Kiss and Tell
"Who had the pleasure of taking your first kiss?"
Jareth's mouth brushes delicately across Sarah's hair, his nose burying between the loose, brown waves. He inhales deeply, savoring the sweet scent of mangos and peaches from her shampoo.
"Do you really want to know?"
Sarah tilts her head up, regarding Jareth's mismatched eyes closely. The change of angle allows Jareth to move his lips over her forehead. His next words whisper across her skin in a warm puff of air, causing Sarah to shiver at the intimate contact.
"I asked, did I not?"
"But won't you be jealous?" she teased, a warm blush spreading along her cheekbones. "I can't have you hunting down my first boyfriend so you can turn him into a goblin."
"I would do no such thing." Jareth sniffed imperiously.
"Wouldn't you?" Sarah lightly runs the tips of her fingers across his knuckles, circling over and dipping between the rounded bones that separate his fingers.
"Don't be absurd. Were someone to attempt to steal a kiss from your lips, I would slay him before he ever had the pleasure of sampling your wicked tongue."
Jareth releases one arm from around her waist and waves it, as if brandishing a sword, and proceeds to swish and jab his imaginary weapon at his invisible opponent.
"That seems a little harsh for one small kiss. Maybe you could just lock him in an oubliette for a century or two."
Jareth's arm around her waist tightens. "Absolutely not. It must be death for anyone who dares to steal what is rightfully mine. Would you not do the same, if some beautiful, buxom, elfish princess dared to kiss this Goblin King?"
"I would want to kill her, but I wouldn't actually kill her," Sarah admonished. "I might slap her around a little though." To prove her point, Sarah lightly swats Jareth cheeks.
Jareth laughs, pleased with her answer, and cups her hands gently, stilling her movements. He leans forward and brushes a feather light kiss across her lips, darting a tongue out to tease her mouth open.
Sarah pulls away before he succeeds and scowls at him.
"You are trying to distract me!" she accuses. "It's my turn to ask a question."
"Ah, but you never answered my question," Jareth taunts as he nibbles along her jaw.
Sarah turns away from Jareth's determined mouth and settles herself more comfortably against his chest, nestling her head in the hollow of his shoulder and trapping his hands against her belly to prevent any further interruption to their game.
Sarah and Jareth are currently lounging on his massive red bed, her small form framed by his larger one. If the size of the bed reflects the size of a man's ego, Jareth is the reason why people call large beds King-sized. Had the bed been a pool instead, Sarah imagines that she could swim laps and practice her butterfly stroke.
"His name is Chuck—"
"That is a terrible name. Isn't chuck a word one uses when they wish to throw something?" Jareth grins.
"It's also a name—"
"Well it's not a very good name."
"It's short for Charles, ok?" Sarah exclaimed. "It's a stupid name, but that's what people call him!"
Biting her lip in a feeble attempt to suppress a smile (because that would only goad Jareth further) she looks at him pointedly and raises one eyebrow. "May I continue?"
"OK…" Sarah takes a deep breath. "I met Chuck the summer after I finished eighth grade. We were both enrolled in a local theater camp that I begged my father to sign me up for. The camp was performing the play, Grease, and Chuck was one of the leading roles. I was just in the chorus."
Sarah pouted at the memory before continuing.
"We didn't actually date, because we never saw each other outside camp, but everyone at camp was convinced we were a couple. He always tried to find little ways to touch me or an excuse to sit next to me, before he finally mustered up the courage to kiss me."
"And?" Jareth asked.
"And, it was a perfectly acceptable first kiss. He had braces and it was a little slobbery, but still sweet."
"He slobbered on you? The boy sounds uncivilized," Jareth scoffs, distaste evident in his voice. He tilts her chin up and examines her face as though searching for remnants of drool.
"He wasn't uncivilized, just inexperienced. We both were. Anyways, it's my turn." Sarah squeezes his arm and Jareth reluctantly ceases his scrutiny.
"How old are you?"
"A kiss first," Jareth demands.
Sarah rolls her eyes.
"Don't be immature. We're talking about someone I shared an intimate moment with nearly eleven years ago. Now, if you're quite finished throwing a tantrum, it's my turn to ask a question—"
"Goblin Kings do not throw tantrums and they are most assuredly never immature!" Jareth growls before pressing his mouth against hers.
The kiss is passionate, lips and tongues sliding against one another in a sensual caress. Jareth fists both hands in her hair, weaving his broad fingers through the loose strands, effectively preventing her from pulling away. Sarah gives into the stolen kiss and clenches the duvet with both fists, reluctant to succumb to the desire to run her hands over his shoulders and down his chest.
Jareth's lithe form is clad in a simple black, silk shirt unbuttoned to his navel, offering tantalizing glimpses of smooth, unblemished skin stretched over hard muscle. The crescent pendant he always wears is cradled against his sternum, and despite being made of metal, is warm to the touch. It glows faintly when Jareth experiences strong emotions and Sarah releases a small whimper when she notices the faint glow through heavy lidded eyes.
No longer able to resist touching him, but still unwilling to touch bare skin, Sarah unclenches her stiff fingers from the wrinkled duvet and blindly seeks out Jareth with her hands. She finds his spread legs, and greedily runs her hands over his knees and down his thighs, the thin material of his breeches bunching under her insistent touch. She can feel the muscles in his strong legs jump at the intimate contact and with trembling fingers she slides her hands to his hips, relishing the way he jerks as she recklessly digs her fingers into flesh and bone.
All too soon the moment is over and Jareth is prying Sarah's hands off his hips and pushing her away. His expression is guarded as reaches over to rub a thumb across her swollen lips. His other hand caresses the side of her neck, his fingers lightly kneading the base of her scalp.
"Why do you wish to know?" Jareth asks.
"Hmmm?" Sarah mumbles.
Jareth peers into her glazed brown eyes, noting her flushed cheeks and tousled hair.
Despite the seriousness of his question, a self-satisfied smirk dances across his lips at her thoroughly snogged and disheveled appearance. "My age, sweet Sarah."
In spite of her desire induced haze, Sarah doesn't miss the look and hastily scrubs a hand over her face to wipe away the goofy expression that has no doubt led to his triumphant smile. His mismatched eyes glitter with mirth, the blue one catching the dim light in the room, making it seem that much brighter than the brown one.
"Just answer the question, Jareth. No more games."
Sarah frowns and turns away. She stares down at her hands and fiddles with a loose thread from her t-shirt—the same hands she had just used to grope her would be lover. She wraps and unravels the loose thread from around her index finger, momentarily distracted by how her finger goes from red to white, the tighter she pulls.
"Must punish wandering hands" Sarah silently chides herself as she wraps the thread more tightly around her abused finger.
"Ah, but Sarah, you know how much I enjoy a good game," Jareth croons close to her ear.
He gently pries one of her hands away from her shirt and lifts it to his mouth. He brushes her fingertips across his bottom lip, drawing her attention away from her shirt, towards his subtle seduction.
Once each fingertip has received equal attention, he flips her hand over and slides his mouth across her fingernails and down her slender fingers. When he reaches the back of her palm, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive skin. He dips his tongue, once, twice, for a brief taste, before sliding his mouth further up to dart his tongue between each knuckle.
"You don't play fair," Sarah says softly.
Sliding his gaze away from Sarah's hand towards her face, he watches as she stares transfixed by his movements, her plumps lips slightly parted in wonder.
Satisfied with her response, he places a quick kiss on her knuckles and pulls away, keeping her hand tightly wound in his as he places it back in her lap.
"I play to win" Jareth responds and squeezes Sarah's hand.
She stares at their interlocked hands for a moment, eyebrows drawn together in thought, muddling over his last statement.
A small smile slowly forms on her lips.
"So, exactly how old are you? Because, you must be pretty old if you would go this far to distract me." Sarah looks up at him innocently, a wide grin stretched across her face.
Jareth dismisses her allegation with a wave of his hand. "My age is irrelevant. Those who have lived as long as I have, do not concern themselves with numbers."
His tone is indifferent, but Sarah isn't fooled. Had she not spent so much time with Jareth as of late, she would have missed the almost imperceptible wince when she used the word old.
Jareth turns away from Sarah, focusing his attention elsewhere and giving the impression that the conversation is over. Sarah however, is not going to let him off that easily.
"So how many digits are we talking here? Three? Four? It can't possibly be more than four," Sarah teases, looking at Jareth for confirmation.
Jareth appears to not have heard a word she's said, his attention having been drawn to a pile of green silk at the foot of the bed.
Curious, Sarah follows the direction of his gaze.
"Why aren't you wearing the night dress I gave you?"
"Is that your next question, because you still have to answer mine."
"No. I'm simply intrigued. Was it not comfortable?"
"It's not that—"
"It's just too…"
Jareth raises one eye brow.
Sarah takes a deep breath. "Revealing," she admits.
"A lady should wear garments designed to drape across a woman's frame and accentuate her ample curves. Not threadbare cotton shirts and shorts full of holes and loose thread." To emphasize his point, Jareth pokes a finger through a hole at the hem of her grey shorts, tickling her thigh. "Your sleeping attire is too butch and leaves little to be desired."
Sarah snorts. "I like my t-shirt and shorts. They're soft and comfortable andI can move around in them without worrying about body parts slipping out."
Sarah glares at the offending nightgown and toes it off the bed and onto the floor. "Besides, whether I wear a frilly nightgown or a pair of sweats, the curves remain the same. You can fondle me just as easily through a pair of shorts as you can a dress. You just have to work a little harder."
"Are you offering?" Jareth's mismatched eyes trail down the length of her exposed legs, assessing them with his heated gaze.
"No!" Sarah crosses her legs, locking her feet together at the ankles.
"I don't believe I can carry on with this game if you insist on teasing me so," Jareth murmurs close to her ear. His lips brush against her earlobe, sending spikes of delicious sensation down her neck.
"Boo hoo. Answer my question."
"Wicked child." Jareth captures her earlobe between his teeth and gives it a firm tug before releasing it.
"Woman," Sarah corrects.
"If one acts like a child, one will be treated as such."
"Jareth," Sarah sighs. She pulls away from his comfortable warmth and repositions herself between his legs so that they are facing one another. "Won't you tell me your age?"
Jareth tilts his head to the side and regards her curiously. "Is it really so important that you know? Can there be no secrets between us?"
Sarah climbs into his lap and straddles his narrow hips. She leans forward and places both hands on his cheeks, cradling his face.
"No, I'll let you keep your secrets." Sarah tilts her head and slowly leans toward his mouth.
Jareth darts a tongue out to wet his upper lip and hungrily watches her descent through hooded eyes.
"For now," she whispers, as her lips softly brush against his.
Jareth's lips part under her gentle caress.