It was a complete regression from what she had been working towards as an artist; instead of a much defined, clear picture, the sweeping colors looked like they had been painted with a child's hand when viewed up close. But when seen as a whole, her frantic, sorrowful strokes created….him. It was him, she couldn't deny it.

She reached out a trembling hand to the canvas, and ran her fingers over it lightly. The paint was dry; edges rose where blue met white, brown met black. Last night she had been painting, then crying, then sobbing blindly all the while adding to the creation. But there had been no plan, no design in mind, just aimlessly sweeping her brush back and forth…

She drew her hand back, standing motionless in front of the portrait. It was the best work she had ever done.

"I know you can't hear me," she whispered suddenly. Sarah was surprised; she hadn't planned on speaking. She kept going regardless, feeling like it was right. "I want you to know how much I miss you. My life isn't the same without you in it."

Sarah bit her lower lip, tears forming in her eyes again. But these were good tears, tears of decision. She had been living under a blanket of misery caused by her own stupidity, and it had gone on too long. Enough was enough; she couldn’t continue to punish herself.  She had to move on or she would die from regret.

"You have done so much for me. You brought my dreams to life. You were the reason I looked forward to living each day to its fullest, so I could share it with you. And I never let you know."

A lone tear slipped down her cheek. Sarah leaned towards the picture.

"So there's something that I've been meaning to say for a long, long time," she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to the painting softly, her palm running over the colors that blended to suggest his face.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaned her forehead briefly against the canvas.  “Thank you for everything.”

She stepped back and opened her wet eyes. The painting stared back at her, unmoved. One side of her mouth tilted upwards, the heavy guilt and sadness she had carried around with her for almost a year lifting.  She finally forgave herself for hurting the person in her life she loved the most. 

Rubbing the back of her hand under her dripping nose, she turned on her heel and walked into the bathroom. Her painting sat on an easel, facing the bathroom door. Sarah stripped out of her paint smeared tank top and shorts, turning the shower nozzle to "searing" before stepping under the spray.

Once her hair was washed and smelling of Sandalwood and Rosemary, and every speck of paint had been scrubbed off her body, she stepped from the shower smiling, reborn. Living alone had its definite perks, such as the ability to walk around in the nude without worrying about Toby or anyone being home. She grabbed a towel from the rack and walked out of the bathroom, rubbing excess water from her hair. Her gaze darted to her portrait, to the vivid colors. Even though his eyes were not clearly defined, she felt a shiver roll up her spine, as if the painting was watching her.

She hugged the towel to her front and shook her head. After all, now that her life was ordinary, a picture was just a picture, wasn't it? Walking past the painting, she took a long drink of water from a bottle that was sitting on her kitchen table.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to drop the water bottle, sloshing water all over the floor. She turned, clutching the towel against her breasts. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open.

He was draped across her overstuffed chair, legs thrown casually over the arm. His long blond hair hung in glorious waves and spikes down his chest, and that eyebrow, that one eyebrow was arched in amusement.

“Don’t mind me, Sarah, I’m just here for the scenery.”

“You…”

"I should have known," he drawled. “I should have known you would find a way.”

Her heart was beating somewhere in the vicinity of her throat; it was hard to get words past it. "How?"

He shrugged. "You tell me. You're the one that called me here."

"I didn't…I just…" Her eyes strayed to his portrait, where her tears and sorrows had mixed with the colors. Where her lips had kissed the canvas. "…But you took away your gift. I have no power over you," she finished lamely.

"Don't you understand? I didn’t do it, you did. You found magic all by yourself," he said warmly, snaking his legs from the chair and standing abruptly. "In a thousand years, I would have never guessed it was possible. But your painting…it allowed me to come to you."

The light that had gone out when he left was suddenly burning brightly again. Just the sight of him, the smell of him, and the sound of his voice was enough to quicken her heart, and send a heat flowing through her veins. He was here. He didn’t hate her and he was here. Her eyes drank in the sight of him. His black leather jacket covered a white shirt open to the waist, and brown breeches clung to his muscular thighs, and did nothing to hide his straining arousal.  Suspicion dawned.

"Wait a minute. How long have you been sitting here anyway?" she clutched the terrycloth closer to her breasts, trying to make sure it was covering all her extremities.  At his mischievous grin, however, she realized with dismay that hiding behind the towel was pointless at this point; he had obviously seen everything.  Sarah narrowed her eyes in mock anger, but a real blush stained her cheeks.

"You mean to tell me that you watched me shower and didn't say anything?"

He shrugged gracefully. "What was I supposed to say? I thought you knew I was coming. I expected a friendly greeting, not a striptease."

She couldn't keep the stern expression on her face; she was so elated to see him. Her sorrow had evolved into her own form of magic… and he was so beautiful, so desirable.

“I missed you,” she whispered huskily.

Her eyebrows drew together and he watched her bite her lower lip, tears filling her eyes.

“Do I make you sad?” he asked, surprised.

She shook her head vehemently, wet locks of midnight colored hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. “No! I just…I never thought I would see you again.”

“I thought so too, Sarah. But, like I said,” he strolled to her, closed the gap between them and cupped her chin in his gloved fingers, “you always were full of surprises.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for trying to avoid you, for trying to pretend you didn’t exist. For not understanding how I really felt.”

His arms slid around her bare waist, drawing her against him. She had to tilt her head to look up into his exotic features. “And how did you feel, Sarah?”

His fingers were tracing lazy circles around the small of her back, making her blood run wild.

“Lost.  I felt lost without you.” Her emerald green eyes reflected the pain of her months and months of exile.

”And?  How do you feel now?” His tone was light but the fire in his eyes was clear.  It sent hot trails down her skin, peaked her breasts beneath the towel.

“I feel…” She trailed off, embarrassed in her desire.  His chuckle was low but she heard it, and squared her shoulders.  She didn’t wish him back just to be too shy to say what she really wanted; she could do this. 

“I love you,” Sarah whispered, trying desperately to hold his gaze despite the tears that pricked at her eyes.  “I’ve always loved you.  I want you more than anything in the whole world.”

She actually felt him relax at that.  Before she could say anything else, though, he had captured her mouth with his.  Her knees went weak as he kissed her thoroughly, and she sagged against him. One of his hands held the back of her neck, manipulating her head so he could taste her from all angles, their open mouths breathing harsh breaths, small gasps and moans rising from her throat. This was so right, this was what she had dreamed about, thought about, and wanted since the moment she met him. But nothing she had ever dreamt came close to preparing her for the power of her desire for him, and his for her.

“What are you doing?” she breathed against his mouth. She heard him curse softly before his fingers entwined in her hair tugged her head back, forcing her gaze back up to his. The Goblin King who had been completely freed from his masks stood in front of her, and the raw need in his eyes was so intense it made her shiver in his arms.

“What I wanted to do a long time ago,” he said, ripping off his leather jacket and tossing it aside. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her off her feet easily and carried her across the small loft to her bed, all the while planting hot kisses to the hollow of her throat. She didn’t protest, merely let herself be carried, amazed at the heat that was building between her legs. The dream couldn’t even begin to compare to the real thing.

He sat her down; the towel cast aside, and stared at her beauty. She blushed, but didn’t look away.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked gently, carefully.

Sarah swallowed the urge to laugh.  “Are you kidding me?”  An afterthought sobered her.  “I’m not…I’ve never…I mean…” she began, heat rising to her cheeks. He stilled, waiting, and she forced herself to continue, “I’m not like I was in our dreams. I’ve never actually…done this.”

Very slowly he slipped his shirt from the waistband of his breeches and pulled it over his head. His bare chest was smooth, his shoulder broad but his waist narrow, his belly flat.

“Maybe we haven’t done this in real life...but I know how you move when I touch you.”  He stripped off his gloves and ran one finger in a lazy circle around her breast.  She arched into his touch and he grinned.

“I’ve heard you cry out my name in pleasure,” he said, “and I’ve seen how much you want me,” Jareth pushed her back onto the bed gently, “…right here.”  He emphasized his statement with one hand parting her thighs, exposing her swollen sex to his gaze.

She moaned when he brushed his knuckles lightly over her, and pushed her hips up to meet his roving fingers.  He leaned down to kiss Sarah softly, her tongue sweet against his.  He couldn’t wait any longer.  His hands dropped to the lacings of his breeches and once untied, they fell from his slim hips to pool at his feet. She rose up on her elbows, wet heat flooding the space between her legs at his words. She gasped at the sight of his arousal.

“You don’t wear underwear,” she managed.

He grinned, and stretched his body on top of hers, keeping his weight off her with his arms and letting his hardness slide across her slippery heat. She moaned sharply.

“No, I don’t,” he agreed, thrusting his hips against hers again. This time she cried out at the delicious heat he was building. Before she could get a grip, his arms slipped around her waist and he rolled with her so she was on top. She pushed herself off his chest, her legs opening to straddle his hips.

“What do you think you are doing?”

He grasped her bare bottom, pulling her closer against his hardness. “You say that so often, Sarah. I assure you, I always know exactly what I am doing.”

She smiled in her awkwardness. “So what are you doing?”

“I want to watch you ride me.”

Her mouth dropped open, her head falling back as his words caused her sex to overflow. When she raised her head again, he was grinning like a devil. She matched his grin with one of her own, and rose up slightly on his hips. Taking his arousal in her hand, watching his eyes close in pleasure, she positioned him at her entrance.

“How much do you want me?”

He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You can’t tell?”

“I want to hear it,” she insisted.

“I want you more than anything else in both our worlds combined. I have since the day I met you, Sarah,” he said huskily.

“Was that so hard?” she teased, and before he could make a flippant reply, she sank down onto him as far as she could go before her virginity stopped him. He groaned harshly, not noticing her wince. She rolled her courage into a ball, one hundred percent sure about what she was going to do. Before he could say anything, she tensed her thighs and pushed herself completely onto his hardness, past her maidenhead until his entire length was buried in her. She cried out, her spine rigid.

“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

She gasped. “I’m fine. Just give me a second…its…you’re so…full,” she finished, the sharp pain subsiding under the tide of desire. Within thirty seconds, she couldn’t remain still on him any longer, and began to rock her hips back and forth.   His moans, deep and delicious, were adding to her burning desire. She could feel her climax from far away, knew when it was drawing closer and closer, never doubting that it would come. Unable to hold still beneath her, his hips rose off the bed again and again to meet her thrusts, faster and faster, their skin slick with sweat and sex.

She stilled suddenly, her spine stiffening. “O….O Jareth! Please…o please,” she cried, waiting for it to come.

“Yes, oh yes Sarah,” he groaned, and in one great motion thrust up into her, groaning at the wet rush of pleasure. His orgasm sent her over the edge and she came, shuddering in the morning sunlight.  Had she thought her dreams were intense?  They were child’s play compared to this. Finally she collapsed on top of his chest, shivers still rolling up her spine with each movement of his sex against hers. Dimly, as if from a great distance, she felt his lips pressing against her sweaty forehead. She moaned and stirred, but stilled again as he rolled her over onto her side, cradling her back tightly against his chest.

“Jareth?” she mumbled, her mind still cloudy with happiness.

“Shhhhhh,” he whispered.  “Let’s just get some sleep.”