For days on end they explored Sarah’s newfound power to control the dreamworld where they rendezvoused nightly. As always, she thought it was a blissful fantasy that existed in sleep. He knew better, but bided his time by exploring the different scenarios that she created with a curious and thoughtful eye. So far they had tried lots of new things.  They danced the Charleston in the midst of a 20’s gala, attended the Ascot in heavily starched costumes, boogied on a neon disco floor beneath a mirrored ball, and even spent a week with a tribal drumming circle in the Rainforest. Tonight, however, was very different from anything Jareth had ever experienced.  Upon falling asleep, he found himself in a throbbing crowd of punk rockers, slam dancing to horrible, screeching music.

At first he hated it with a passion; the nonsensical screams, the loud bass beat that pounded against him like a physical thing, people everywhere he turned who jostled and nudged and had no qualms about crashing into him and careening off again to throw themselves at other members of the crowd.  He wasn’t sure how he would fit in to such a place, and seriously considered leaving.

Then he saw Sarah, reincarnated from her previous character of a Medieval maiden, appearing now as a true anarchist punk. Her raven hair was hidden under a blue shoulder length wig. She was twisting to the music, wearing matching lipstick, black eyeliner that rivaled Cleopatra’s, and a tight black leather minidress with chains around her waist. Thigh high stockings were held up with garters, and in each garter rested a gleaming switchblade, the razor-sharp edge lying dangerously along her skin. The sight of her across the dance floor, this chaotic creature that she had allowed herself to become, stopped his heart. She was exotic, alluring; desire embodied.

He was out of his element; he was not the haughty Goblin King amongst this mob. To them, he was nameless, faceless, another body in the throng of people that yelled and jumped and hit and bashed mindlessly. And as his identity had been lost, so had his inhibitions, the reigns of his masterful control suddenly freed from his tight grip. He didn’t need to be her knight in shining armor; he didn’t need to be the King.

And so he had joined them in their enraged, frenzied dance, ending each night sweaty and exhausted, but also released of the tension he had held at bay so long, unable to take her like he wanted.  During most those nights, he might have glimpsed her once or twice amidst the sea of faces, but that was all, before he was consumed, overwhelmed by the horde once again.

The first night Sarah watched Jareth freeze, like a rabbit caught in a lion’s den, unsure of how to react to the deafening madness that surrounded him. She carefully avoided him, wanting desperately to see how he would adapt to the situation. What was he like beneath his masks?

What she saw astonished her. He became lost night after night, finding release in anonymity. And so she did her best to avoid him, to let him be free and to enjoy the solitude she found in the crowd of hundred strangers that surrounded her.

She kept a picture of him in her mind as she danced.  He was so handsome in the leather pants and black leather vest he donned within this specific fantasy. Shirtless, his blond locks matted to his forehead, his eyes lined with black kohl, and his naked chest dripping with sweat caused her to shudder with need. So apart she remained from him; “apart” was safer, “apart” let him remain free from his responsibilities to her, and let her keep the desire at bay.  Until one night….

She had been dancing for hours, relishing the feel of the low cut leather dress against her hot skin, ricocheting off countless bodies, lost in the frenzied music.  She looked up and suddenly he was there, glistening with sweat, grinning fiercely.  A body slammed into her from behind, pushing Sarah into his arms. His slick skin pressed against hers, sliding; delicious friction against her. She gasped, openmouthed as the humid heat from the dance floor permeated her blood at his touch.  Suppressing the desire when they had been playing Lord and Lady had been one thing, but it was quite impossible to do so in this hedonistic, primitive environment.

Before they could be separated, he wound one bare arm around her waist, clasping her to him so tightly for a moment she couldn’t breathe.  He moved his leg between hers, so that she was straddling his thigh, the leather of his pants tormenting the bare skin above her thigh-high stockings. Her black-rimmed eyes widened as he licked his lips, his mismatched eyes mad with freedom and need.

Before she could say anything he bent her backwards, supporting her weight with one muscular arm, the other grasping her bare hand in his, winding it around his neck. His mouth skimmed lightly over her bare throat, tasting the salt.  Sarah vibrated with tension and a craving he knew was for the taste and feel of his body.  He had wanted her to come to him when she was ready but he couldn’t help himself; he had to touch her or he would die.

Slowly he drew her upwards, keeping constant contact with her lower body, her waist resting in the crook of his embrace, her hands dazedly clutching his back as he gyrated his hips against hers to the beat of the music, his thigh creating a fire between her legs. Bodies jostled against them, bruised their flesh with their flailing, pummeling limbs, but neither he nor Sarah noticed. Their eyes locked as they moved in sync with each other, making wild noises in their throats as the tempo sped up, the bass of the band pulsating so hard they could feel the thumping against their skin, in time with their hearts, the sweat rolling down their bodies, make-up smearing their features into exotic, wild animals, his sharp teeth bared in pleasure and triumph, her mouth a round O of astonished pleasure as he manipulated her tighter and tighter against him until their eyes and their minds were making wild love, savoring his victory as he watched her scream aloud with release, the sounds lost in the thundering of the crowd…

He stilled, holding her against his chest, feeling her racing heart slowly return to normal. They stood there for what seemed like an hour, two lost souls in a crowd of strangers. It was a long while before he realized the music has stopped. Cradling her limp body in his arms, he looked around. They were alone in the middle of a warehouse that looked like a herd of wild animals had stampeded through. A weak light was beginning to shine through a row of windows that framed around the roof of the building. A new day…

And then he realized what he had done.  What he had sworn he wouldn’t do, not until she was ready.  The Goblin King panicked, afraid he was in danger of losing her, and immediately slipped into the collected, detached veneer he was used to hiding behind.

Sarah stirred, raising her head from his shoulder. Her eyes searched his face, mortified at his expressionless features, the lack of warmth in his eyes. Gone was the uninhibited being that had danced with her so opulently; he was replaced one more with the cold, haughty Goblin King. The heat of desire was replaced by a furious embarrassment.

She twisted in his arms, pushing frantically at his bare chest to remove herself from him embrace, biting back sobs that pushed against her tongue. What had she done? What had she allowed herself to do?

A tear spilled out of her eye; breaking the dam she was trying hard to hold back. Before she could lose it completely, reality washed over her in a flurry of loud rings. She felt his arms slip from around her waist and she was falling, falling…

She jerked out of sleep, the telephone beside her bed shrieking insistently, demanding her attention. Her body thrummed with sexual release, and her pillow was wet with tears. She drew in a shuddering breath, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs, squeezing. What was going on?!