Perhaps it's odd, but often times when I'm writing it is the voice of Stephen Fry narrating. If that is going to make reading love scenes awkward for you, I suggest blasting any and all Meatloaf love songs while you read the following. He inspired alot of what is to follow. "Oh I would do anything for you love..."

6

He surprised her by taking a step away from her. No more than surprised: startled her. Perhaps even caused her distress. If it wasn't for the amused, grinning like a Cheshire cat expression he wore his actions probably would have worried her. Sarah asked him what he was about. "Something spectacular," he replied. "Sarah Williams I have a proposition for you."

Proposition. The word conjured up everything from as scandalous as prostitution to as dangerous as a bank heist. Everything in between was a blur of fast cars, fire works, and clips from Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" music video. She stared quizzically at him.

"I am going to leave you now and ask your permission to return tonight."

"And why would you want to do that?"

"To validate what I'm fairly sure I all ready know." He kissed the top of her hand. Her skin tingled. "I want to share something with you; an experience that we will both glean much knowledge from."

He ran a hand through her hair. If agreeing to these odd premises meant seeing more of him, being near him, then yes, she would agree to it. "I hardly understand," she said. Her body and her mind were having a hard time accepting the sudden change in their circumstances. Seconds ago they had been close, reveling in their shared vision of romance and longing. Now he was asking permission to leave her. She took a deep breath. "But if it's important to you, then yes, of course. Should I make dinner?"

His fingers played with the strands of her hair. "I'll see to everything. All you have to do is be there to answer the door. And to wear something feminine."

She wished she had packed a dress. Instead she made do with a green peasant top and blue jeans. The color of the top enhanced her eyes, which was a compliment to her femininity. It pleased her to know that it would please Jareth.

As she brushed her hair she found she had all of the nervous ticks that were a prelude a date: repeatedly she tucked hair behind her right ear and rubbed her lips together fearful that her lip gloss was flaking. Indeed thinking of this evening as a date seemed perfectly normal. He had asked to meet her again, there was going to be food involved, and as the result of their shared vision they both knew that there was some untested chemistry between them.

He arrived tonight in a deep purple colored vest that depending on the light would change to either a precious ruby or midnight black. He had his cloth bag hanging from a hand. After flashing a smile he moved into the living room. "Yes the table in front of the hearth will do nicely. Sarah I promised you I would take care of all of tonight's necessities." He dropped the bag on the coffee table. Turning he offered her his hands. "Sit with me by the fire."

"So should I ask the obvious: what's in the bag?"

They dropped several cushions on the floor to sit on. Jareth had her sit so that she was across from him.

"Everything," was his elusive reply. "As you no doubt have gathered this bag is enchanted. What you probably haven't guessed is that it will give you whatever you desire."

"Anything?"

"Provided it fits through the opening."

He told her to check the bag, poke it and prod it. It felt empty, it looked empty.

He then said, "Think of the most random item you could possibly want."

Without giving it much consideration she blurted out the first thing, "A tiki man. A mini-tiki man."

He smiled. "You can be more specific if you like."

"All right then, a mini-tiki man who resembles Elvis Presley."

His hand over the bag hovered. His smile that moments ago had been teasing now morphed into a pucker. "Elvis?" he asked.

She sniggered. "I saw something like it in a curio shop once. I always fancied to myself that it would have been a wonderful conversation piece."

"Here's to wonderful conversations then." For a moment he rummaged through the bag as if pushing aside other stored items and then pulled forth a wooden statue not more than a foot in height. The little tiki man sported that infamous hair curl and a ukulele.

Sarah clapped her hands in delight. Taking it from him, she placed it on the table. "Oh he is charming. Shame he can't do a thing about dinner though. What food does your magic carpet bag carry?"

"Whatever you like. What cravings does Sarah Williams have this evening?" He leaned against the chair and rested on his elbows.

Sarah fought a squirm at the suggestive undertones of his question. Instead she concentrated on her stomach: she was hungry and tired of cold cuts on bread. Jareth said she could be very specific. "Fried chicken," she said. "Home style with just a hint of black pepper."

The room filled with the scent of flour coming freshly crisped from hot oil. Sarah leaned forward and stopping Jareth's hand from reaching into the bag said, "Cold fried chicken." It was one of her favorite left over foods that she tended to eat with the refrigerator door wide open.

The smell of fried chicken dwindled some what. Jareth pulled out a plate with a napkin thrown over it. The covering removed there was six pieces of cold fried chicken. The bag also produced more plates, cutlery and napkins as well as cups and saucers. "Hot tea or coffee?" he asked.

"Coffee, please. With vanilla creamer."

Jareth set about serving them, remarking that her specifics were bordering on demands. She replied that her level of expectations should come as no surprise to him, but that she promised not to be exhausting.

As they ate it was eventually suggested that the radio be turned on. Other food was suggested and brought forth with the same ease: a side of mashed potatoes, a bowl of salad. Then it was decided that the fire needed more wood and that the main lights should be turned off. Then fruit appeared: strawberries and melons.

Sarah leaned back and sighed happily satisfied and full. She looked at across the small table at Jareth who was currently watching the fire dance. He too looked content. Catching her gaze he smiled at her. "I have something for you," he said sitting up and reaching for the bag. "Earlier today we were both rather reminiscent and it made me think of this."

To her surprise he brought forth a thin hair clip. It was dark wood with small copper hearts running along its spine. "My princess clip!" she exclaimed. "My goodness I thought I had lost this thing years ago."

"Not lost. More like misplaced. By me." He set it on the table and slid it towards her.

She gave him a leveled look. "That's border line creepy you know." Still she found herself smiling.

"There are far worse things I could have taken as mementos," he replied. "I figured you wouldn't miss one little hair bauble."

"Of all the- Really Jareth, what a silly thing to take." She picked it up. Gathering the sides of her hair back she worked the clip in.

"A memento of happier times," he went on his voice turning thoughtful. "Of when you would come to the park with that ridiculously over stuffed dog of yours in your equally ridiculous, yet some how charming princess costume. Your hair would be done up with fake flowers and that little heart clip." He smiled. "It still suits you."

"So is that how you like to remember me?" she asked.

"I liked how unabashed you were. Now tell me yours."

She tapped the side of her head. "No more mental link?"

He waved a hand at their coffee cups and they at once were refreshed and hot again. "It severed right after I left earlier."

Good then he couldn't pry or make her blush. Her first thought was of the ballroom. How romantic it all had been. How beautiful she had felt. But really that had been all about her. When she thought of Jareth, really thought of him, her mind kept focusing in on one particular item. She touched the bag, thought hard, and then reached inside. Out came a cycle shaped pendant. "You had me and Hoggle cornered," she said, letting the pendant dangle by its leather strap. "in some tunnels and you were asking me how I was enjoying your labyrinth. If I wasn't trying to match your stare, I was focusing on the odd pendant I saw in the folds of your shirt." She laid it on the table. "I knew at that moment I could have done just about anything you asked me to. And then you set the Cleaners on me," she added tersely. "I liked you and hated you all in the span of two breaths."

"The Cleaners," he said with irritation. "They were more for Hoggle's benefit than yours. The little scab fancied you. I would never have let any harm come to you. What's so funny?" he asked as Sarah lapsed into a fit of giggles.

She couldn't help herself. Hoggle thought Sir Dydimus fancied her. Jareth thought Hoggle fancied her. What next? Was her good knight going to express concern that the eye fungi had taken a shine to her? "Perhaps it's better off if you not know," she managed to say. "Let's just say I am well liked in the Underground." She took a sip of her coffee and collected herself. "You really have taken care of everything tonight Jareth: the food, the nostalgia, the conversation."

"Just channeling the tiki man," he said playfully.

"Still, I wish I could properly thank you."

"Your company has been payment enough. That and the satisfaction of knowing I may have eased your writer's block."

He didn't need to know that she hadn't written more than a paragraph these last two days. There had been that bit about her reaction to the stars and that was about it. Suddenly she understood the phrase, "beneath the stars." She told him to stand up. "I know what I can share with you," she said. She took his hand, his warm fingers closed around hers. Through the master bedroom, she stopped in the master bath.

"This is a bathroom," he said poignantly. "Are you suggesting we bathe together?"

"Ha, no. At least not at this very moment. Maybe later. Maybe." She bit the inside of her lip and told herself to not start babbling. Babbling was an unattractive thing. She opened the shutters behind the tub. Having closed the door to block out any light pollution she urged him to join her. "You have to see this," she said. "It's better if you sit down."

The tub was garden style stretching out in a wide yawn. They were able to sit side by side with foot room. Their shoulders rubbed and their elbows knocked in a pleasant way. She directed his attention to the sky. The heavens did not disappoint. Any traces of the storm from yesterday were gone and the universe was laid bear.

"I sort of stumbled onto this view my first night here," she said, drawing a leg up and resting an arm on her bent knee.

"That is spectacular." For a moment they both just star gazed. "We're choosing the path between the stars," he murmured.

Sarah looked at him. "What did you say?"

"Apparently I'm feeling a little reminiscent still." He smiled briefly. Taking her hand and focusing on the sky he said, "I'll paint you mountains of gold, I will spin you Valentine evenings, and though we are strangers til now, we're choosing the path between the stars."

That was what people did under stars: they made love to each other. Sarah knew it to be truth as she knew oxygen gave her life. The writer in her rapidly flipped through a series of scenes that involved kissing that included positions and locations. Some how every thought turned black and white and lasted only thirty seconds a piece which felt more classic Hollywood than cheap porno. Of course that was what "making love" had meant to the Golden Age: intense, passionate kissing. No more. She took an unsteady breath, and then plunged into the final verse, "I'll lay my love beneath the stars."

He let go of her hand and lazily ran his fingers along her palm. It left streams of warmth over her skin. "While I never pictured a bath tub while thinking those words, I still like the notion." He met her eyes. "Sarah Williams, I think I'm going to kiss you."

The sound of the stereo was completely drowned out by the sound of her heart. "Ok," she managed weakly.

This was going to be their conversation. Here was the explanation for the goading, the flirting, the distance, the blasted birthday card, all wrapped up and presented in a simple package. While the wrapping paper hadn't been expensive or glamorous, the contents were precious. Jareth the Goblin King was going to kiss her, the unassuming mortal.

His mouth was hot. It raised her personal thermostat far quicker than she knew to be physically possible. His hand was on her waist, providing equal leverage to draw her to him and pull him self near. She couldn't decide where to put her one free hand. Part of her felt like a fumbling teenager and her subconscious berated her with Meat Loaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Light." While the other part of her wanted to think of her self as some divine love goddess who was going to leave this man breathless.

Instead she pulled back. Or rather she tried to. His hand on her hip held tight. "Don't move," he whispered. Their faces brushed and when he exhaled she felt her hair tickle her neck. He shifted his weight and she found her leg curved around him. "Right here, right now, I would do anything you asked me to."

Maybe she could just be Sarah Williams. The woman he wanted. "I want to live our story," she said. "Can you manage that?"

"Piece of cake," he said with a smirk. "Do you understand what you ask?"

She shifted her weight and brought her body around to sit across his midsection, her legs bent under her and against the sides of the tub. His head dropped back over the edge of the tub to gaze up at her. "I've had nine years to understand what that means." His jaw muscles tensed as she ran her fingers along his neck.

"Kiss me," he told her.

She kissed him deeply. "Do you understand what I'm asking?"

Holding her he sat up. "Sarah there has never been nor will there ever be any one other than you. If you asked to be my queen, my wife I would be powerless to refuse you."

Holding his face she smiled. "Yes," she said. "Yes and yes."