and he grinned as he leaned in to her throat. “That's what I thought.”

Sarah's hips surged forward, almost tipping her balance off the edge of the table, but he was there to support her, letting her ride his hand without tearing his lips away from her skin. Sarah revelled in the contact – the exquisite feeling of having him on and inside her at last. She panted and moaned for him as he suckled at her neck, her ankles locked at the base of his spine, and her hands fisted in his hair. With a little effort, he managed to tug one cup of her bra down just enough, and he wasted no time in sucking her tit into his hot mouth. She almost came just watching him, finding his eyes still on hers, his tongue teasing the tender peak as his lips drew on her nipple. Already, she was soaked, groaning at the lewd sounds his fingers made every time they drove inside her. Jareth heard it too, grinning up at her, his teeth grazing her nipple.

At last, he pulled back none too gently from her breast, and she keened at the sweet suction. “Talk to me, Sarah,” he demanded, bringing his mouth back to brush hers. “Tell me what you feel.” Her lips parted without thought to obey, but he silenced her at once, chastising her with a nip of teeth against her bottom lip. “Not here – not with your mouth. Use your mind.”

The hand between her legs slowed to a teasing crawl, but before she could protest aloud, his mouth was pressed to hers, and damned if she didn't feel him smile as he denied her speech. She longed to tell him where to go, where to shove his little power games, but the need for friction outweighed the need to argue. Her eyes drifted closed and she reached out blindly, finding that link between them by sheer chance.

'Oh, fuck! Jareth, please!'

This time, she definitely felt him smirk, even as his tongue delved into her mouth. His fingers began to pick up the pace again, drawing out yet more of her pleasure. 'There you are. Now, isn't that better?'

'Yes! Just don't stop … don't stop …'

'I won't, love. You deserve this. You've earned it – and just think what it will be like when you fully earn this power of ours. You may think you're strong now, but can you really live without having more, Sarah – without knowing all the places that magic can take you? Don't you want to feel what it's like to reach that little bit deeper inside yourself, and have it all?'

Through her closed eyes, he sent her the perfect image of the sight they made together: she, panting and wet, and he with two fingers deep in her cunt, working her slowly, deep and thorough, his lips just grazing her so that he could taste every moan and soft sound of pleasure she surrendered to him. It was as though she was an onlooker to her own body, able to watch every subtle shift in her expression, every ounce of pleasure that ran through her senses from the outside, even as she felt it within.

She could see the dark joy on Jareth's face as he watched her fighting down the urge to beg him aloud, covering her mouth with more force every time more than a needy whimper threatened to emerge. All the while, he filled her head with his filthy utterings, the rich sound of his voice stroking her from the inside and tangling her nerves up in knots. His teeth scraped her lower lip as he whispered into her mind, painting a vivid picture of just how good she'd look astride his cock, riding him hard on his grand bed, or perhaps even his own throne. His fingers pushed up higher, faster, as he described how he'd watch her as she sank down onto his thick shaft; how she'd shudder around him as she took every last inch. Between the images he sent her, his wicked words, and the steady drive of his fingers, she was near delirious as it was, but he showed her no mercy.

'You're going to be the perfect fuck, aren't you, love? You're going to be dripping wet and panting with need, just like you are right now, and you're going to let me have all of you by the time we're through. Under my tutelage … under me … you can have anything and everything you want, if you work hard enough for it. All you have to do is tell me what it is that you need.'

'Need to come,' she sent, as her hands slid under his shirt and her nails raked down his back. She dug her heels all the harder into his ass, and heard the thud her right shoe made as it slipped from her foot to hit the floor. She didn't care. 'Need you to make me come.'

Jareth's deep laughter filled her head. 'But of course. There was never any question of that, precious thing. We'll speak of the future once your more pressing needs are met. Now, though …'

The hand between her legs drew back, and Jareth silenced her disheartened groan by pressing his slick fingers against her mouth, painting her in her own lust. When he kissed her again, the sound of his hunger, voiced against her lips, sent a helpless shiver all along the length of her spine. His fingers lit fire beneath her skin as they began to unbutton the rest of her ruined blouse, taking his sweet time in putting yet more of her body on show for him. His palms smoothed over her breasts, her ribs and her stomach, his thumbs grazing her hipbones before finally sliding round to grip her ass. Being the subject of his full, undivided attention had almost bowled her over, but now he drew her back to him, all too briefly against his hard cock as he urged her down, right there on the table. He leaned down over her as she lay on her back, the hot pull of his lips moving down her chest and leaving no doubt as to what he had in mind. A devious little smile took hold of his mouth as he sank down onto his knees before her.

He pressed his lips to her calves through the torn remains of her pantyhose, kissing the sensitive hollow behind each knee before he slipped both her legs over his shoulders. Sarah heard the other shoe drop as she sat up on her elbows, hardly daring to look beyond the table's edge as Jareth positioned himself at the proper height. His hands slid around to her thighs, spreading her wider the higher they climbed. At last, she had them where she needed them, one thumb tugging her damp panties aside while the other traced the slick seam of her. The dark gleam in his eyes as he admired her evoked a delicious twist of heat down in the pit of her stomach.

'Fuck … gods, you're sopping wet for me, love,' he murmured within her mind, before he pressed his mouth to her cunt.

Her world seemed to tilt and go dim the moment she felt his lips against her, but then the heat of his tongue swept along her, and her body seized onto the sensation with new clarity. It was Jareth, willing and obedient on his knees for her. The cruel Goblin King who had plagued the last few months of her life with his mental torment was now all too happy to torture her in a far more tangible way. The disbelief of having him between her legs seemed to heighten her pleasure, turning every hot kiss, every flicker of his tongue into something unearthly – something magical. She told herself the sheer madness of it was what made it so incredible; there was no way, absolutely no chance in hell that he could be that good.

He devoured her in long laves and slow thrusts of his tongue, the tip of his nose pressed against her swollen clit as he delved deep inside her. She could hear him murmuring his pleasure against her cunt as more of her juices began to flow for him. He built her up to a steady rhythm, every stroke of his tongue matched to the grind of her hips as they came up to meet him. For once, he had no words to tease her with; the mouth currently moving between her legs was dedicated solely to pleasure as he ate her. Whatever dark thoughts he had were his own … at least until he began to whisper them inside her head.

'I've wondered at this so many times before. I've thought of how you'd feel … how you'd taste … the look you'd have in those pretty green eyes as I spread you open with my tongue.' That particular appendage took that moment to press inside, fucking into her in slow, shallow flicks as Sarah fought to keep from screaming. 'I've fantasised so often about the way you'd beg me … how you'd grind this sweet cunt into my face and plead for more … how I'd break you with endless hours of teasing, before finally letting you have what you needed.'

His tongue came up to circle her clit, before his lips latched on and he began to suck. 'But actually having you here, like this, wet and open before me … feeling and watching your whole body writhing in bliss …' His eyes sought out hers again, and he hummed in pleasure, letting the sound vibrate through the tender bud. 'There's no comparison – none. Having you in my hands and on my lips, on the cusp of ecstasy, is sweeter than I ever could have dreamt it. I need you to come for me, love. I need to have that sight, that perfect vision of you as you come … come for me …'

Between his words and his mouth, she was near frantic, thrashing against him with absolutely no place to go but higher. He took her there without hesitation, without even coming up for air, his mouth sealed to her cunt and his eyes burning into hers as finally, he made her scream his name in surrender. When her body came apart for him, it was so sweet and strong that it hurt, leaving her shaking, her thighs clenched tight around Jareth's golden head as he went on licking her, prolonging the sweet fire that seared its way through her. God, she wanted to die right then, letting that blissful delirium be the last earthly pleasure that she felt – letting herself fade away in sweet denial, without ever having to face up to the reality of just who had taken her there. Even as she felt herself start to come down from it, she found she was already dreading it, preparing for Jareth to intrude on the moment, but it appeared the Goblin King had more important things on his mind than taunting her.

She watched him as he rubbed his face back and forth against her slick lips, drowning himself in her cunt as if he believed he might never get enough of her. His eyes were closed, his expression one of purest contentment, his lips and chin drenched with her juices as he chased the last of her pleasure, only sated when her trembling had subsided, and the aftershocks had faded to a dull ache. He was a beautiful mess, one she would never be able to shake herself free from, and though he had already left her shuddering with ecstasy, she found she wanted him more than ever. Still panting, Sarah sat forward to take him.

He didn't move back for her, forcing her body against his as she slid down from the table and into his waiting arms. Sarah found she was glad of the support, glad of the firm body and soft, slick mouth which pressed against hers. She groaned at the taste of herself on his lips and tongue, her hands tracing restless patterns upon his chest and stomach. He was already burning up for her, his skin smooth and slightly damp, and fever-hot beneath her palms, but she needed to feel the rest of him. With a couple of careful steps, this time she was the one who managed to reverse their positions, Jareth shoved back against the table as she finally drew back from his mouth.

With him back on his feet, watching her eyes and waiting for her next move, she was ready to revive him, ready to restore him back to his former glory with hot kisses and a few careful strokes of her hand. What she found, however, when she let her hand stray south of his belt, was his cock already at its fullest, still thick and hot, and heavy with need. Evidently, all that time he had spent on his knees for her had done nothing to keep him down. He was more than ready for her touch, slim hips rocking forward into her hand so that the solid length of him was pressed against her palm. His lust-darkened eyes urged her to grip him and he groaned when she did, thrusting between her fingers while he began to yank at his belt. He helped her to free him, peeling the clinging fabric that imprisoned him down his thighs. At last, she could see and feel all of him, running one near-reverent hand down the middle of his chest, while at the same time taking him in hand.

There was the smallest pause, the tiniest skip of Sarah's thudding heart as Jareth froze against her, his eyes slitted with pleasure. Then, after savouring her touch for only a moment, he began to move again, seeking out more, encouraging her to stroke him. He moaned for her as, cautiously at first, she nuzzled and kissed at his neck, slipping out of his arms as she began to work her way down his body. It thrilled her to feel the twitch and jump of muscle beneath her lips, to hear his soft groan as she dragged her tongue along his flat stomach. She could have taken her time, could have reduced him to a shivering, begging mess with just her mouth, but then she remembered the heat in his eyes as he worked her with his tongue, and the way he had lost himself in her pleasure. After that show of worship, and with her own hunger urging her to taste him, she thought she could afford to be a little generous. She wanted to make him see stars.

She licked him once, the hot salt of him seeping out onto her tongue and making her crave more. Jareth groaned above her, and hearing his pleasure made her a little hasty as her lips bumped against the thick head of his cock. Her fingers curled around him again, working him up and down, her thumb sliding along the underside of his shaft as her tongue lapped along his tender slit. There was no way, at least at this angle, she would be able to take in all of him, but she certainly wanted to try.

'Ah, gods. You like that, don't you? Having my cock … finally having me submit to that gorgeous mouth.'

His words sparked fire within her. It was scary, just how much it excited her to hear her own dark thoughts, murmured in Jareth's silky purr. Some women saw it as an act of submission, but in Sarah's eyes, there was no easier way to ply a man into doing anything, everything she wanted, than having his cock in her mouth. There was no greater pleasure than having utter control over someone after just a few flicks of her tongue. Just looking up at her partner, seeing the need in his eyes as her lips moved over him was enough to get her wet; having a king in that same position, having Jareth towering above her, looking down on her as she stripped him down to nothing but helpless, writhing pleasure would have her dripping.

She knew that when their roles had been reversed, he had seen it the same way. Being on his knees before her had been a show of dominance as well as passion, proving to her once and for all that she had no way of denying him, nor the sweet havoc he wrought on her body. Even kneeling at her feet, he had done all that was within his power to show her who was in control – how hard he could make her come for him. Now, he was finally willing to give in to her like this, letting her have her way with him however she liked, but whenever he could, whenever she was willing or weak enough to give him the opportunity, he would take from her as well. It was only fair, she thought, to show him the same kindness.

She looked him dead in the eyes as she took his crown, lips parted just enough to welcome him into her warm mouth. Oh, she knew she would forever remember the look of dark wonderment in his eyes, and the small, shuddering breath that passed his lips as she sank down onto him, and took her time in slowly sucking her way back up. She let her tongue follow the same teasing path her thumb had made, running up along the full length of him before finding that sensitive spot just beneath the head. He throbbed within her mouth, his hips jerking forwards, and yet his hands remained clenched around the edge of the table rather than trying to guide her, letting her work at her own pace. It wasn't long before he gave himself over fully to her, too far gone to do anything but lean back and watch her, his eyes heavy-lidded with lust.

There was no doubt some twisted delight in seeing her lips wrapped around his cock, brought to her knees just to give him pleasure, and yet he remained totally at her mercy. She could break him with the slightest shift of her tongue, and even the barest pull of her lips made him shudder. She felt her chest swell with pride as she stared up at him, power flooding through her veins, the last vestige of her climax still thrumming between her legs. 'Come for me,' she commanded him, working him with her hands as well as her lips, watching every last pulse of pleasure echoed in his eyes. She could sense for herself just how close he was, feel all that tension and lust buzzing through his firm thighs and leaking onto her tongue. A part of her longed to go on teasing him, to make the arrogant king beg after all, but she was too greedy for his release to even think of stopping.

Sarah focussed all her efforts on dragging her lips up and down his solid length, sucking him hard and fast now as her tongue sought out his last weakness, circling him with her tongue. The low groans of pleasure she wrought from him became a steady panting, his usual haughty expression wiped clean of all but a near feral hunger. 'Come,' she demanded, as he fucked his way deeper into her mouth in short, savage strokes.

Their eyes locked, and in the brief moment before his shuttered closed, she saw his surrender. His hips jerked again, and then he was moaning her name, bathing her tongue in salt and heat. She could feel him throbbing inside her, flashes of ecstasy surging through her mind almost faster than she knew how to take them. There was praise and desire, a near desperate call of her name, and what felt almost like fury; she was too fucking good at this as she drained him dry of faculty and sense, and chased every last drop with her tongue. When his eyes at last found hers again, they were glassy and dark, and there was a dizzy sort of smile on his lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered. It was the first actual word he had spoken in what felt like hours, and she had to agree.

He was still breathing hard as he helped her back onto her feet, still wearing that crooked, drunken smile as he drew her into his arms and kissed her. His mouth moved against hers with a tenderness she had hardly thought him capable of, his cock still half-hard and making its imprint on the lower half of her belly. Sarah gave in to his kiss, savouring the warmth of those lips even as sanity and cold reality began to seep back into her brain. She had finally let the Goblin King sink his talons into her, rendering her chances of ever fully escaping them again slimmer than ever.

Biting back a groan, she pulled back, already ducking her head against the flush that threatened to sear her skin. “That was … uh … yeah. So … I should probably go,” she mumbled, already tugging her bra back into place.

As he absorbed the information, Jareth's smile turned predatory. His eyes followed the path made by her fingers as she fumbled with her blouse. “As you wish, Sarah. We both know you'll be back.”

“Yeah? I wouldn't be so sure of that.” She figured that turning her back on the Goblin King was always going to be a stupid move, but it had to be better than letting him go on watching the show. He had already gotten a good enough look at her tits that day; he didn't need to see the way her hands shook as they tried to push the stubborn buttons through their holes. Most of them seemed to be missing, but it couldn't hurt to try to claw back some of her dignity. “Okay, so we let ourselves get carried away, but I think this … this thing between us has gone far enough already.”

“A fair point, but I was referring to your training. I assume you don't wish to give up your powers – unless, of course, you believe the urge to get carried away again might prove to be too much of a distraction for you.”

Fuck. Sarah smoothed down her skirt and resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands. Jareth was the picture of dignity and decorum when she turned to face him again, tucked neatly back into that role of noble king, gazing down at her as if he hadn't just relished having her lips wrapped around his cock. His apparent confidence only chipped away at her own; he was supposed to be the one who was speechless, who looked at her with lust-dazed eyes and complimented her on her oral talents. He wasn't meant to look at her in that way – that open, unabashed stare which made her want to fling herself back into his arms, and take off running from him at the same time – but still, she forced herself to meet his eyes. She still held the power. Coming for him, kissing him hadn't changed that. She made herself wait, keeping him waiting as she pretended to consider, but in her mind the answer was already clear.

“I don't want to give up my powers,” she agreed, “but I think you know by now that I'm not dumb enough to just go along blindly with whatever you tell me. I'll agree to your training for now, but I'll have conditions.”

The smirk Sarah knew far too well crossed his lips. “I'd be disappointed if you didn't. Let's hear them.”

“Honestly, I don't even know for sure what they are myself just yet. I just know that I'm not going into this without a safety net – and judging from your little circus act last night, I know I'll need one.” She rubbed at her eyes as a sigh wound its way up from her chest. “You win, Jareth. You got me to agree to take part in this whole … ugh, whatever sideshow act this whole thing turns into. You win, but I refuse to actually start training with you until I've had some time to think it over. That okay with you?” She hoped the glare she threw him was enough to convey that she didn't care much about his answer.

“I suppose I can give you the rest of the evening to think it over. Bright woman like yourself, I'm sure that'll give you plenty of time to figure out how to twist things to your advantage. And, of course, it won't afford me too much time to try and do the same.” The jagged edges of his teeth split his grin. “Now that we have the vague semblance of a plan, shall we say tomorrow morning, bright and early, to discuss in more detail what lies ahead?”

She wondered just how much potential damage those few hours could do; it frightened her to think of giving him so much time to think of ways of his own to twist things, but she knew there was no other way. Saying yes to the man was always a risk, but she would have been lying to herself if she said she wasn't hungry to learn more – though preferably only on her terms. She would have to work her ass off from the minute she arrived home to try and out-think him, laying down laws and sniffing out any loopholes he would try to exploit. He might have been willing to help her, but that didn't mean he was selfless enough to overlook any errors on her part – especially if they offered him a clear advantage. “Tomorrow morning it is,” she said at last. “I guess I'll call on you when-”

“No, Sarah, I'm afraid that isn't going to work for me any longer. If I'm to become your tutor and-”

“Let's not forget that all-important little word – if – until there are rules in place.”

Jareth conceded no more than a smirk. “-and educate you in the ways of magic, giving up both my time and effort, and no doubt the last of my patience as well, then I'm going to need a little something from you, also. Let's call it a gesture of goodwill, to prove to me that your intentions towards your training are genuine, and that you intend to show both your lessons and your tutor the proper level of respect.”

“Hypothetical lessons. Potential tutor,” Sarah reminded him. “And how exactly would I go about doing that?”

Jareth took a measured step closer. “I want you,” he purred, “to end this foolishness between us – this refusal to allow me to contact you unless you beckon me first, like some lowly servant. If I am to be your tutor, Sarah, I certainly won't be at your beck and call.” His mischievous smile grew just a touch wider. “Why, I do believe you'll be at mine.”

“Absolutely not.” It would mean an abrupt end to peace of mind as she knew it. All she could imagine was the worst invasion of her privacy: Jareth choosing to slip into her mind at the most inopportune time, most likely when she was in the shower, or – worse – when she had one hand tucked inside her panties, lost in pleasure as she relived the way he had just touched her. “I … I can't just have you-”

“-popping into your thoughts, uninvited?” Jareth cocked an eyebrow. “I'd present you with the dictionary's definition of hypocrisy, but you'd only tell me it isn't fair. After all, this is your privacy that's at stake.”

Apparently his earlier milkshake hadn't abated his craving for sweetness; a deep satisfaction burned in his eyes as he summoned a small bunch of velvety black grapes into his hand. He held her gaze as he raised them to his lips and curled his tongue around the lowest hanging fruit, before drawing it into his waiting mouth. “Just dessert, love. Don't mind me.” He smiled as he chewed, and chuckled when she waved away his kind offer to share the fruits. “Believe it or not, I can well understand your reluctance, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist.”

“Because, even after all these years, you still want power over me. That's your condition for helping me out of this predicament, isn't it? In order for you to show me how to control my magic, you need me to bow down to you first, in every sense.”

“That's rather cynical of you, Sarah. You can look at it however you like, as revenge or perhaps only a petty source of amusement for myself, but that doesn't change the facts. If we're going to move forwards and make at least some attempt to muddle out this mess, I'm going to need you to trust me a little.” With a pointed stare, he offered her the last of his grapes. “A little cooperation can go a long way, precious thing.”

“Says the man who choreographed a whole circus show to shame me, rather than just sitting down to talk.”

Jareth tutted. “You know as well as I do that you passed up plenty of opportunities to talk things out – all the more reason for me to need a little reassurance that you won't simply disappear on me again, don't you think? But enough about the past; let's look forward to the future, shall we? Let's move on.”

Sarah sighed. That picked-over bunch of grapes he offered her was likely to be the closest to an olive branch that she could hope for. It was only right for her to make her own token gesture of peace. She placed her hand over his, covering the cool fruits and the warm palm beneath them, forcing her jaw to unlock. “I, Sarah Williams, do hereby decree that Jareth, the Goblin King, from this moment on has the power to contact me of his own free will, between the hours of 10am to 10pm, Monday through Saturday, until otherwise stated.” Her eyebrows raised up a notch. “Satisfied?”

Jareth only nodded. “No Sunday?” he asked, lips curling.

“Well, Sundays are the traditional Christian day of rest. I haven't been to church in years, but something tells me that, when it comes to you, I'm going to need that day off every week. And if you abuse this, I swear to god I'll take the whole thing back. Contacting me is a privilege, not a right.” She chose to take his soft chuckle as assent. They were still touching, and her fingers twitched with nerves. She nodded down at their joined hands. “You won't hold it against me if I don't actually eat these, right? I have a thing about faerie food – especially fruit.”

The Goblin King grinned. “I wouldn't expect you to.”

He drew back, his hand empty, and yet Sarah found she could no longer feel the soft press of the grapes against her fingers. When she turned her hand over there was light on her skin, small, silvery-pale orbs which melted and pooled in her palm, before sending quicksilver rivulets running through her fingers. Sarah spread her hand, watching the last shining droplets trickle down into nothingness, leaving only the lingering warmth of magic upon her skin. “Neat party trick. Is learning how to do that going to be my first lesson?”

“I wouldn't waste your time with such frivolities when you have so much else to learn. Besides, if I'm not mistaken, I think today's lesson has already proven rather – forgive me – fruitful.”

She eyed him, one eyebrow raised. “How to suck up to the teacher?”

At her retort, real laughter, rich and warm, rolled up from his throat, and it stirred something in her chest that she didn't care to question. Though a part of her was determined to walk away from their meeting that day totally unaffected by him, she still managed a small, not quite unwilling smile.

“Not exactly, love, as enjoyable as it was.” He took her hand – the one still tingling with his magic – and brought it to his lips. The unexpected sweetness of his kiss only made that stubborn something currently fluttering beneath her breastbone all the harder to ignore. “Ask yourself: was the pain you felt while communicating with me as bad as it usually is? Was it even half as intense?”

Sarah's mouth fell open. She had been far too busy with her body's reactions to even consider her mind. “It wasn't … there wasn't any pain. None at all.”

“Exactly.” Jareth released her hand with a smile. “You've been focussing too hard, Sarah, putting too much effort into bridging the distance between us, instead of simply speaking into my mind. Once your focus was turned to other things, the connection you made was almost effortless, as it should be. With magic as strong as ours, it should be as simple as opening your mouth to speak aloud – and with time and practice, it will be. If, of course, you're willing to put as much energy into the rest of your lessons.”

“Oh.” It was all she could manage. The only connection her brain was capable of making was that somehow – somehow – he had been aware enough while toying with her to also teach her a valuable lesson. While she had writhed in selfish pleasure, he had raised her to new heights, coaxing her mind to open to him, building up those first steps to power even as he broke her apart on his lips and tongue. The Goblin King was proving to be more generous than she had ever given him credit for, and it was a little terrifying just how much it turned her on. A man who could touch her mind half as well as he could touch her body was the ultimate aphrodisiac, but she had never dared to dream it would be … him. No, this man knew just how to thrill her, body, mind and soul, and it was too much, too fast, and she had yet to figure out just how to handle it. That limitless confidence and expertise, the precision as well as passion … it was just too much for her to cope with, especially while the smug son of a bitch just stood there, smirking at her.

“Was there anything else?” Jareth asked, looking her over.

“No.”

“So …?” Having apparently rendered her monosyllabic, he appeared to be struggling to hold back laughter.

“Go,” she managed to blurt out, before wincing. “I mean, I'm going to go. Oh, and Jareth?”

His smirk really was insufferable. “Yes, precious thing?”

“This was a one time thing. I want you to know that … what just happened … isn't going to keep happening, just because we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other, all right?”

“Of course not, love. Your training will take up a good deal of your time and energy, too.” He gave her a wink. “I wouldn't want you to overexert yourself. Now, hurry along home so you can stew over what you've done and put some real thought into these 'conditions' of yours. I'll admit, it's rather entertaining to see you flee on my account.”

Even after what they had just done, even with her hair mussed, her pantyhose torn, and her blouse ruined beyond repair, Sarah managed to stand tall before him. “I'll never run from you, Goblin King. Never forget that.”

Nevertheless, she wished herself back home before he could come up with any further retort, save for his hearty laughter. She didn't doubt just how much it amused him to see her run. It was only when she arrived back home and took stock of her dishevelled appearance in her bedroom mirror did she realise that, in her hurry to escape from him, she had left both of her shoes behind.

It was impossible to fall asleep that night, mostly because every time her eyelids began to close, she found Jareth waiting behind them. Once again, he had taken up residence in her mind, smiling that wicked little smile which begged for her to let him out to play. Her face filled with heat as she remembered being spread out like a veritable buffet for him; that same heat ran its dark fingers down towards her belly when she thought of just how much she had enjoyed it.

She groaned and clapped both her hands over her face, but it did nothing to block out the memory of him situated between her thighs, or the sound of all those filthy words they had coaxed from one another, or – Christ – the heady scent of him filling her senses as she bent to suck his cock. Even now, she swore she could still taste him. There was a curious rich flavour right at the back of her tongue, reminding her of a time she had overindulged in fine, dark chocolate – oh, and if she ever confessed to that, she'd never hear the end of it. The fucker already had a serious superiority complex; he didn't need any further ego boost from her waxing poetic about his magical, candy-flavoured cock. He didn't need to know how much she still wanted him, not to mention all that power he had promised her. Magic as strong as ours, he had said – not hers, or his, but ours.

Her brain seemed determined to be at its least helpful in the dark, switching between nightmarish visions of being maimed or even killed by those powers, to sparring with the Goblin King in far more interesting ways. She was entirely unsurprised when, just when she had finally managed to shoo away a vision of being pinned beneath him, the man himself decided to join her.

'Hello, Sarah. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.'

She tipped back her head and groaned. 'And it starts already. Hello, Jareth.'

'Yes, yes. I'm sorry to be a bother, precious. I can assure you, I wasn't planning on contacting you until tomorrow, but it appears that you've forgotten your shoes. I'm assuming it was an oversight, rather than a subconscious desire for me to play Prince Charming and return them to you?'

'Oh, fuck you.'

'Would that be an insult or a request? You're really going to have to learn to be more specific. At any rate, I would have gotten in touch much sooner, but the matter's just been brought to my attention – when I saw them being … ah … modelled by Clasp. As I'm sure you remember from meeting him, his feet are rather large, and … well, they aren't – or should I say, weren't – a particularly important pair, were they? Clasp sends along his apologies, as well as the generous offer for a new pair to be crafted out of his worthless hide, if need be. Would you care to take him up on it?'

Sarah placed a hand across her eyes, fingertips rubbing at her left temple while her thumb massaged the other. 'No, that's okay. He can keep them – or what's left of them.'

'I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear that.' There was a pause, and it almost – almost – seemed like he would behave himself before saying goodnight, and then: 'Though I'm sure you'll forgive him if he isn't quite as vocal about his excitement as you were earlier today.'

She was relatively certain he would be able to hear the grinding of her teeth even Underground, but at that point she was beyond caring. 'You're making it real easy to start hating you again.' Soft laughter tickled at the inside of her head, and she uncovered her eyes to scowl up at her ceiling. 'What's so funny?'

'Nothing, I'm just rather flattered is all, love; I never realised you'd ever stopped. Sweet dreams, now.'

Growling, Sarah pulled the comforter up past her hairline. A moment later, she emerged from her cocoon, snatched up her pillow, and then dragged that over her head as well. Maybe, just maybe, if she burrowed in deep and dark enough, the next morning wouldn't find her.

Chapter Text

Jareth swirled a spoon around his coffee with a smile.

The small café had been Sarah's idea – not quite neutral territory to meet upon, given its location Aboveground, but after the prior evening's antics, he could understand her desire to assert a little dominance on her own turf. Nevertheless, he took perhaps a little too much pleasure in reaching Bean and Gone quite a while earlier than scheduled, denying her the chance to settle in comfortably before his arrival. It was a quaint little establishment, with plenty of uninspired art on the walls and a selection of mismatched dining sets and plump old sofas taking up space on the floor. It hardly possessed the right atmosphere for any serious negotiations to take place, but after perusing a menu and discovering the range of sweet treats on offer, he was quite willing to let the matter slide. He didn't presume to order food for Sarah – the woman still had yet to let go of that isolated incident with the peach – but he made up for that breach in etiquette by asking for anything his expected guest ordered to be added onto his bill.

To the café’s other few patrons, it might have seemed like a civilised little brunch date would be taking place at the cosy table for two in the corner. Only he and his no doubt irritated dining companion would know better. Now that she had been given sufficient time to recover, he suspected that Sarah might have a few choice words in store for him.

Jareth hummed to himself as he recalled her singing quite a different tune the evening before with her legs locked around his neck. It had been intense between them, and perhaps inevitable in the end, and when he remembered just how sweet her mouth and her body had been against his, it was hard to feel any true regret. On the contrary, he was almost inclined to admire himself for what little restraint he'd managed to show in her presence, by not inviting her to spend the full night with him afterwards.

When it came to her, holding back no longer seemed like a viable option; even without experiencing all of her, he knew the damage had already been done. He had allowed himself to taste her, and now the memory of her lips and her cunt would haunt him until he had tasted both again. The coming weeks and months would already be difficult enough, and he had already ballsed things up royally by giving himself such a significant handicap. While it made sense to make the most of things, indulging both of their urges whenever the right opportunity came along, he knew he would have to play things just right to retain some small semblance of control.

He wondered if Sarah would be able to do the same.

Just as he had anticipated, the woman herself arrived several minutes earlier than they had originally agreed upon – just not early enough. She pushed through the café’s glass doors with something of a smile on her face, at least until she saw him.

To the uneducated observer, the heavy jacket she wore might have seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. To someone who had lived the past few months in longing for the luscious body beneath all that fabric, however, it was quite obvious there were a few surplus layers packed in underneath it. If one didn't know any better, it might have seemed like the woman was going to great lengths to protect her modesty. A pity that the tight blue denims encasing her hips and thighs offered no such security. Jareth fought back a grin as he ran his gaze down her, head to toe, and raised a lazy little salute in greeting.

Oh, that fucker. I should have gotten here at dawn. Even from across the room, Sarah could already see the man she was beginning to think of as more than her nemesis was having fun. Not even Satan himself should have been able to look so sinfully good while he insisted on tormenting her. While she was barely able to look at him without delicious flashes of the night before playing through her mind, he was the picture of innocence in a pure white sweater and dark jeans, waving her over to join him like any dear old friend might. She granted him no more than a curt nod of acknowledgement as she headed over to the counter to place an order.

It dawned on her that she should have picked a different café for their meeting; the food there was too good for her to avoid the place forever, but from that day onwards, she knew it would be tainted by memories of the Goblin King's presence. It would be best to finish up their business as quickly as possible. Already, she could feel beads of sweat gathering at her temples and the small of her back. She had time to wonder, as she made the walk of shame to Jareth's table, just how big of a mistake she had made by agreeing to meet with him. The look in those fathomless blue eyes still made her feel naked as she slid into the seat opposite him.

“We need to talk about last night.”

Jareth smiled at her. “Right to the point, I see. I'm all ears, love.”

She did not return that smile. “Don't think I don't see what you pulled. When I agreed for you to contact me, I said 10am to 10pm, Monday through Saturday.”

His lips twitched. “Indeed you did.”

“Yet somehow you managed to contact me after 11pm on a Sunday.” She rolled her eyes at his not so guilty little chuckle before she continued. “So, to clarify, that means 10am to 10pm Eastern Daylight Time from now on, since otherwise you'll just pick whichever time zone suits you so you can always get through to harass me, won't you?”

Clever girl. Jareth couldn't help but admire her powers of deduction, even as he watched her sweat. “I'd deny it, but that would be rather pointless, now wouldn't it?”

Her jaw tightened. “And, just to make things even clearer, that means 10am to 10pm each day, and not 10am Monday right through to 10pm Saturday. It means no more overnight mischief, got it?”

Jareth grinned outright, not a hint of apology in his expression. “Spoilsport. I was rather hoping you wouldn't pick up on that one.”

She couldn't take it any longer. Between the Goblin King's burning gaze and the ridiculous outfit she had chosen to wear, she had to admit defeat. Standing up, and taking every care not to meet Jareth's eyes, she stripped off her thickest jacket and the bulky hooded sweatshirt she had pulled on beneath it, before moving onto the next layer. Finally, with the top few buttons of her baggy flannel work shirt undone, and the sensible white t-shirt beneath that exposed, she could breathe again. Doing just that, she plopped back down into her seat, savouring the café’s AC on the back of her neck. Feeling the weight of his eyes still on her, she shot a glance across the table and met Jareth's beaming smile.

“Cold out today?” he quipped.

It seemed like too much effort to even bother frowning at him. “Freezing. Now, shall we get started?”

Jareth waved a benevolent hand. “By all means.”

She hadn't just brought a couple of concerns to the table; by the looks of it, she had an entire list of them. Her expression was quite lovely, earnest and set in determination as it was, but Jareth forced himself to focus on the notebook she set down before her. Neat black handwriting filled its pages. The Goblin King eyed the rise and fall of each letter, the loops and swirls of dark ink. There were no jagged lines or scratched out words that he could see – nothing to hint at rage or impatience behind the author's hand. She had drafted out her conditions after lots of thought, and with a clear head; he would give them the same consideration.

Sarah pulled in a deep breath and then began. “I want an escape clause.”

The Goblin King couldn't resist a smirk. “So soon? And we've been getting on so well.”

Sarah carried on as if he hadn't chipped in. “If I find that this whole magic and maybe eventual ruling thing is too much for me to handle, I want the option to back out, regardless of how many hours we've both put in. I don't want to get dragged into some eternal Underground contract just because you don't feel like going through the whole hiring process again.” At Jareth's chuckle, she glanced up, and then quickly back down at her notes again. “Likewise, if, at any point during our … sessions,” she continued, cringing only slightly, “you come to the conclusion that I'm never going to be up to the task of being queen, I want you to be able to show me the door, no hard feelings or obligations. I won't let any of your – uh, our, I guess – citizens suffer under a shitty queen just 'cause I managed to snag the job on a technicality. Is that okay so far?”

“Of course – and, might I say, surprisingly well thought out. Continue.”

Sparing him only a brief scowl – leave it to him to be surprised she had a brain – she moved onto her next point. “I want your promise that, during the course of our lessons, no harm will come to me. I mean, yes, I get that the magical headaches and maybe the occasional bruise might come with the territory, but if I'm going to be involved in anything really dangerous – like taking on mounted goblin armies, or hulking door monsters, or even being dragged into performing in a circus …” The two of them shared a sharp look; a second apology would not be forthcoming, but neither would she forget his antics that night. “Yeah, I'm going to need that added safety net.”

“An entirely reasonable request. As your tutor, I'm willing to take extra precautions to ensure you emerge from your lessons unscathed.”

Sarah nodded. “Okay. Next up: I want your word that you won't use any more tricks to try and manipulate me – especially when it comes to food.” She began to tick off the possibilities on her fingers. “That means no more poisoned peaches, no nectarine narcotics, no hallucinogenic honeydew slices, banana-flavoured benzos, or whatever other fucked-up fruits your twisted little mind comes up with that could impair my judgement.”

“Been rehearsing that one, have you?” he asked with a grin, forcing her to press on before her lips could respond in kind.

“That's none of your business. Just to be clear, by the way, that is by no means an exhaustive list, and nor does it just apply to fruit. I want all of the food groups covered – and all solids, liquids and gases, for that matter.” Her expression sobered. “No more drugs, Jareth. If you have any respect for me at all, don't ever play with my mind like that again.”

The Goblin King would never freely admit that it was perhaps a touch of guilt, rather than thirst, which caused him to scoop up his cup in that moment and gulp down a little of his coffee. His tongue stung and his eyes watered at the heat of the drink. “Done,” he said, and stifled the urge to cough.

“Good.”

In the lingering silence that followed, Sarah caught herself looking for a menu to occupy her mind and restless hands, before she remembered she had already placed her order. She settled on toying with one of the table's paper napkins instead, and praying she didn't manage to tear it – or Jareth – into shreds before the meal was through. As if hearing his name in her thoughts, the Goblin King cocked his head to one side, the left corner of his mouth hitching up.

“Do you-?”

“Should I-?”

The two of them shared an awkward chuckle, and Jareth gestured for her to go on. He was under no urge to take the initiative while he was still pondering that odd touch of emotion he had felt. It was far easier to settle back and sip at his coffee – after blowing on it, of course – and to observe the way her mind worked, rather than starting to question his own.

“So,” Sarah continued, fingers already starting to pick at the edge of her napkin, before she pushed it nervously aside. “We've covered no injuries, no tricks or dick moves, and no tampered with food or drink, and, of course, the ol' 'get out of coronation free' clause.” She glanced down to discover herself scratching at the back of one hand, before she forced both her palms to lay flat against the table. Even out in public, with the gentle noise of the café surrounding them, it still struck her just how intimate it felt to meet his eyes – to actually be preparing to have brunch with the Goblin King.

“You said you weren't planning on proposing, which is just fine with me as we still hardly know each other – don't.” A little growl left her as she caught his smirk. It didn't take a genius to know he would try to bring up just how well they'd gotten to know each other the evening before, if she gave him even the smallest opportunity. “So neither of us is looking for a spouse – more of a business partner than a life partner, I guess you'd call it – but if we go past the magic stage, I still need to know what the Underground would expect of me. And … I need to be upfront about something. I don't really like kids.”

Jareth's mouth twitched. “I'll bear that in mind when I make seating arrangements for any future banquets – assuming, of course, you can bear to be in the same room as the little beasts to begin with.”

“No, seriously, Jareth. I know for sure by now that I don't want any of my own. I mean, they're cute and all in maybe five minute instalments, and I love my brother to death, but … I've never been cut out to be a mother. I'm more of the fun aunt who'll colour with them, and talk about ponies and dinosaurs and watch cartoons for a while, then send 'em back to mom and dad when they start to get too loud and cranky. I don't do stinky diapers, and I don't do giving up every minute of my free time to look after a whole other tiny person, and freaking out over if they're still breathing or not. I just can't do that long-term. If being queen means providing an heir at some point …”

“Hmm. I'd like to think things Underground are a little more civilised than you think, Sarah. I'm not offering hours of my precious time and part of my kingdom to you just in the hope that you'll one day act as royal broodmare. Of course, as with any royal family, nepotism plays its part, but in my world, blood ties alone aren't enough to make a worthy monarch. The realm will have its next ruler, one way or another, but they needn't be blood kin, and they must first prove themselves – as you would have to.” His voice softened when he saw the concern in her eyes, and he offered her a much warmer smile. “Those are concerns for the distant future, but I promise you, I'll never expect you to bear my child. Truth be told, I find my own patience somewhat lacking when it comes to the endless noise they bring. Now, is that all that's on your list?”

Sarah managed a smile. “For now, I guess.”

“Good, because I think our food is here.”

Sure enough, a server approached their table with a smile, and presented them with an order of waffles, a toasted sandwich, and a tall chocolate milkshake, much to Jareth's amusement. After thanking their server, Sarah dragged the latter in front of her. “Some asshole wouldn't shut up about milkshakes lately, so I had a craving.”

She tucked the straw between her lips and stared across the table, one eyebrow raised, daring him to pass judgement. Mercifully, with a full plate of sugar and carbs in front of him, Jareth chose to pick up his knife and fork and behave himself. It seemed to ground them both to have a shared goal: to enjoy their small meal without letting the urge to flirt or to throttle the other spoil it. Sarah had to admit, his table manners were flawless – last night's lewd antics across his own table aside. Likewise, when she had settled in enough to relax, Jareth acknowledged that the proud woman before him wouldn't seem out of place at even the most sophisticated function Underground. The Goblin King actually found himself smiling a little when he imagined a time in the far future – a time when, instead of being forced to suffer such gatherings alone, he might find himself with quite an interesting ally to alleviate his boredom, or at least to share in it.

It was important to hold onto whatever small positives they each could grasp, rather than dwelling on the tough times still ahead. It was important to try to find some common ground, until being in each other's presence did not seem like quite so much of an oddity. With Sarah evidently determined to go on staring at her plate, taking in her food in small, neat bites, Jareth took it upon himself to break the wary silence.

“How do you feel after yesterday?” he asked, before his tongue swept across his lower lip to lap up the last traces of syrup. He saw how Sarah's eyes immediately dropped to his mouth before quickly darting away, a frown already starting to descend over her features. At once, Jareth understood the implication. He tapped a finger against his temple. “Your head, I meant – just your head. I meant to ask sooner if you'd fully recovered from our communications, but I didn't want to interrupt your list of demands.”

“Ah.” Feeling her cheeks beginning to burn, Sarah crammed another bite of her sandwich into her mouth, hoping she wasn't about to choke herself. She didn't understand why he usually went to such effort to make her blush with his lewd little quips when, apparently, a simple, innocent question could have the same effect. “I'm good,” she managed, after a hasty swallow. “It doesn't hurt the way it used to when we talk. No headaches at all since before … well, before.”

Jareth smiled and nodded, once again proud of his restraint. “You're a fast learner. That bodes well for the journey ahead, although you may still find yourself lapsing back into bad habits now and then. It's best to keep on practising non-verbal communication. Of course, I'd be happy to assist in whatever ways I can.”

It pleased him to see her smile. “Yeah, I bet you would. If I get desperate enough, I might just take you up on that.”

Almost at once, she felt him tickling at the edge of her mind. 'I'm sure you will. How's the milkshake?'

'If you really wanted to find out, you should have ordered one of your own.'

'And have you believe I'd done it just to tease you? Whyever would I do such a thing?'

'The same reason you do anything else: just to fuck with me.' Another smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. 'You seem to enjoy doing that way too much.'

'Mmm. Don't even get me started.'

She gave an embarrassed little roll of her eyes, knowing just where that line of conversation would lead if she allowed it. Nevertheless, she sighed and pushed her glass across to his side of the table without a sound passing between them. This little peace offering was better received than the last. Before she could let go, Jareth reached out to cover her fingers with his own, squeezing lightly and instilling her with his heat. He accepted the chocolatey treat with a little wink of thanks, his eyes still on hers as he leaned in to take a sip. His lips pursed briefly around the straw before curling upwards.

“Delicious.”

Chapter Text

The heels of Jareth's boots echoed throughout the castle's long hall, announcing his royal presence with every step. Sarah followed along behind him, and wished for some more imposing footwear than just her sneakers. Away from her more conservative world, the Goblin King had attired himself more suitably to his homeland, his peacock blue shirt open at the throat, his dark cape billowed out behind him. She wondered if, one day, she might possess that same power – not just to change her outfit at will, but the ability to make one hell of an entrance, whichever realm she cared to cross into. As it was, she found herself already lagging behind the purposeful king, the speed of his long strides forcing her into the eager trot of a loyal puppy at his heels. She was almost certain that he would slow down a little, if she needed him to, but of course that would mean the shame of actually asking. Pure stubbornness kept her scuttling along in his shadow.

“So, I'm guessing you don't give the grand tour of this place that often, huh?” she huffed.

Jareth kept on at that same brisk, almost punishing pace, but his tone was mild enough. “I hardly have the need to. Visitors are a rare occurrence here, and those who do come to call tend to either already be familiar with the castle's general layout, or else not be worthy of the full tour. Seeing as you'll be spending a fair amount of time here, this seemed appropriate.” He hoped she appreciated the inherent compliment, and risked a brief glance back over his shoulder to see for himself. “Do excuse the mess. The ground floor was swept and mopped, in preparation for your arrival, but with all the comings and goings around here, any form of order has a tendency to unravel rather quickly. The higher floors are a little more civilised, as there's something of a hierarchy in place; access is always a privilege, not a right.”

Sarah rolled her eyes at the echo of her own, earlier words, but said nothing. If she didn't start tuning out at least some of his teasing, the two of them would bicker non-stop and accomplish nothing. At least there was something to keep her distracted from any snide comments: the castle, despite its constant noise and many, messy inhabitants, was gorgeous. She was pretty certain it would hurt the Goblin King's overinflated ego to find her gaping at something other than him, but she couldn't help herself, even if she wanted to. Jareth's voice faded into a comfortable background murmur as she shuffled along behind him. Now that her baby brother wasn't at risk, she found she could take a little time to appreciate the architecture around her. She tried not to fawn too much over the grand banqueting hall, with its high, vaulted ceiling and gleaming brass chandeliers and matching wall sconces. She forced herself not to linger too long in the torch-lit corridors they passed through, reaching out every now and then to trail the tips of her fingers over the pale stone walls, and the elaborate woven tapestries which covered them.

Her reverie was only broken when a small, green goblin darted out of an open doorway and directly into Jareth's path. Instead of doing the normal, polite thing and stepping around it, the Goblin King drew back his foot and kicked the poor thing square in the ass while it tried its best to scurry out of his way. The poor goblin caught a surprising amount of air, flying what Sarah judged to be a good six or seven feet before touching down on the hard ground again. The tiny thing made a swift exit after that, hurtling through another doorway as if his head was on fire and his ass was catching. Appalled as Sarah was, she didn't even realised she had squawked her astonishment into Jareth's mind.

'Actually, I'd say it was closer to eight feet, but good eye nonetheless.'

Sickened, she tossed her head as if it would somehow shake him out of it. “Some ruler you must be. My god, you're mean sometimes.”

He shot another glance over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon?”

She glared right back at him. “Are you serious? I mean the kick! You could have just asked the little guy to move.”

Jareth scoffed. “Would you have my own subjects see me as weak?”

“I don't know about that, but I'm pretty sure they'd appreciate not seeing the end of your shoe every time they manage to piss you off.”

“Hmm. How little you know.” The Goblin King at last slowed his steps, moving a little to the left to leave her with plenty of room to walk by his side. When she had joined him, he went on, his head turning every so often, gaze moving from the path ahead to her. “A goblin respects only three things: gold, ale, and brute strength. Give him either of the former and he'll be your chum, at least until the chance comes to betray you for a better offer. Prove to him the latter – that you are more powerful, and therefore superior to him – and you'll have his loyalty for life. They'd be disappointed – insulted, even – if there wasn't a little rough-housing around here on a daily basis. I demand their respect with my actions, as well as my words.”

“I see.” It gave her something to think on as they continued with the tour. “And I guess them being loud and annoying has nothing to do with you enjoying kicking the shit out of them?”

Jareth grinned. “Now, I never said that. I imagine that, in time, you might enjoy unleashing a little of your frustration on them as well. You do have to be careful where you apply this ideology, of course. Kick a goblin and he'll follow you all the way to the ends of the earth, if he has to. Kick a brownie or a faerie, however, and you're likely to crush not only his tiny body, but his fragile spirit as well.”

“Okay, so no kicking the faeries – got it. Anything else I should know about the creatures around here?”

“Plenty, but I wouldn't expect you to fit it all into your brain all at once. Or for anyone to process so much information, for that matter,” he added, after a beat too long. The ghost of a smirk upon his lips as he poked fun at her intellectual prowess got her hackles rising.

“Uh-huh. Remind me: was it faeries or goblins who respond well to their king singing and dancing? I guess my tiny little brain always forgets that one.” At Jareth's dark look, she laughed and racked up a single, satisfying point to Team Sarah. “Hey, people talk – or, should I say, certain creatures who will remain nameless do. Toby may not be able to remember those few hours of babysitting you put him through, back in the day, but word gets around. From what I hear, you've got quite the moves.” She bit her tongue when she realised just how easily that little teasing compliment could take the conversation in a different direction – towards his ballroom, and the times the two of them had moved far too well together. Luckily, the Goblin King seemed a little too flustered to make the same connection.

“What would you have had me do instead?” he demanded. “Keep the poor lad you wished away caged up like an animal? Sit him in front of that mind-rotting device you call a television to keep him occupied?” He made a mental note never to disclose his own proclivity to spending an hour or three in front of the device, after a particularly tiring week. “That little … performance of mine was entirely for the benefit of your infant brother – an infant who, let me tell you, filled more nappies in those few, stinking hours than I've had the misfortune of seeing in the rest of my lifetime. I do hope your parents are feeding him less these days.”

“You don't have to worry about my brother,” she said, after a small pause.

By her fading smile and distant look in her eye, it was obviously the first time she had ever put any real thought into the actual care he had been generous enough to provide. The tiresome child had even had the audacity to piss on his lap, forcing him into even more costume changes than planned on that fateful day, but he had been returned to her in one piece, after all was said and done. Jareth saw the way her jaw worked, as if perhaps she had some other thoughts to share on the subject, but he turned from her with a sneer.

“No, for the indefinite future, my main worry is you, Sarah – you, and the sudden and inexplicable exhaustion that seems to sweep over me whenever I'm in your presence.” Once again, he began to pull ahead, calling back to her over his shoulder. “Now, come along. We still have the rest of the castle to see.”

Grumbling only a token amount, Sarah followed his lead.

When he showed her out of the castle's small side entrance and down into the lush, green gardens, Sarah was immediately grateful she had never made it that far into the castle grounds on her first visit. Had she walked through them back then – following the winding, overgrown walkways, plucked straight from the pages of a fairytale – she wasn't certain she would have even wanted to escape with her brother.

Everywhere she looked, she was greeted by colour and beauty, from the patches of exotic flowers, to the tiny, vibrant creatures that flitted and danced between them on gossamer wings. Flashes of light caught her eye, cast from gazing globes of every hue she could imagine, each one balanced atop its own ornate stone pedestal and glistening like a jewel in the sun. Shimmering silver winked at her from beyond the tall grasses, and when she strained her ears, she could hear the soft melody of running water. There was a wide, white stone bench perfectly positioned in the shade of what Sarah first took to be a cluster of willow trees, but on closer inspection decided were something else entirely. The trees' drooping fronds came almost low enough to brush the ground in places, pale green leaves interspersed with lucent silver berries. Those hanging branches glittered like stardust as the trees swayed in the day's light breeze, nature and magic moving together as one to form gentle waves of light.

Sarah found she could picture herself quite well beyond the shimmering curtain they made, tucked away from the rest of the castle with not a care in the world, and a good book in her lap. It was a little alarming, just how receptive her mind and body already were to that picture, and worse: just how easily Jareth, too, became a part of it, the longer she looked. In her moment of fantasy – one which she immediately began to hate herself for – the Goblin King had his own book in his hands and his head rested comfortably in her lap, and when he sighed his pleasure and turned those clear blue eyes up to meet hers and smiled …

A small squeak that she had absolutely no memory of making somehow escaped from her throat. When daydream Jareth disappeared, and the real Jareth turned to raise a questioning eyebrow in his stead, she immediately clapped a hand over her nose and mouth and began to pat at her pockets for a tissue. “ Uh … allergies,” she muttered by way of explanation, and it seemed enough to satisfy him. She was grateful when Jareth made the suggestion to head back indoors; with his vow not to play with her mind firmly in place, it meant that happy little fantasy had been one completely of her own making. To her relief, Jareth was either too preoccupied to notice her sudden silence, or at least chose not to comment on it as he led her back inside. She couldn't help but notice his smirk as he paused outside the next room on the tour.

“This is the library,” he told her. “We'll carry out the majority of your lessons just through here. I hope it's to your liking.” He was careful to watch her reaction as he swung open the room's tall, arched doors.

Sarah pulled in a deep breath and held it. There were almost no words for the sight before her. “Oh,” she said at last. “Oh, wow.”

Grinning to himself, Jareth stood aside to watch as she went tottering into the library, eyes and mouth wide open, reminding him a little of his owl-self as she tried to rotate her head in all directions at once. She had obviously been expecting something grand, rows upon rows of thick books all neat and tidy, waiting to be plucked off their shelves on a whim. What she received instead was-

“Chaos. This is just … chaos.”

She wasn't wrong. It was rather entertaining to watch her venture deeper into the room, curious yet cautious as she sidestepped mounds of jumbled up books, heaps of disorganised scrolls, and towering stacks of loose papers, each ready to topple over at the smallest of ill-timed sneezes. Though the floor was its usual, cluttered mess, the surrounding bookshelves were virtually empty – though Jareth noticed, to his amusement, that a half-hearted attempt at restoring order had finally been made in one corner of the library. A single, low-down shelf had been lined with books, although with titles ranging from Stews and Yous to Screw It: Sixty Quick Carpentry Projects For Goblins On The Go, the only real connection between them seemed to be that all of their covers were green. The Dewey Decimal System, it most certainly was not, but Jareth supposed at least some form of categorisation was better than none.

“You really need to come up with a better system,” Sarah remarked, echoing his own thoughts.

“Perhaps, but I can only work with what I have. It's messy, certainly, but the goblins seem to prefer it that way. In particular, it encourages the younger ones to read and actually learn something, on occasion. They do like hunting through their own little piles for hidden treasures. If I'm so desperate for a book that it can't wait, I can always summon it myself.”

“But how the hell do you even find anything in here?”

“Mostly, I don't. They do,” he said, nodding towards a particularly large pile that seemed to be moving and chittering.

He clapped his hands, and a pair of goblins, one small and squat, and the other tall and slender, managed to emerge from their hill of books in perfect unison. They were clad in matching copper-rimmed pince-nez and smart, double-breasted waistcoats, though the shorter one wore green and the taller of the two wore red. Green-waistcoat immediately bowed to his king, while red-waistcoat tried to make his dust-covered clothing a little more presentable before following suit. “Majesty,” they murmured together.

Jareth nodded at the pair of them. “Nook. Gnarl. This is the lady Sarah. She'll be popping by here every so often, so make sure that she feels welcome. Oh, and I'll need you to get me The Power of Illusion by the end of the week.”

After a brief glance at one another, the two goblins nodded in agreement. “Yes, Sire,” they said, and dived right back into their books and their whispered bickering.

Sarah grinned, deciding she liked the odd pair already. “Now I see what you meant about waiting.”

“What they lack in speed, they make up for in resolve. They always deliver in the end, so long as you keep your expectations realistic. A few days' notice is usually enough.” He cocked an eyebrow, noticing her smile. “Something amusing?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I guess … Well, I wasn't aware that you even saw me as a lady, let alone getting your goblins to call me that.”

Jareth shrugged. “Lord and Lady, they understand; King's Burden, not so much. I just thought I'd keep things simple.” He winked at her before she could become too offended by the jest. “Anyhow, honorifics and reading material aside, the room we want is this way.”

He led her into a niche between two towering banks of empty bookshelves, where a small door was tucked away. It opened onto an intimate little study area, kitted out with hardly more than the bare essentials. Besides the large rose window with its cushioned sill, there stood a table, two chairs, a small bookshelf containing what appeared to be a selection of actual books … and, of course, Jareth himself. Sarah found herself awfully close to blushing when she thought of the two of them being shut away together for hours on end, with precious little else to focus on in that tiny room but each other.

As if sensing and feeding on her worries, Jareth smiled at her as he swung the door closed. “The best part,” he told her, holding up a finger to ensure that they both paused for long enough to appreciate the new silence. He could no longer hear the squabbling of his goblins, but given Sarah's proximity and the delightful flush that had crept over her skin, he imagined he could almost hear the pounding of her heart. It was quite adorable, the way she evaded his gaze, studying every square inch of that small room instead. It was only as he began to study it with her, his eyes drifting across the table and picturing just how good she'd look bent over it, that he realised his mistake. His new pupil wouldn't be the only one struggling in their new surrounds. His thoughts began to stray further and further away from books and magical theory as he imagined all the other things he might teach her.

Already, he felt the temptation to step into her, kissing her senseless as he peeled her out of all those ridiculous layers she'd thought had any chance of keeping him from her, pausing just long enough to free his cock and slide it into her delicious heat. He wanted to feel her body against his once again, but even more than that, he wanted her eyes on him, full of passion and heat, and his name on those beautiful lips. He wanted to know just how she felt – just how deep her desire for him ran. He wanted, wanted, wanted, and yet in the end, none of his selfish desires would do them any good. There would be no chance of teaching her at least the basics of magic and keeping her from under his skin – not while he was so painfully preoccupied with the thought of hers. He cleared his throat loudly enough to make them both start.

“I've taken the liberty,” he said as he plucked a slim, leather-bound book out of the air, “of putting together something of a syllabus. I thought it might help if we both have not just a clear end goal to work towards, but some less daunting objectives marked out along the way as well.”

As he handed the book over, Sarah couldn't help but notice that its cover – a deep red, boasting only her name, embossed in gold – bore an eerie resemblance to that of The Labyrinth. She accepted it with a nod of thanks, as something perplexing turned over in her stomach. Somehow, she didn't think the food at the café was responsible for that feeling. Even after just a brief thumb through its pages, it was clear Jareth wasn't planning on spending too long gently easing her into things. “Well, this is …thorough.”

“I thought you'd appreciate the in-depth approach. You seem to like fast results, and a packed study schedule is the best way to get them.” He nodded towards the book. “For the first six months, we're going to take the skills you're already familiar with and build on them, as well as working on strengthening your magical core. Most of our lessons will be practical in nature – nothing beats getting in some actual experience when it comes to honing your powers – but there'll also be plenty of reading material, followed by discussion. The following six months, provided you're willing and able to continue, will involve a little further exploration, testing out new arts and teaching you new ways in which your powers might benefit you and those around you. By the end of the year, barring any major setbacks, you'll have sufficient experience and knowledge to keep things under control – that's regardless of whether or not we both choose to take this further.”

Though she tried to remain calm, she couldn't prevent her next breath from sticking in her throat. Christ, it was her life they were already starting to plot out. “And what then?”

Jareth's wan smile was hardly encouraging. “Then we sit down and have a good, long talk about where this is taking us, love. Though, deep down, you may already possess the strength needed to command this realm, it doesn't necessarily mean you want, or have earned the right to rule – not yet. Should you choose to learn more, continuing on this path, you'll find it takes far more than a basic understanding of magic to make you a queen.”

Again, she felt that unwanted tingling sensation – the strange warmth that she was quickly coming to associate with his presence, at least when the two of them weren't ready to tear one another's throats out. Sarah wasn't sure whether it was the mention of that title, that position of power that caused it, or the fact that she was really starting to consider some sort of future that included him.

Jareth saw the gears of her mind beginning to turn, and what looked to be alarm burgeoning in her eyes. Choosing to sidestep the issue, at least for the time being, he flapped a dismissive hand, then tapped its knuckles against the book's cover. “I believe it's best, given how much we have to cover, that we concentrate on your lessons for now, rather than what may or may not come after. I'm going to keep you busy enough for the foreseeable future without cluttering up your head with anything more. You can take this copy with you to read over in your rooms once you're settled in.”

Sarah, who had been content to hide her worries beneath the act of skim-reading, now raised her head to stare at him directly. “Wait, what? No one said anything about settling in when we started the tour. It's not like I need to stay here if …” Her eyes widened momentarily, before their lids crashed down, heavy with resignation. “Oh, dear god, I am going to be staying here, aren't I?”

Jareth couldn't help a chuckle. “Well, yes, if you plan on continuing your everyday life Aboveground around your studies here. Your days will be your own, to work or to attend classes, or to do whatever you see fit, but we're going to have to be a little creative with your nights, and exactly how much time we slot into them.”

He drew another, smaller book into his hands and began to consult his notes, the left corner of his mouth ticking upwards as he realised Sarah hadn't yet deigned to open her eyes. “The shift will be gradual,” he told her, “allowing sufficient time for your mind and body to adjust to the extra hours. I believe one day Underground – that's a full twenty-six hours by my clock – will be sufficient to start with, slotted into each evening. After that, as your training progresses onto more complex subjects, it would make more sense for you to remain here for longer periods, allowing for you to fully grasp one subject before we move onto the next.”

A low groan clawed its way out from her throat and shambled across the small space between them. She could feel the beginnings of another headache forming already, but this time it had nothing to do with magical exertion. “So when you said this whole 'introduction to magic' thing would take about a year …”

The Goblin King nodded. “A year in your time, yes. Bear in mind, love, that the powers you've managed to acquire have been cultivated over many decades. I know I make it all look rather easy, but I've worked hard to get where I am today.” A little amused by her obvious woe, he couldn't resist one last dig. “Just be grateful I plan on teaching you the highly condensed version, or else we'd never be rid of one another.”

“So let me get this straight: I work my ass off all day, and then when I go home and go to bed and try to relax at night, I wake up here, with you instead?” She closed the book and brought its smooth cover up to cool her forehead. “Oh, god,” she muttered into the leather. “This is a nightmare. This is an actual, living nightmare. Freddy Krueger has nothing on you.”

“Nine, ten, never sleep again,” Jareth hummed in a husky, worryingly seductive little singsong, before breaking into a grin. “Though I think that's something of an exaggeration. For one thing, as amusing as it might be to fool around in your dreams on occasion, I wouldn't be seen dead in horizontal stripes – or undead, for that matter. In all seriousness, though, I'd encourage you to take as much rest as you need to while you're here, to recover your energy. Now, are you ready to see your rooms?”

Sarah shrugged and tucked the book beneath her arm. “Sure, why not? I'm starting to think I need to lie down for a while.”

Jareth stashed his own notes away and graced her with his most winning smile. “Colour me disappointed. I was expecting a little more of a chase before I actually got you into bed, but so be it. Come along.”

He left her to glower at his back as he sauntered off ahead, and Sarah didn't know which she hated more: his unbelievable arrogance, or the fact that she felt obliged to steal a quick glance at his backside even as she stewed in indignation. God damn those tight cheeks for providing such a pleasing distraction while she was still busy trying to hate the real ass behind them. It was only when said ass had passed through the main library and began to lead her up to the next floor of the castle, that she finally found her voice again.

“You know, if you're desperate enough to hand over your magic and wait this many years, just to get a woman into bed, maybe you should rethink your strategy,” she muttered, hating how petty the words sounded.

Jareth, who was already several steps above her by then, voiced a soft snicker, the sound of his mirth echoing back from the pale stone to imprint itself firmly in her ears. “L'esprit d'escalier, love? Rather apt, given the circumstances, but do try to keep up.”

Feeling a little too shaken for wit, Sarah kept her lips pressed firmly together. The smug bastard had a response for everything.

The staircase was steep and narrow, spiralling upwards into what seemed like miles. Sarah might have wondered if the Goblin King was overcompensating for something with the sheer size of his home, had she not already seen irrefutable evidence proving otherwise. She was able to snatch only brief glimpses of the floors they passed, the long walk and her damned curiosity getting the better of her and almost causing her to collide with Jareth's back as he came to an unexpected halt.

“This whole floor will be for your use, and yours alone,” he explained, as he pointed her down a silent, torch-lit corridor. “Bedchamber and bath on the left, and your own private solar and dining area, should you wish to eat alone, to the right. Everything you need has been provided for you, and if you happen to think of anything that hasn't, you'll find a bell-pull by your bed, and a servant who'll come to answer it, should you have need of them.”

“You … really didn't have to do all this.”

The Goblin King shrugged. “After all we've been through, I thought you'd appreciate a little consideration and privacy,” he murmured, with a subtle sideways glance to catch her scowl. “As I said, the floor is yours, and you're free to come and go as you like without worry, with the exception of a single door.” He schooled his features into a cool mask as he pointed out the door in question, the keystone above it carefully carved to bear his royal mark. “Should you venture up to the floor above – my own floor – you'll find a door bearing an identical sigil. That one, I would humbly ask you never to use, out of respect for my own privacy. This one … well, I'd only advise you to think long and hard about whether you truly need what is on the other side, before entering.”

She turned away from the door to look at him, suspicion already creasing her brow. “And what exactly is on the other side?”

“I suppose you'll have to find out. Or not,” he added, smiling to himself as he spun on his heel and headed back towards the stairs, quite certain that her curiosity would already be killing her. “I suggest you make the most of this time to rest a little, and perhaps to familiarise yourself with the syllabus,” he called back over his shoulder. “I intend for us to get started this afternoon. I'll meet you downstairs in the library in one hour.” He turned and lingered in the stairwell just long enough for her to catch sight of his smirk, and then he was gone.

-

“Move the paper.”

Sarah covered her face with both hands and groaned. She had heard those same three words so often, they had lost all meaning, and yet the creamy white obstacle sitting so in such smug expectation upon the otherwise bare tabletop between them still refused to budge an inch. How she hated that paper. Every time she blinked, every time she glanced away to rest her eyes, its stark white after-image seemed determined to bore its way deeper into her brain. That paper was her nemesis – the last obstacle between sweet, sweet freedom, and remaining at that godforsaken table under Jareth's watchful gaze forever more.

Just as she had predicted, it hadn't taken long at all for their cosy little study corner to morph into something cramped and tense and charged with something she couldn't quite name. Several times, she had to check her temper, and silently talk herself out of lunging across that damned table at the man sitting opposite – though she remained unsure of what she would actually do to him, once she got there. Of course, it didn't help in the slightest that the Goblin King had chosen a table that looked remarkably similar to the one he had seduced her on, just the night before, to exert this cruel and unusual punishment at. Head in hands, she hunched herself over, half-hoping to disappear into the smooth wood.

A deep sigh ruffled her hair. “Sarah. Move the paper.”

Her head shot up, her palms coming down hard on the tabletop. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. And the fifth. And the fiftieth.”

Despite her tone, the Goblin King kept a tight hold on his serene expression. “Then perhaps this time you'd care to actually do as you're asked?”

“Do you really think continuing to ask at this point is helping?” She tried not to snap, she honestly did, but the calmness of his voice ground at her nerves, the same way that subtle curve of his lips did. On the surface, he seemed determined to help her, but deep down she couldn't help but think that it was all a joke to him – just another opportunity to toy with her until she finally cracked. “Look,” she sighed, striving for that same smooth timbre. “I already know what you want me to do, and I think it's pretty clear by now that I can't do it. Reminding me of that fact every few seconds is just getting both of us riled up. Please, just give me a break already.”

“As I've already told you, you'll get your break when your task is complete. All you need to do is-”

“-move the paper. Yes, I get that, Jareth, but it's just not working for me right now. Maybe if I take the rest of the evening off to get myself together … and nap … and eat something …” Her stomach groaned just at the thought of it. The light brunch they had shared a few hours past seemed like no more than a distant and pleasant dream.

At the mention of food, Jareth clasped his hands across his own stomach to silence its complaints before they began, turning the gesture into one of nonchalance as he leaned back in his seat and stretched out his legs. Sarah wasn't a slow pupil by any means – the way she had taken to their non-verbal communications had already proven that – but her focus on self-pity rather than the actual lesson was a test on his patience. The hour had grown late, and the two of them were too drained by the day to be of much use to one another, but he refused to let one moment of impatience set a precedent for the rest of their time together. Sarah would not be allowed to quit when things became difficult. She would not dictate the pace of his lessons. Unfortunately, the more he dug in his heels, the more she seemed to follow suit. Not ten minutes ago, she had at least still been willing to try to focus her powers on the paper, in between glowering at it. Now, it was clear she had no intention of making another attempt.

“Sarah, you can eat your fill and sleep however long it pleases you to,” he told her in the sweetest tone he could muster. “Right after you complete your task. Until then, we'll remain here.”

She didn't bother to hide her displeasure as his last words hit home, her jaw pulled taut and her gaze boring holes into his skin. “I think we've already established how pointless us just sitting here is. I cannot move it, Jareth, no matter how much you want me to.”

“Nonsense, you're simply giving up too soon.”

“Too soon? Are you kidding me? We've been at this for hours already!”

Gods help us both if she continues to state the obvious. He pulled in a sharp breath through his nose and released it slowly, forcing what he hoped was a gentlemanly smile as he did. “Yes, Sarah, and we'll be at it for hours more if you don't pull yourself together and put some real effort in. I know you can do this.”

Just look at that smirk. He's loving this. Sarah scoffed. “Do you? Or is this just a case of you needing to have control again, and refusing to admit you might – god forbid – be wrong?”

Jareth drew himself upright in his chair, palms resting on the table, eyes fixed on hers. “Allow me to counter: are you truly too weak to carry out the required task, or are you simply too lazy to?” He tried to ignore the weak throb of satisfaction he felt as her eyes narrowed and flicked away to hide her guilt. “Just do as you're told, really set your mind to it and release us both from this cursed room, and you won't have to exert even a single ounce more strength for the remainder of the evening. I'll even carry you up to bed and turn down the covers myself.”

At his offer, her gaze caught his and held, and this time it was he who looked away first. Too soon. He had meant only to tease her, painting the image of a spoiled child and the gracious keeper who catered to her every whim, but what had already transpired between them would forever darken even the most innocuous intent. If he wanted her to take him even the slightest bit seriously as a tutor, he would have to be more careful not to let anything untoward sneak into their lessons. Again. Still, he refused to take back or apologise for the words. There were far tougher trials ahead of them than tiptoeing around a little mutual lust. After chewing his tongue for a moment, he tried again. “What I mean is, you'll have the rest of the evening to yourself, to do whatever you want with. All I ask is that you do this first.”

She shook her head, and even the soft swing of her hair felt as though it weighed a ton. “You're asking too much, Jareth. I'm just … I'm so tired. I really don't have anything left.”

A softer smile touched his lips, even as he shook his head. “That's not true. You're forgetting that I've been in your shoes before. I wouldn't push you to the point of total exhaustion on your first day. All I want is a little more effort from you – just one last stretch. You can do this, Sarah. I already know that you're capable. It's up to you to believe in yourself.”

A deep groan escaped her as she turned her weary eyes back to the paper. “Save the motivational speeches for when I don't want to strangle you, okay?”

Jareth raised a brow. “Given our history, is that likely to be any time soon?” Of course, she didn't answer, and he sighed and placed a fingertip on the paper. “I thought not. In that case, I suggest we put all other urges aside and focus on this.”

A low growl forced its way past her teeth. The man just wouldn't back down. Scowling, she jabbed a finger down opposite his and pushed at the paper, causing the pristine white sheet to bow, and then wrinkle under the pressure. “There. It moved.”

“Sarah-”

“No, Jareth. I mean it, that's enough for today. Despite what you may think, I can't do any more. Christ, if I would have known you'd be on my ass this intensely on my first day, I would have made you at least buy me dinner first. Now, would you mind cutting me a little slack here?”

The eyes that met hers across the table were just as bold and unyielding as her own. “Very well. It appears that I've yet to provide you with sufficient motivation.”

With a small nod of his head, the now crumpled paper disappeared, and a large wooden platter came to sit in its place. Another nod, and the platter was filled with a selection of fragrant, tempting foods, almost to the point of overflowing. Sitting beside the single, obligatory peach – oh, did he receive a filthy look for including that – there was a pair of shiny red apples, a selection of fresh figs drizzled with honey, and a generous mound of blackberries, each one dark and plump with juice. Looming above the fruits was a hefty wooden salad bowl, topped with nuts and thin slices of apple, glossy red pomegranate seeds set like jewels between the crisp green leaves. Wedged between a small dish of green olives and one filled with roasted artichokes and peppers, sat a creamy white wheel of cheese, and a small, golden loaf of bread. Jareth's own stomach gurgled with some impatience at the sight, but then he caught the way Sarah's eyes widened, and he smiled. If he wasn't mistaken, his stubborn pupil was finally ready to pay attention – particularly to the bread, if the covetous look she gave it was any indication. She seemed reluctant to tear her eyes away from it, lest it disappear again.

“Is it …?”

“Safe? Perfectly. No tricks, as promised – don't forget, you have my word on that,” he assured her, snatching up an olive and popping it into his mouth. “See?”

“Right, sorry. I know you gave your word, it's just still a little … You know …”

“Unfamiliar? Daunting? Yes, I'm quite aware, but fear not: this is just the first simple meal of many. You're welcome to serve yourself.” Smiling as he began to chew, he conjured up a long, serrated knife and set it down beside the platter. He nodded at the bread. “And you're welcome to slice off as much as you want, provided you have the strength to lift the knife.”

She heaved out a long sigh. “Thanks, I feel like I'm starving here.” She reached out for the blade, but Jareth intercepted her hand.

“With your magic, of course. Need I remind you, we still haven't finished for today.”

Her budding good mood began to wither almost at once. Forcing out a laugh, she ducked her hand beneath his and took a firm grip of the knife before he could stop her, aiming it towards the inviting loaf. “Oh. Right. Sure thing. One little slice, and then we go straight back to work.” She almost swooned at the soft crackling sound the blade made as it passed through the loaf's outer crust. The smell of freshly-baked bread made her mouth water as she began to slice off a more than generous portion, opening up nearly half of the small loaf. A startled squawk left her lips when the knife was suddenly jerked out of her fingers by an unseen force. With a wave of Jareth's hand, the bread zipped itself right back up. It was as though she hadn't touched it at all, not even a crack on its surface to suggest she had ever cut into it. The knife came to hang suspended in the air between the two of them, the jagged edge of its blade now poised several inches above the bread.

“Nice try,” Jareth said, “but now let's try using your magic to wield it, like I originally asked. I've already done the hard part for you by moving it into the correct position. All you need to do is bring it down.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “I'm tired. I'm hungry.”

He nodded his understanding. “And as I said, you're free to eat as much as you like. All I ask is that your first cut be made using your powers. It's a little more tempting than paper, yes?”

“I'll try again after we eat, I promise. I just need to get some calories inside me first, okay? For strength.” She wrapped her fingers around the knife's sturdy handle, but this time it wouldn't budge, no matter how hard she fought with it. “Please, Jareth, I just can't right now.”

“I assure you, you can. You're more than capable of this.”

“Okay, well maybe I just don't want to right now.” The words came out sounding just as whiny and sulky as they had in her head, but she was beyond caring. That loaf just smelt so damned good, and she had already been pushed way too far that day. As if being in Jareth's kingdom wasn't enough, destined to remain in his castle and obey his rules until her stupid, worn out mind and body managed to get the hang of his magic, the man actually thought he could control how and when she ate. It was the last straw – one final command she just couldn't bow to. If she didn't at least try to push back, then his demand for absolute control would be the death of their arrangement after just one lesson. Exhausted, useless and ashamed, and humiliated as she felt, she just couldn't understand how things had gotten to this – how much her life had changed and her hopes had plummeted in such a short time. It was all just too much.

Blinking back angry tears, she gave up her struggle with the knife and reached out for the bread itself, determined to break open its crusty shell, even if it was by hand. It was about more than just bread now – her mind needed the rights to her own meal just as much as her body craved the actual food – but her fingers found only smooth wood instead. The small loaf had vanished. In the blink of an eye, Jareth made it reappear, now floating in the air right beside the knife. The pair hovered there, right before her eyes, so near and yet so far from her grasp. Sarah unleashed a growling, huffing approximation of a sigh, and felt the last of her patience leave her body along with it. “Seriously?” she snapped.

Jareth continued to watch her, yet he said nothing.

She reached for the bread again and, to no real surprise, felt her fingers close around nothing but empty air. The loaf blinked back into existence yet again, balanced with delicate care atop the pale white cheese. Fixing Jareth with a glare, Sarah snatched for it again, but wasn't quite quick enough. This time, after it disappeared, the bread did not return.

“Oh, come on!” Irritation reared up, driven all the harder by her hunger, and she made a grab for the wheel of cheese instead. It, too, disappeared at her lunge, as did the rest of the food on the table. A small, gritty sound clawed its way up from the very back of her throat. “You cannot keep me here and deprive me of food and sleep, Jareth,” she said through her teeth.

Resting his chin in one hand, the Goblin King rolled both his eyes and his fingers and made the full meal reappear. “Don't be so melodramatic. I don't intend to deprive you of anything, let alone such necessities as food and rest. I only want you to complete the day's lesson before you enjoy your meal. Bring the knife down with sufficient force to cut into the bread, even just the smallest inch, and then have at it. Honestly, if you put more effort into concentrating, rather than wasting both our time with your complaining, you could already be eating by now. We could both already be eating.”

“Yeah, well when I'm with you, complaining is a necessity.” She shoved her chair back from the table, stood, and then quickly pushed it back under before he could play any more games, missing his knees by mere inches.

“Oh, for the love of … Sarah, where are you going? Sit down. You haven't even touched your food.”

“I'm not a dog, and I'm not going to bark on command and shake paws for treats. You won't let me eat? Fine. I guess I'm going back to my room to rest until I get my energy back.” It irked her even more when he refused to rise to her, waving a dismissive hand at her seat.

“Oh, just sit down. The sooner you do as you're told, the sooner we can both relax afterwards.”

“Excuse me? I asked you to teach me; I didn't realise that entailed talking to me like I'm some kind of moron you can just boss around.”

“You go to college Aboveground, do you not? You take instruction from your tutors there, do you not?” Jareth grit his teeth. “May the gods bless whatever poor fools you deal with up there with infinite patience, because I regret to say, Sarah, dearest, that mine is running thin this evening.”

“Yeah? Well, mine too. All the more reason to start afresh tomorrow, right? It gives us both something to look forward to.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile that was entirely devoid of humour. “Goodnight, Jareth.” Her sneakers thumped against the stone tile as she stomped her way towards the door.

“I thought you were hungry,” Jareth called after her.

“I just lost my appetite. Besides, if eating means spending another minute here, with you, without gouging my brain out with an ice cream scoop, then I think I'd rather starve. Enjoy your meal, Jareth. May the gods forbid you choke on it.”

After casting a spiteful glare at her departing back, the Goblin King turned back to his meal and stuffed a second olive into his mouth, immediately followed by a third. They tasted of nothing but bitterness, and he soon gave up on the food, sending the whole platter down to the castle's barracks, where he knew it would be snapped up in seconds. At least some of his goblins would be sure to eat well that evening.

-

Less than four hours later, Sarah regretted her hasty departure with every aching part of her body. Her watch told her that breakfast time was still many hours away, and she had long since missed her chance for a civilised dinner with her host. As much as she wanted to sleep, the constant growling of her stomach wouldn't let her close her eyes for long. Goddamn Jareth and his lessons. If he had just been a little more understanding and a little less stubborn with his demands, she might have acted less like … well …

Flopped back on her borrowed bed, she pressed her hands to her empty belly and forced herself to admit it. A brat. I acted like a spoiled brat who didn't get her own way. Her hunger hadn't completely stripped her of her anger at the sneering Goblin King – it would have taken a saint, after all, to tolerate Jareth's know-it-all stare across that table for too long without losing it. Still, it hurt to admit that just a little more patience and perseverance on her part might have led to a much more pleasant evening. There would have been good food, and the warm glow of success, and yes, even a few simple words of praise, and maybe even a guarded look of pride on Jareth's face would have done wonders for her mood. It was hard to get her head around the fact that the man who had once tried so hard to tear her down now wanted to see her succeed in her efforts, pushing with grim determination for her to exceed even her own expectations.

She groaned as her hands abandoned her stomach to scrub at her eyes. She supposed that even the Goblin King was entitled to be right every once in a while, but the last thing he needed was her acknowledgement of the fact to make his head grow even bigger. It was bad enough that she had already come to feel ashamed of her harsh words, and not just because of the rumbling of her stomach. She knew Jareth's life would be a whole lot easier if he hadn't invited her to invade his home while he patiently taught her the basics of magic. He had respected her choice and agreed to help her hone her powers, and she had thrown everything back in his face on the very first day of their lessons. It certainly wasn't the first time she had thrown a gift back in his face, but this time she knew it wasn't something he deserved. She had just been so tired of butting heads with him. Lying there, in the bed Jareth had provided specially for her, no less, tired and guilty and alone to boot, felt far worse.

She checked her watch for the fourth time in as many minutes, wondering if it was too late to track Jareth down to apologise. Something told her he was a bit of a night owl. A wry smile crept across her lips as she slid off the bed.

Jareth had been considerate enough to leave her a pair of white silk pyjamas to sleep in – a little excessive, perhaps, and yet comfortable enough for her to actually consider wearing them on a regular basis. There was also a pair of slippers and a matching white silk robe, which she threw over the pyjamas for modesty's sake – though a part of her couldn't help but wonder if, draped in something so pure and innocent, she was playing right into one of Jareth's twisted fantasies. As she headed out into the castle's dimly lit corridor wearing just a thin layer of silk, ready to hunt down the devious Goblin King in the middle of the night, she tried not to think up any new and fucked-up fantasies of her own.

On her way to the staircase, the door Jareth had mentioned earlier caught her eye – the one bearing his royal sigil. 'I'd only advise you to think long and hard about whether you truly need what is on the other side, before entering,' he had said. She might not have even given it a second glance, had he not done everything possible to bring its mystery to her attention, telling her to be wary of what lay within, without actually declaring it to be off-limits. It was awfully suspicious, and Sarah couldn't help but wonder if it was part of another one of his warped little games. He had to know just how curious she would be about what was hiding behind that door. Maybe … just maybe … he wanted her to take a look.

It wasn't even locked. The doorknob turned easily under her hand, opening onto a corridor almost identical to the one she was standing in. It looked harmless enough, but Sarah had long since learned that things Underground were never always what they seemed. Still, if Jareth truly meant to keep her away from what lay within, why would he have left such a dangerous door unlocked? He had promised no harm would come to her, after all. She briefly considered looking for the marked door he had mentioned on the floor above to see if it, too, had been left open, and then put the idea from her mind. He had specifically asked her to stay well away from that door; whatever weird game the Goblin King wanted to play, she wasn't about to ruin it before it began by intentionally invading his privacy yet again. This door, however, was fair game. With how much her stomach was howling right then, not to mention her mind's grumbling at the thought of actually having to apologise to Jareth, she certainly needed the distraction. A bit of exploration – and putting off that apology for a little while longer – couldn't do too much harm.

Steeling herself, she stepped through the door, finally daring to breathe again when no alarm bells or outraged cries rang out at the intrusion. She took a couple of cautious steps forwards, noting how the floor seemed to have a slight downward incline to it, though nothing too steep for her to handle. The torches lining the stone walls were unlit, but the walls themselves seemed to have their own pale, whitish glow, providing just enough murky light for her to find her way by. It wasn't exactly an inviting, sunlit path like the ones she had seen in the gardens, but there was nothing to hint at danger, either. She kept her eyes trained ahead as her slippers shuffled forwards, forging her way deeper into the castle's underbelly with no clear goal or destination in sight. She walked long enough for her eyes to adjust to the dim light around her, but not to see where the passageway was taking her; she persevered down that seemingly endless corridor long enough for the silence to grow eerie. The unlit torches she passed every so often served as at least some marker for her progress, but after she had counted over thirty of them, it began to seem a little pointless.

He wants you to go on walking forever, just like you would have done back in his labyrinth, if that little worm hadn't helped you. He really does want to see just how far you can be pushed until he can break you.

The further she walked, the more solid that theory began to seem. Every step was one of faith, made into the complete unknown – all the more brave and foolish considering just how annoyed Jareth had been with her earlier. Of course, he would jump at the chance to mess with her a little more, that night. Even so, it was starting to feel a little ridiculous.

She only realised just how cold the passageway had grown when a shudder rippled through her skin, and she turned back to gauge just how far underground she had actually come. Rather than helping her get her bearings, though, the disorienting sight that greeted her was enough to turn her stomach. “Oh, what in the gravitational fuck?”

Clearly, Jareth had been toying with her right from her very first step. Not only was the door she had first come through still impossibly close-by, only twenty or so good-sized paces behind her, it also appeared to be upside down. Or perhaps she was the one standing at what should have been an impossible angle, shivering and starting to freak out on the corridor's low ceiling. There was nothing to suggest how she or the door had turned, no shifting of stone or downward hang of her hair as her body had flipped over, but she had already seen for herself just how little regard the Goblin King had for logical things like gravity. Please, don't let me fall. Her head spun as she took a single, wobbling step in the treacherous door's direction. Before she could stomach another, the door swung closed, sealing her in to face whatever fate the Goblin King had in store for her. Before she could even start to process that new and ominous turn of events, the walls around her began to lose their unearthly white sheen, growing darker and darker until they had stolen what little sight she had left. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no-!”

Closing her eyes against the sudden blackness, Sarah forced herself to pull in a deep breath before panic could truly take hold. The only visible exit had been closed to her. She could stumble back in that direction, erasing what little progress she had already made and more than likely finding the door locked as well, or she could suck it up and keep on going. Opening her eyes again, not that it made any real difference, she turned around and carried on. It would be even slower going in the dark, she knew, but the way forward had to be better than retreating with her tail between her legs.

Remember, this is just his twisted idea of a test, she thought as her fingers groped along the stone walls for the way forwards. He knows as well as you do that you won't back down. “Real cute, Jareth,” she called out into the endless blackness, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “I'm coming; you know I'm coming, and this would be over a whole lot quicker if you gave me some light here.”

She gave him a full ten seconds in which to grow a conscience, but of course, the corridor remained dark. “Okay, fine. Have it your way. Just know that I'll be all jittery, and sweaty, and angry by the time I get to wherever you're leading me. Oh, and if that same piece of paper is waiting for me at the end of this, I swear I'll-”

A golden spark of light finally flared up in the distance. Sarah grinned. “Thank you.”

That single, faraway torch was hardly bright enough to see any real detail by, but at least it gave her something to aim for. She was able to look down occasionally and see the grey ghosts of her feet moving beneath her, and the faint shadows of her fingers as they trailed along the rough wall. Already, she could tell the narrow corridor was starting to grow larger. The ceiling above her head began to melt off into the darkness, too high for even a flicker of the torchlight to reach it. She could no longer touch both walls at the same time, even if she stretched out her arms to their fullest. All that extra space turned every tiny, slippered shuffle of her feet into a lengthy hiss, and each uneasy, shuddering exhale of breath into the whisperings of giants. It was disconcerting, all that black, empty air surrounding her, and it was starting to get really fucking cold. She resisted wrapping her arms around herself and pressed on, her right hand still following the wall, and the other stretched out in front of her. The golden flicker of light remained a beacon of hope in the distance, but it seemed to be getting a little closer. Seeing it draw nearer gave her feet new confidence – at least until the growling started.

Oh, that is way, way too loud to be anything cute.

The sinister sound set her stomach curling up in terror, the soft hairs on her arms prickling up into full alertness beneath her silken sleeves. In his impatience with her, Jareth had apparently moved on from harassing her with a harmless piece of paper, to tossing her, unarmed and unawares, into some kind of monster's den. She couldn't help thinking she should have given his leather-bound lesson plan more than a cursory glance – or at least been a little more polite when she left him to his damned dinner. As it was, she remained frozen in place in the dark corridor, unable to coax her legs into moving again.

“Oh … okay, Jareth,” she called out, hardly more than a scared little squeak. “You made your point. I'm willing to give the paper another shot if you call off your-” Another deep, rumbling warning dried out her mouth. “F-fuck … whatever the hell you've dumped me in here with.” No response came, save for the hiss of her own panting breaths. “H-hey, you promised nothing bad would happen to me.”

“Nor will it.”

The soft words spoken into her ear and sudden weight of his hands upon her upper arms forced an undignified shriek from her, but at least they brought more light with them. Sarah squinted in the sudden glow as at least a dozen torches flickered to life around them. It took her eyes several seconds to adjust, and then-

Jareth gave her a squeeze, supporting her body with his as she stumbled backwards a step or two. “Easy. Easy. They mean you no harm, they're simply curious as to what you're doing here – as, I'll admit, am I.”

She could find no answer. Standing before her – towering above her – was the largest living beast she had ever seen: a monstrous white wolf, standing at least two times her height, and maybe even then some. Ludo could have saddled the thing up and ridden it, if the creature didn't swallow him up first. Its enormous forelegs looked as wide and tall as tree trunks, the hulking mass of its body an immense snowfield of thick, pure white fur. Yet the beast's sheer size was lost to an even greater fear: the two sets of eyes it had trained on her, one for each of its massive heads. Two pairs of eyes, one a deep, glowing amber, and the other a sparkling emerald green; two great white muzzles, presumably filled with great white teeth. She couldn't take her eyes off them – could no longer move in her fear, not her feet, nor her throat.

“ … fug.”

Jareth chuckled by her ear. “Don't be afraid. They're quite charming, once you come to know them. Fiercely loyal.” He gave her shoulder one last squeeze before he gently pushed his way past her.

Now, Sarah understood the warmth she had felt against her back. The Goblin King appeared to own a similar set of simple white pyjamas to the ones she wore – though he had neglected to put on the shirt. She tried not to think of his bare chest pressed up against her, his arms around her as he whispered soothing words into her ear. Fortunately, she had a conveniently-placed beast to blame all of her shivers upon. The wolf lowered both of its heads at Jareth's approach, and if Sarah wasn't mistaken, the beast – beasts? – actually seemed pleased to see him. Jareth showed no outward fear as he petted first one muzzle and then the other, glancing back over one bare shoulder at her with a grin as both heads butted and vied for his attention.

“This is Apogeion,” he explained, patting the amber-eyed wolf, “and this, what you might call his brother, or perhaps his other self, is Adamas.” He smiled as he reached up higher, rubbing the second head right between its bright green eyes. Pale, thick fur spilled between his fingers. “Some might say it's foolish to give each one a name when they share a body, but each has his own separate personality, and I suppose that sometimes a little sentimentality when it comes to pets is unavoidable. Apogeion is the more mellow of the two, with his head so often in the clouds.” He doled out an affectionate pat to the side of the beast's snout. “And Adamas here has always been the hard-headed one. Perhaps you two might get along. Are you quite all right, Sarah? You appear to be a little pale. I told you, there's no need for alarm. We're all friends here, love.”

“Friends? Friends?” When she pressed her hand between her breasts, she could feel her heart still hammering against her ribcage. “You like to trap all of your friends in the dark with your little pets? You didn't think it made sense to – oh, gee, I don't know – warn me first about just what was lurking under the castle?”

Jareth rubbed a finger beneath his lips as he considered, giving her the distinct impression that he was trying not to smile. “I'll admit, it was a touch neglectful not to include the kennels on your initial tour. I suppose I didn't want to overwhelm you on your first day here.”

“But it's totally fine to scare the shit out of me during my first night here, is that right? You didn't, by any chance, plan for something like this to happen if the lesson didn't go exactly how you wanted it to?”

His mouth hitched upwards just a fraction. “I did warn you only to use the door if you needed something.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “That's close enough to a confession. Besides, I did need something. I needed a distraction.”

And there it is, stubborn girl. This time, Jareth did allow himself to smile. “After eating only a single sandwich today, I can only guess from what.” He began to scratch behind one of Apogeion's ears, cocking his chin at her to come and join him. “All bark, no bite, I promise – at least to someone who shares my magical aura. It may take them a while to come to obey you, but they'll never hurt you.”

“Here's hoping,” Sarah muttered, taking a couple of hesitant steps forward. It was hard going, especially with three sets of eyes trained on her, pets and master watching her every move. Eventually, she made it close enough to satisfy their curiosity, holding out a curled and slightly trembling hand for the creature to sniff at. She supposed a truly dangerous beast wouldn't have been patient enough to take turns nosing at, and then licking the backs of her knuckles. Ever so carefully, she rewarded them both with a couple of pats on each head, ever mindful of their massive snouts. It was like stroking velvet. “Nice boy … uh, boys. Good boys.”

“That they are.” Jareth turned his back on her before she could continue with her complaints, striding to the cavern's opposite end with just enough purpose to keep her interest. “But I suppose you're more interested in learning the true purpose of this path – in discovering what rewards await those bold enough to enter.”

She stared after him, finally realising where he was headed. In her earlier panic, she had managed to overlook the small wooden door that was set into the stone. With Jareth's oversized pooch standing before it, she might even have missed a full scale parade occurring at the cavern's opposite end. She gave those massive twin heads one last sheepish glance before she scuttled her way past them, reaching Jareth's side just as he swung that new door open, revealing a world bathed in darkness.

“Come, Sarah,” the Goblin King said, mismatched eyes on hers as he beckoned her through the doorway. “Come forth, and see what your curiosity has brought you.” He stepped through into the deep shadows, giving her no other choice but to stay with his pets, or to follow him into the unknown.

“God damn you, Jareth,” she hissed as she went after him, holding back a groan as the door swung closed behind her.

The blackness of this new room embraced her, cold and clinging, until the Goblin King, generous as he was, chose to bless them with a little more light. Another pair of wall sconces flared up at his command, leaving her blinking and cursing once more. The first thing she saw was his smirking face, followed by panelled wooden walls, a hanging garden of dried herbs and meats all strung up from the ceiling, and rows upon rows of tightly-packed shelves filled with more food than her empty stomach could have ever dreamed of. So impressive was it all, that she almost forgot to feel annoyed.

“All that … just leads to the kitchen?”

“The back entrance to the pantry, actually.” He gestured to another discreet bell-pull, tucked away into one corner of the room. “Of course, you can call upon one of the kitchen staff to tend to your needs, if you like – someone will be available at all hours – but I thought you'd appreciate the chance to eat alone and undisturbed. Myself, I find this short cut quite handy if I'm ever in the mood for a walk and a late-night snack, without half of the bloody castle waking up and wanting to serve me, and-” He nodded towards the door they had come through, his voice taking on a lower, more intimate register, even though they were alone. “The boys never turn down an extra treat or two on my return.” If she looked like a fish in that moment, with her gaping disbelief, he was diplomatic enough not to mention it.

“You mean to tell me that this whole thing … all those theatrics …”

He began to chuckle. “Your expression was quite priceless, I assure you.”

She was hard pressed in that moment not to growl at him. “Well, I'm glad you found it all so funny. Do you realise how pathetic it is that you'd go this far just to get back at me for what happened earlier? Shoving me in the dark, with a giant fucking Cerberus? How could you even have known you'd get to me on time before-?”

“Orthrus, actually,” Jareth corrected her. “The breed was named for another of their ancestors. And I assure you, you were never in any real danger. If you'd considered for even one moment putting aside your frustration at me and listening with your mind, searching for that connection between us, you would have sensed me waiting for you the moment you opened that door – just as I felt you the second your feet touched the floor beside your bed.”

“I wasn't frustrated, Jareth. I actually got up to try to … Nevermind. It doesn't matter what I was doing. This whole thing was still unnecessary.”

“It provided a distraction, didn't it? You got to sate some of that infernal curiosity of yours and learn something useful in the process. The path will remain open and quite safe for you, should you ever have need for it, with food and drink aplenty waiting at this end. You may be an obstinate, infuriating thing at times, but I've no desire to see you starve.”

He began to peruse the nearest shelf, allowing her a moment to absorb the information as his eyes moved over the available options. Sweets. Always sweets when she's around. By the time all's done, she'll have added onto my waistline all that she's rotted from my teeth and made me tear out from my hair. Shaking his head, he selected a jar of chocolate cinder toffee for himself, and a strip of dried beef for the dogs. It took far less energy to acquire food in that simple way, rather than having to focus enough to will it into his hand, and the day had already been tiring enough. He turned with a smirk, ready to savour his new pupil's shame in the face of his generosity. He expected that shame, her embarrassment, and perhaps even more of her anger at the way she had been toyed with. What he hadn't anticipated was to find her calm and respectful enough to look him in the eye.

“Thanks,” she said, and though she did have the decency to look a little ashamed, she didn't shy away from him. “I was kind of a jerk earlier. I was just so tired and hungry, and-” She shook her head. No more excuses. “I'm sorry. This is all still kind of weird for me. I never know whether you're just trying to torment me, or actually trying to help. You manage to do a bit of both – a lot of both, actually.” She managed a small smile, and he felt a genuine twinge of warmth for her when she did.

“What can I say? It's a talent.” Something foreign and downright foolish made him carry on speaking. “I suppose … I do enjoy a little, or maybe even a lot, of both. You do exhaust me at times, and I feel it's only fair to repay the favour, but – but,” he pressed, when he saw her good humour beginning to fade. “I do want this experience to be relatively painless for us both, whatever the eventual outcome. If all I wanted was to torment you, I would have left you to suffer Above, with all the headaches and confusion, and no real control over your powers. Try to remember that the next time you feel tempted to give up on me entirely. All teasing aside, Sarah, we're not at war here, however it may seem at times. We're just … here. Together.” Gods, how he cursed himself for that one, weak moment, where he allowed his gaze to drift to her soft, sweet lips. “We may as well get used to it.”

“I … I guess so.” God, it should have been sickening, the way her whole body seemed to sway towards his, bringing them even closer. Her gaze dropped, eager to hide from those stunning blue eyes that saw way too much. “So, uh … is that really going to be enough for both of them?” she asked, pulling back and nodding towards the stick of jerky in his hand.

Jareth blinked at her for a moment before answering. “Yes. They're … ah … They're usually quite good about sharing – perhaps … hah … they're better at it than I am,” he admitted, gesturing with his jar of treats. He fumbled for a moment, both with his words and the glass lid. “I should have asked, would you like …?” Pull yourself together, this is ludicrous. If a simple apology from the woman has the ability to turn you into a jibbering fool, then what hope is there for you? It was a little alarming, just how much she had managed to throw him.

“Oh, no … No, thank you. I'm good, thanks. Thank you, though.” Say 'thanks' a little more often, Sarah. Jesus. She risked another glance at his face, horrified to feel the way her own was starting to heat up. No – oh, no. You are not doing this. He drives you insane and you almost end up fucking him; he acts like a decent human being – fae being, whatever – for maybe five seconds, and you're ready to turn to goosh at his feet. For the love of god, get a grip.

“Well, all right. But you will eat something, yes?”

“Oh … yes. I will. Uh … thanks.” And there it is again.

Jareth grinned. “You're very welcome. I'm glad we could end the evening on slightly better terms.”

“I thought we ended them pretty well last night.” The words were out of her mouth before her brain had taken sufficient time to express its alarm at them. The abject horror of that little thought was lessened some by the sinful heat of his smile. Oh, be careful, Sarah. Be oh, so fucking careful, unless you want him to flirt his way into getting you to do anything. You're way too weak right now when it comes to him, sweetie – and doesn't he fucking know it? For a minute there, he had seemed almost kind, almost innocent, but her filthy reminder sent him right back to his teasing ways.

“Maybe so,” he purred, as he leaned in a little closer. “But we'll need to devour more than one another sometimes, if we're to have the strength to continue with your lessons.” He seemed to be chuckling to himself as he brought his warm lips to her scalding hot cheek in a soft, chaste kiss. “G'night, darling,” he murmured, in that same low, secret way that made her shiver. “Do sleep well. We'll be starting bright and early tomorrow.”

Left behind to gape after him, and to soak in the afterglow of that one, unexpected kiss, Sarah finally felt more than hunger, or fear, or guilt tugging at her stomach. The Goblin King could send her jumping through a thousand hoops, or staggering down an infinite number of dark corridors. He could force her to overcome every obstacle, and every danger he could possibly conjure up for her to face, but nothing – nothing – would ever be able to shake her quite the way he did.

After a little time to recover, and some poking around, she managed to gather together the makings for a pretty decent sandwich, padding into the kitchen area with her arms full. Before she could begin to assemble it, however, all her earlier guilt decided to pay another visit. Her eyes kept flitting between the knife she had found, and the golden loaf of bread she held, so similar to the one that had tempted her earlier with its yeasty siren song. Despite her grumbling stomach, she knew she wouldn't be eating for a while longer.

Pushing the other ingredients aside, she put all of her focus onto knife and bread, bread and knife. When her tired eyes moved between them, she could almost feel the potential connection between them; the blade in her hand fairly quivered with tension and longing, like a magnet at the very edge of its pull. All the hunger in her, the weary body she inhabited paled into insignificance as she seized on what she knew to be her own strength of will. Cut, you son of a bitch, she demanded, as her vision blurred, and the knife in her hand began to really shake. In her mind, she could already imagine it: the blade sawing down, the bread almost seeming to rise up to meet its serrated edge. She could see it happening, and before that crystal clear image could escape her, she reached out to make it real. Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut-

The sharp knife almost took her thumb with it as it shot from her hand, tearing through the entire loaf in one swift blow, and meeting the wooden board beneath it with an almighty thunk. A single slice of bread stood momentarily, cleaved by solid steel, before it toppled over in surrender. Speechless, Sarah snatched it up, turning the slice over and over in her hands to ensure it was real. It was a little thicker than she would have liked it, but she clutched that piece of bread with just as much pride as if she had made it herself. In a way, she supposed she had.

Pain thudded beneath her temples, her eyes hot and stinging from her exertion, but it was sheer elation that forced her to scream out with as much force as she could muster. 'Jareth, I did it! I did it, I did it, I fucking did it! I moved the knife! Oh, wow … Wow. I know you might not believe me, but-'

Even ravaged by hunger and half-deafened by her exuberant cry, the Goblin King managed his brightest smile of the day. That evening, he had seen more than enough of the pouting, whining teen he had once known. That night, however, in those few, tense moments where he had watched and waited with her, silently urging her on, he had finally come to see the warrior who had once stormed his castle, fearless and filled with determination. He willed the crystal he held back into darkness, leaving her to celebrate her first conscious display of telekinesis in private. 'I believe you, love,' he send back at her with a chuckle. 'And I'm very proud of you, as it so happens. Well done.'

Still smiling, he popped the first piece of toffee into his mouth, quicker than he could say 'I told you so.'

Chapter Text

“Again.”

The Goblin King sighed and rotated his wrist in some vain attempt to ease the kinks out. He wondered how much longer he would be able to do so without wincing. “Sarah …”

“I said again.” The look she gave him was as desperate as it was determined. “Please, just one more try. I can do this. I know I can.” It was a far cry from the defeatist attitude she had shown only a matter of weeks ago, and yet he still recognised the mulish glint in her eye and the stubborn set of her jaw. Once her mind was set, the woman wouldn't back down any time soon.

Jareth positioned himself and drew in a slow, deep breath as he garnered strength within the palm of his left hand. He felt a sudden surge of gratitude that he'd managed to talk her down from catching knives, at least. The ball of light he had conjured flew from his hand at speed, immediately followed by a second and a third. By the time he sent the fourth glowing orb whistling through the air, his target had her own shimmering magical shield in place, ready to deflect his attack – or so Jareth hoped.

Grunting with effort, Sarah forced herself through the same old routine – the one she had attempted so often, it was burned into her brain. Head. Midsection. She parried the first two of Jareth's projectiles, feeling the impact of each jarring through the small shield and into her mind. Silver met gold in an explosion of sparks, and she gritted her teeth. Head. Knees- She caught the third blow, but still wasn't quick enough to block the fourth. The glittering orb caught her right knee dead centre, bringing more of a tingling warmth than actual pain, but she staggered backwards anyway with a screech of frustration.

“Fuck!” Where once she might have wasted time pouting and cursing her luck, she immediately returned to her ready position, her shoulders squared, her left leg forward, her feet planted in the shape of an L. Her legs complied with her demands, but after so many attempts, they felt like rubber. “Again. One more.”

Lips pursed together, Jareth began to draw back his arm, before thinking better of it. The half-formed ball of energy sank back into his skin. “That's enough for today.”

“What? No.” Sarah took a moment to rub at the deepening crease between her eyes, willing the ache that was setting into them away. She had to blink several times before her tutor came fully into focus, and she could beckon him on. “Come on, I'm still good to go.”

“Be that as it may, your lesson for today is over. We're done here.” He approached her, muscles tensed for some further argument, but he received only a sigh and a nod in return.

“Okay. Fine. That's okay.” She turned from him at once and made some distracted attempt at smoothing back her dark ponytail, but the slump in her shoulders was plain to see. She flinched only a little when his hand came to rest between her shoulder blades. The heat of his skin was more soothing than she had expected, especially with just how cold the study room had grown.

“You did well today – truly,” he assured her, careful to resist the urge to turn that reassuring touch into anything more intimate.

“Apparently not good enough.” She turned to him, forcing a tight little smile. “You want me to try summoning the glasses again?”

Jareth shook his head. “No, it's quite all right. I think you should take the rest of the day off. Give yourself time to recover.” He drew two tall glasses into his hands, and passed one over to her while it was still filling itself with water.

“Thanks.” Rather than downing the drink in one, as was her habit after such thirsty work, Sarah began to roll the glass between both palms. Her gaze seemed to follow the gentle motion, but her eyes seemed almost to glaze over, their lids heavy as she stared down into the glass. Jareth watched her with a frown as he took his own sip of water.

“Something wrong?”

Her head shot up, her eyes wide once more and full of guilt. “Huh? No, no. Just a little pissed at myself, I guess.”

“Yes, I can see that.” The table in their study room had been pushed against the wall to make room for the morning's exercise, and he set his glass down atop it. “And while I could tell you it's unfair to judge yourself so harshly, I can understand your frustration. You've already got the ability, and the reflex will come in time, trust me.” Her lower lip quivered as she nodded, and he could tell such reassurances meant little to her in her current state of mind. Still, she did not dispute his words. As close as she had allowed him, he was able to note the pallor of her skin, sickly white save for the dark, bluish-grey circles beneath each of her eyes. As he looked her over, it occurred to him that just a week ago, she might have berated him for such a lengthy appraisal, or at least have shied away from it, but this Sarah didn't even seem to have it in her to blush. She seemed content to go back to staring into her drink, spiritless and dazed, as the silence between them dragged on. Though she gripped the glass hard enough to punish it, there was no hiding the tremor of her hands. “Sarah, look at me.”

The crease between her brows made a reappearance as she dragged her eyes back to his. “What? I'm okay, I'm just-”

“Annoyed, yes. As I said, I can already see that, love. It's what I can't hear right now that concerns me.”

She cocked her head, feeling far too tired for riddles. “I don't get what you-”

“I tell you the lesson's over and you agree almost at once. You don't feel the need to argue with me in the slightest, in spite of the fact that you clearly wanted to go on.” He fought the urge to smile as her eyes narrowed in confusion, and her head canted a little further to the side; the look might have been comical on her in other circumstances, but this was no laughing matter.

“You're … complaining about the fact that I'm not complaining?”

“While my disappointment at not hearing you whine is immeasurable, I'd say I'm quite rightly concerned that you don't appear to have the strength to complain.”

Sarah didn't know how long she went on blinking at him before she managed an answer. “I'm … I'm ready to go again if you are.” The world began to spin a little faster as she went to set her glass down beside his, the table a little closer than she had anticipated. A little of the water slopped over her wrist, but she forced a smile as the cool liquid spread over her skin.

Jareth, on the other hand, wasn't smiling as he offered his palm. “Give me your hand.” When she opened her mouth to question him, he silenced her with a stern shake of his head. “Your hand, Sarah. Please,” he forced himself to add.

At last, she did as he asked. She began to frown as his fingers wrapped around hers, but Jareth closed his eyes against the sight, focussing only on the feel of her. There was a warmth to her skin and in the blood that beat beneath beneath it, but when he reached deeper-

Sarah gave a startled cry as he broke away from her with a jolt, his eyes darting between her face and her hand with what almost seemed like disgust. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“How long have you been this weak?” he demanded.

She could only goggle at him. “I … I don't-”

“Don't even think of lying to me.” Scowling, he grabbed at the back of the nearest chair and hauled it in front of her. “Sit down.”

“Jareth-”

“Sit. Down. I'm not quite sure how you're still standing as it is.”

In no mood to fight him, she surrendered to his will with a sigh. “Fine, but you really don't have to fuss over me like this.” There was no hiding her surprise as, rather than looming over her to deliver some lecture or other, the Goblin King sank down onto his knees before her.

“Precisely how much extra practise have you been putting in outside of your lessons?” he asked her, already finding the guilty answer as she averted her eyes.

“Uh … some?” Christ, she could feel the judgemental rise of his eyebrow, and the sceptical stare that accompanied it. “Maybe a little more than I should have,” she finally admitted, albeit to the open collar of his shirt.

“I'll say.”

Huffing out his exasperation, he almost reached out to place a comforting hand on her thigh, before thinking better of it. The constant urge to touch her – the memory of having touched her already – was what had blinded him in the first place. It felt as though he was seeing her for the first time, stripped of all other distractions, and he could have kicked himself for his inattention. He had let his attraction to her blind him to the fact that she was draining herself dry, right under his nose. If he had been thinking only with the head atop his shoulders, rather than the one between his legs, he would have noticed and prevented it much sooner. He should have seen just how deep her frustration with herself ran – how fierce her determination was to improve herself. Her initial success with the bread knife had been the first of many, but instead of taking the time out to properly celebrate her victories, she had simply shrugged each one off on her quest towards the next. Instead of allowing him to witness her struggles, she had been racing ahead without his knowledge, setting a frantic, dangerous pace for herself – one she could never hope to keep up for long.

“If you carry on like this, you're going to run yourself into the ground,” he told her, as gently as he could manage. It wasn't easy when all he longed to do was shake the woman and curse her for her foolishness, rather than dwelling any longer on his own. “Why didn't you tell me you were having difficulties?”

She huffed out a soft laugh. “Have you read your lesson plan? If I don't get this down soon, I'll never be ready for next month. I'm trying, Jareth, I really am-”

“And no one's doubting that, love, but-”

“-but after you've been putting in all this effort with me, it still hasn't been enough, and when I keep on failing you like this-”

“Stop. The only person you're failing right now is yourself, and I don't mean academically. You're being far too hard on yourself, Sarah. No one's asking you to hurt yourself just to appease me.”

After a strained shared glance, she looked away, rubbing at the back of her right hand. “Yeah, well it's like you said that first day. I guess I just need to try a little harder.”

“In your lessons, yes, but not outside of them as well.” Gods, the look of shame in those weary eyes made his jaw clench. He had put it there. “Though since that first minor blip, no one can accuse you of not putting in the proper effort in class, either.” He sighed and resisted the urge to scrub at his eyes. “Sarah … I'm not a professional tutor, nor am I a tyrant. All I have is my own experiences and memories to call upon. I know your overall magical limits, but not how well you'll take each specific lesson without your feedback. If you're struggling, then tell me, and we'll slow the pace, or try a different approach. Just like some pupils flourish in their language lessons and others in mathematics or perhaps history, you may find some subjects easier and some more difficult than others. There's no shame in that. All I expect from you is for you to try your best.”

Judging by the look she gave him, his words were finally starting to sink in, and he offered her a smile. “When I put together our lesson plan, I did it under the belief that you'd want to be rid of it and me as soon as possible, but there's no harm in things taking a little longer than scheduled. In fact, it would make sense for us to slow the pace down to a crawl while you recover from this. If you continue to push yourself outside of this room, dipping so deeply into your reserves every day, then it's no wonder you're finding it hard to keep up as we go along. You must promise me that you won't keep on punishing yourself this way.”

She managed a sheepish smile. “So … I guess that means no reading ahead, either?”

Groaning, he finally did give in to the urge to touch her then, folding his arms atop her knees and miming slamming his forehead down in frustration onto them. “Have you even found time to sleep while you've been here? Truthfully, Sarah.”

“I guess a few hours, here and there.” His muffled growl made her grin. It was strange, just how little his concern and his closeness seemed to bother her. “Hey, you said the library was pretty much at my disposal, so I checked out some reading material to keep me occupied whenever I was freaking out too much to sleep.” It was impossible to hide that grin, even when she suddenly found herself pinned by his hard stare.

“If any further 'freaking out', excessive magic use and studying, and restless nights occur, you'll be sleeping in my rooms from now on so that I can keep an eye on you – and I mean sleeping. I'm not going to let you work yourself to death just so you can keep your pride, and if that means standing over you and watching you drift off personally, then so be it.”

“Because that wouldn't be creepy at all.” In spite of how tired she felt, in spite of his darkening glare, she managed to beam at him as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I get it, I promise. Point definitely taken. No more heavy bedtime reading, and no magic except what the teacher tells me to do, okay?” She gave a sigh, a little taken aback at just how light her chest seemed to feel after her confession. She was still behind, but she had managed to hold things together just long enough for Jareth to suggest slowing things down, rather than having to face the humiliation of begging him for a break. He knew – he understood what she was going through. “To be totally honest, between work, college, and this, I've definitely got enough on my plate right now.”

“All the more reason to take your rest more seriously, then.” After unfolding his arms and reaching up to give her hand a light squeeze in return, he climbed to his feet. He was impossible to resist as he offered her his arm, smiling down at her and leaving her wondering over the warmth that smile bloomed in the pit of her stomach. “Come on. I'm taking you straight up to your rooms. I'll arrange for whatever you like, lunch wise, to be sent up, and then I want you to try to sleep.”

She could all but hear her bones creaking as he hauled her up out of her seat to join him. “I think … that's maybe the best idea you've had all morning.”

The walk up to the castle's higher floors should have been awkward, what with the two of them navigating the narrow staircase side by side, her hand resting in the crook of the king's arm like some weak old woman's might, or perhaps some poor damsel at dire risk of swooning. Jareth helped significantly in that regard, offering a steady stream of advice and reassurances, making it seem not so silly after all for her to be feeling a little fragile. For a couple of minutes, Sarah was almost okay with being a burden on him, although it didn't take long for her guilt to start creeping back.

“This isn't going to throw things off too badly, is it? Me needing to rest up for a while, I mean.” She could have kissed him when he actually took a moment to consider the question, rather than rushing to pander to her insecurities.

“No,” he said, after a time. “At least, not significantly. As I said, I expect you'll find other areas of magic far easier than this, more than making up for any lost time.” He drew them to a gentle halt just before the entranceway to her floor, and his gaze locked with hers, made all the more intimate by his proximity. “But even if it does, it's not the end of the world. Just because I chastised you for quitting once, it doesn't mean you should push yourself past the point of sense and risk your health just to keep up. You've already proven yourself, you know. After that first night, you really have put in the work needed, and then some. I'm not sure even I was as devoted a student, back in my day.”

“Why, Jareth, do my ears deceive me, or was that actually a compliment I just heard?”

He chuckled. “Perhaps.”

There was a softness to the smile he gave her, and a warmth in his eyes that made her weary body simply long to melt. She had seen more and more of that gentle side of him of late, and though it still frightened her to admit just how effortlessly he eased past her defences, there was no denying how good it felt, sometimes, just to let him. There was a strange joy to their easy back and forth, each clearly enjoying the chance to sharpen their wits on the other; Sarah had found her feet in that regard far more easily than she had anticipated, quicker on the draw with put-downs capable of bringing even the smug Goblin King down a peg or two.

She had a comeback ready for almost anything he could throw at her, but in moments such as the present one, where she found him full of kindness and concern, rather than sarcasm, she had nothing to say at all. She smoothed back her hair like a jittery middle schooler on her first date, and tried not to let her eyes stray too long towards the plush lips that featured in far too many of her fantasies. The one benefit of her obsessive study habits, she supposed, was that when she finally did fall asleep each night, she was way too exhausted to dream, sparing her the potential humiliation of ever reaching out and accidentally sharing those fantasies with him. Flustered, she took a second to breathe and compose herself.

“Hey, in all seriousness, I just want to say I'm sorry for pushing things too much. You've got to believe me when I say I'm not masochistic enough to deliberately do myself harm, or put myself in danger of keeling over.”

“I understand that – and I understand the frustration that drove you to it in the first place, believe it or not. I know how badly you want to succeed in this. Even so, this self-flagellation of yours has to stop.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “I really don't know what's wrong with me. I mean, it's not like I can't use my magic at all. When it's impulsive, when something is just, you know, there in front of me, and I don't have to think about it, I seem to get along fine. It's when I have all this time to tell myself what to do, when I consciously have to push my powers in a certain direction that I seem to screw it up.”

Jareth, at what he hoped was his most outwardly sage, gave a nod. “It's common for those just starting out to let emotion and passion dictate their powers, and for them to manifest more powerfully in times of duress. Sometimes it can be to your benefit to let passion and instinct take over – the cushion you conjured saved you both a bruised behind and ego, don't forget – but as your understanding of magic grows, you'll learn not to let it rule you. In a heated duel, for example, when anger might flare up above good sense, instinct might guide your arm or your sword past your opponent's defences, but it's your mastery over your powers that will allow you to decide if the blow is to be fatal, or merely meant to incapacitate.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed, for a moment. “And just how many 'heated duels' should I be expecting to get myself into while I'm down here?”

“Ask me again the next time you try my patience with your antics,” he said, grinning. He nudged her with his hip before urging her forward again, softening the glare his words should have earned.

“Yeah, well keep on laughing, Jareth, while you're the one dumb enough to be here training me up to eventually beat your ass.”

“If you're ever capable and confident enough to try to take me on, I'll try my best to keep the laughter to a minimum. Do try to be a gracious loser, won't you?”

She chuckled in spite of herself. “Oh, big words from the big king. Well, Your Highness, can I suggest concentrating less on the trash talk and more on your memory? Because you seem to be forgetting just how 'gracious' a loser you can be when you're defeated.” She was pleased to notice that, although he spared her a brief sidelong scowl, his eyes retained that wry twinkle of amusement she was growing ever more accustomed to seeing.

“Now there's a glimpse of the Sarah I'm used to. Still as much of a bothersome brat as always.”

“I'm only learning from the best, Sire.” As they finally reached her room, she was still smiling as she broke away from him long enough to carry out a smarmy little curtsey. Exhaustion quickly overwhelmed that attempt at elegance, and she regretted the sudden shift in balance at once. She would have stumbled, were it not for the quick hands that caught and held her upper arms – the gracious Goblin King to her rescue yet again. Sarah had to choke back a groan as she wondered just how far into his debt she could possibly sink. “I'm fine, I'm fine,” she assured him, but she didn't argue when he shifted and slipped an arm around her middle to support her for a moment. She still felt a little too weak to complain about being fussed over, and besides that, the feel of his body against hers, warm and firm, was one she had to stop herself from snuggling into. Only a matter of weeks ago, she never would have believed she could ever feel truly safe in the man's embrace, let alone enjoy it as much as she did. My god, he smells good, even covered in sweat. Feels good, too. Blame it on your lack of strength right now if you have to, Sarah, but let's just try to soak this up while we can, shall we?

For someone positively riddled with guilt, you don't seem to be doing a great job of keeping your hands to yourself. The added weight of her in his arms was nothing compared to that of Jareth's conscience. Even the best of his intentions were worthless when the woman seemed destined to end up in his embrace. He tried to offer what comfort and support he could, even with what felt like every muscle rigid with tension, and each one of his senses firing off dire warnings at her proximity. She held tight to him without needing to be asked, and when she raised her head to look at him, there was a soft smile on her lips, and trust in her sleepy stare. She tilted her face up towards his, and if he hadn't seen for himself just how tired she was, he might have been fooled into believing she wanted him to kiss her, right then and there. Gods-

He was quick to extricate himself from her grasp, propping her against the nearest wall and busying himself with the door handle as though it troubled him. Wanting her enough to overlook the signs of fatigue had gotten them into their current mess; he wasn't about to let it push him into kissing a woman too exhausted to give proper consent. The thought of pressing his advantage in her moment of weakness turned his stomach, and it must have shown on his face, for when he looked at her again, any trace of that gentle smile was long gone. He replayed his actions: all but shoving her away, and then likely glowering as though she was the one who disgusted him so.

Instinct told him to erase that look of dismay at once and reassure her – to sing her praises like some besotted fool and bring back that sweet smile – but common sense stayed the words that longed to flow. The last thing she needed right then was the burden of his longing on top of her own troubles. He had let his desire for her consume him so completely, it had taken the woman almost collapsing in front of him before he had even noticed her plight. No more. He settled for clasping her hand between his and bringing it to his lips, only wishing that a single kiss could convey so much meaning. As he squeezed her cold fingers, the corners of her mouth curled upwards once more, causing something within his chest to tighten in the most peculiar way. He still wanted to bed her, but in that particular moment, a part of him conceded that simply tucking her under the covers and watching as sleep stole her away from him would be enough. He let her go before that foolish thought, too, could tempt him.

“Any special requests for your meal?”

She gave a gruff little half chuckle. “I don't even know if I'll still be awake for it. All things considered, just sleep would be better, I think.”

He nodded. “Just sleep it is. I'll expect you to make up for it later, though. You need-”

“-my strength. Got it, and I'll be happy to eat anything and everything the chef can throw at me when I wake up. An hour or so should be enough.”

The Goblin King nodded, but made no promises. Given her current state, he was willing to leave her to sleep for a full week, if needed. He felt a guilty prickle along the back of his neck as his weary student's eyes dropped to his mouth for the second time in as many minutes, and he decided a swift retreat was in order.

“Thanks, Jareth, for understanding.”

“Think nothing of it,” he told her, directing the traitorous hand that rose to caress her cheek to her shoulder instead, bestowing a friendly double pat. “Sleep well,” he said and executed an immediate about-face, before he found a way to cock that up, too.

Alone in his solar, the late lunch he eventually remembered to call for himself sitting virtually untouched before him, he continued to ponder just where things had gone wrong. In the beginning, it had taken a fair amount of time to fully move on from anger to a blissful sort of indifference towards the woman-child who had bested him. Meeting her a second time and finding her matured, yet just as irksome as she'd been as a girl had brought with it a confusing and yet tantalising mix of longing and vexation. The thrill of having her back in his life to taunt, to entice, had made the months of frustration he had suffered at her hand seem almost worthwhile. It felt like it had taken his lust for her no time at all to blossom into something more substantial. He wasn't so naive or overly sentimental as to call it love, but there was a growing affection there, certainly, and he couldn't recall the last time he had felt quite so drawn towards another.

There was an urge to watch over her while she remained under his tutelage – to tease her for the sole purpose of hearing her laughter, rather than the malicious glee of it. When the time finally came for them to share a bed and work out the physical side of their curious relationship, he had an inkling that it might be mutually pleasurable to invite her to actually linger awhile after the sex was over. Sarah Williams was … interesting to have around, to say the very least, but the notion of having her around indefinitely had already begun to trouble him.

It had been so easy to convince himself of his own selflessness; how kind and generous he had been to set so much time aside to train her. How adept he was at playing the role of doting teacher – the gracious ruler who had not only allowed an outsider into his kingdom, but who had taken her under his wing as well. He had offered her the benefit of his expertise, and made her see him with new eyes as the man who had opened up a wondrous new world to her. He had won her trust and her respect, and all while keeping her shut away from anything of real consequence, both in his life and in his kingdom. He could well afford to be generous, when the only things he had revealed to her were those that suited him. Here he had a desirable young woman shut away in secret in his home, seeing only the odd servant aside from him, wholly reliant on his guidance and hospitality. He had the opportunity to shape her as he saw fit, to mould her into the perfect student and perhaps even the ideal lover as well, and she might never look beyond his boundless generosity to see the selfishness lurking just beyond it.

For all his talk of her strength, their shared powers, it was still satisfying to him to see her somewhat humbled by his proficiency. He supposed, somewhere primitive and dark at the back of his mind, he had always savoured the thought of her looking up to him for guidance and praise as she took her first tentative steps on the path of magic, and towards the throne. She would want only what small part of his realm he was willing to trust her with – some place small and unimportant enough for her to cut her teeth on, where any mistakes or careless decisions would have little effect on the land or its populace. It pleased him, in that crude corner of his brain, to imagine her accepting whatever few measly crumbs he offered her, and thanking him profusely just for the privilege. The more he saw of her, the more he came to know and care for the woman who still sometimes infuriated him as much as she intrigued him, the more guilty such thoughts made him feel. She had worked herself almost past the point of sanity just to prove herself worthy – just to prove that whatever faith he had in her was not wasted – and he still couldn't bring himself to see her as his equal.

It was so easy to imagine her with him, as a charming dinner date, or the perfect distraction at some tedious social event, but in those idle fantasies, she was always his loyal companion, and never an honoured guest in her own right. As much as he respected and admired her strength, it was still galling to think that it would one day be equal to his. For every moment he spent celebrating her small victories, sharing in the warmth of her pride, there was always another, colder time he wasted, assuring himself in vain that her accomplishments and growing power in no way diminished his own. Maybe I am the monster she once thought I was.

When the day finally came for his pupil to find wings and fly on her own, what then? Soon enough, all that he had would also be hers, and if he didn't learn to swallow down that bitter pill, and quickly, it would only come back to choke him. With the odds stacked against her from the start, it was no real wonder that she was willing to work herself half to death just to try to put herself on equal footing with him. She needed help breaking out of the punishing cycle of overwork, exhaustion and guilt she had lost herself in, and it could only come from one source. For all his powers, he couldn't change his way of thinking, at least not overnight, but the very least he could do was to give her a fair chance at succeeding, and prove himself worthy of her trust.

The Goblin King sighed and drained his glass, and thought that maybe, for better or worse, he had an idea of just how to do that.

-

The moment Sarah came to, shambling her way back to consciousness with a snort and a snuffle, she knew something was amiss. Her cheeks were flushed with heat, the left one slick with what she realised, with some shame, must be drool. She hadn't just dozed away the exhaustion of the morning; she had actually slept, and well, given the deepening gloom surrounding her, and the gratifying weight that seemed to have settled into her limbs. It occurred to her that she should probably have been more annoyed that Jareth had lied to her, allowing her to nap an entire day away instead of waking her sooner, but anything beyond yawning and savouring the warm glow of a good sleep seemed beyond her, right then. Given how little energy she'd started the day with, it was probably best to conserve what she had left for more serious grievances with the Goblin King. Her grumbling stomach put the hour at maybe late dinner time; she'd be sure to find another bone or three to pick with him before the day was fully over.

She tried to keep the moaning to a minimum as she dragged herself from her cosy bed, wincing as she cast a quick glance downwards. Apparently, she had been too drained to even remember to slip off her shoes before climbing under the covers. It was a pretty major faux pas for a guest to make, but given the fact that she was sharing the castle with a few dozen near-feral goblins, she figured a couple of dirty footprints on the bedsheets would be the least of her host's worries. She took a moment to straighten out her clothes and her self in the mirror, yawning wide enough at her reflection to set her ears crackling. Her mind was oddly blank, far lighter for being freed of all those tangled threads of worry she had been picking at, and she had to remind herself that curious sensation was what being rested actually felt like. Maybe it was time to start entertaining the decidedly disturbing idea that, at least on occasion, Jareth might actually have her best interests at heart.

By the time she left her room and headed downstairs, she was actually nursing a smile. The odd bout of bickering aside, the two of them had been getting along far better than two former enemies had any right doing. It had taken a little time – more than she had been willing to spare him, at first – but now that she had finally broken through the Goblin King's smug exterior, it was much easier to admit that there was a lot she could learn from him. There was a wealth of valuable information buried underneath all of the posing and posturing, and perhaps most surprising of all, there lived patience, and the kindness enough to share it with her. He always pushed her to try her best – though only when it suited him, she considered with a guilty chuckle as she thought of being urged to nap, by royal decree – but he had never once made her feel like her best wasn't good enough. That was all on her, hungry for answers and progress, determined to get ahead and discover more about the strange powers she had inherited. She had been too proud to admit defeat on even the smallest scale, lest it tip the balance of power further in Jareth's favour. She had to stop thinking of their lessons together in terms of winning and losing, when the two of them were working towards the same end.

At least I hope we are. She supposed it might take a little while longer to fully believe that he wasn't just lulling her into a false sense of security, playing the earnest mentor and waiting for just the right moment to pull the rug out from under her – or the ground itself, as seemed to be his modus operandi. She had bruised more than her ego back in his oubliette, after all. She supposed that being able to look back on her time in his labyrinth and actually find humour in it had to be some sign of progress, at least. Maybe, while she was contemplating a happier future, it was finally time to stop picking at those old wounds, and to let them heal. New outlook. New start. New future … wherever it leads.

She must have made for the perfect picture of optimism as she bounced into the castle's grand banqueting hall, fresh from her sleep and full of hope, her smile a mile wide as she slid into the seat opposite the Goblin King's. It lifted her spirits further still to see that, for whatever reason, Jareth seemed to share her good mood. Probably because I'm not ready to collapse on him, this time. Or fling myself at him while I'm half delirious.

This really might work, she realised as he raised his head to smile back at her, starting to look at the man as a potential friend, and trying to make the most of his company as well as his expertise. There was no real need to rush through their lessons, or any of their time spent together, which, outside of the self-inflicted headaches and exhaustion, she was actually beginning to enjoy. There was no panic, no pressure to hurry along what could truly be a good thing. She was free to let her magic develop at its own pace – to give that budding friendship space and time perhaps to bloom, not to mention the attraction between them, which she was finally willing to acknowledge ran deeper than just the physical. Whatever their respective futures might have in store, she was in no real rush to find out.

"Feeling better?" Jareth asked, as he filled her glass with wine.

"Much. Thanks for asking – and for making me actually take a break in the first place." She tilted the drink in his direction before taking a sip.

"Well, you do know how much I abhor pointing out matters in which you're wrong, and where I, in fact, may be right."

"Oh, of course." Her sombre expression lasted all of a second before she dissolved into chuckles. "Smart ass. Listen, I've been thinking," she told him as she set down her glass.

Jareth nodded and cracked a grin. "I'm glad to hear that, because so have I."

Sarah almost shared in his obvious excitement, almost mirrored his bright, beaming smile, at least until she followed the movement of his hands. There was something small and silver held between his fingers, and when he set it down on the table between them, and her heart stopped beating, and the world ceased its turning, she realised it was his ring, royal insignia and all.

Well, Sarah, now seems like a good time to reassess all that panic and pressure you were worrying about.

Chapter Text

Hey there. I thought it was about time I shoved something on here for all of you lovely folks still incredibly patiently waiting for an update on this (and other stories).

Life has been eventful ever since I began this story, many years ago now. I won't bore you with all the details. It felt like I'd finally started to get things back on course towards the end of last year and would have more time over the coming year to dedicate to my writing and other creative endeavours, but unfortunately life had much worse ideas for 2025.

To put it simply, my partner of twenty years died and my world has been utterly shattered. Everything hurts right now. I'm fortunate enough to have an amazing support network around me, but ultimately I think it's going to be a while longer before I'm anywhere close to being in the right headspace to carry this on.

I'm not giving up. I'm still passionate about these characters and the extension of their world I've written around them. I can say that this story isn't going to rot away indefinitely, but that's all I can give you right now.

Thank you so much for your ongoing support and patience.