I didn't manage a real Chritmas fic this year, but you can have this. Here, go ahead and take it!

Tell me if the stars align would you ever be mine

Could they let our worlds collide.

-Heather Jayne "If the Stars Align"

It's cold. The kind of cold that makes the stars seem crisp and brighter than normal. I clasp the frigid concrete rail of the balcony with my bare fingers as I lean my head back and stare at the stars.

The sounds of revelry spill out the doors and claw at the edges of me but I ignore them. Yes, I should be dancing. Yes, I should be mingling and smiling, but my face and feet hurt and the calm quiet of the dark beyond the glow of windows is tempting. I could just slip away into the night and find out where the wild things are.

It's not such a bad idea really.

Casting just one glance back into the ballroom, I pick up the skirt of my dress and hurry down the steps.

This dress is midnight blue and thick for warmth. It reminds of me of the New Year's sky above as I hurry through the park. The restaurant is just on the other side of the park from my own house. The party may rage on for hours but this Cinderella hears the siren call of the couch and panda slippers. As drunk as everyone was they will hardly notice that I've deserted them.

"It was kind of you to leave the walls standing," a voice like a knife cuts through the dark. It's a voice I know, a voice I could never forget—mostly because it comes to me in dreams in those strange twilight moments before dawn breaks.

I turn, keeping my feet firmly on the path, it's just my luck that a wild thing has found me.

There's nothing terribly different about him with his hair of moonlight and eyes like daggers. Time can't hope to wear his edges smooth.

My heart speeds up in my chest as the winter night's chill releases me—my blood is on fire. How differently a woman is betrayed by her heart. When the same organ belonged to a young girl she could so easily escape its mastery.

The correct thing to do would be to disbelieve my eyes. To blame a glass too many of champagne, but I know better and I have to find my voice.

"No one tried to detain me," I say. "Don't think that I've grown weak with the years." The only thing weak about me at the moment is my knees.

His eyes light up even in the dark. "It's easy to see that the years have been far too generous."

"You may walk with me," I whisper into the space between us. It feels brave.

"I'm thrilled to have your permission," he rolls his eyes as he joins me on the path. "It's good to see you haven't lost any of your childish delusions."

"Are you still angry with me?" I ask taking a moment to burn his image into my memory bank. His coat matches my dress.

"I'm a king, I don't get angry—anger is clearly beneath me," he says in that quicksilver voice as he laces his gloved fingers behind his back. "I prefer to be wrathful or enraged. Angry is entirely too common."

"Are you still enraged with me then?" I reply as we walk between two ancient oaks and their naked limbs.

"Sarah, I was never enraged with you," the eyeroll is nearly audible.

My name on his lips metaphorically rips my heart from my rib cage.

"I was merely disappointed," he turns toward me with a sneer—such a cruel face shouldn't be that beautiful. It just isn't fair...not that I can say as much to him.

We are silent for a few moments before emerging from the trees and onto a deserted street. My little house is sitting just a few feet away.

"Well?" He quirks an eyebrow.

I haven't thought this far. I don't know what to do or say. I don't know the right words.

"You make everything so complicated," he complains.

"Are you wanting to come in?" I ask losing what small amount of composure I've been clinging to.

"Kings don't want anything," he smirks.

He's unbelievable.

"Please, come in," I present him with an exaggerated bow before gathering my skirt in my fists and trudging up the stairs. I don't look over my shoulder as I unlock the door even though I want to.

The Christmas tree is gleaming in the bay window and warm cinnamon scented air wraps around me when I step into the otherwise darkened room with the Goblin King right on my heels.

"May I take your coat, your majesty?" I ask after switching on a lamp.

He smiles and pushes the door closed with a click. My house feels suddenly smaller.

"Here," he shrugs out of the blue velvet coat. It is a disturbingly human gesture incongruous with his sharp otherworldly features and haphazard eyes. I take it and try not to stare at the inch of pale skin between the cuff of his black shirt and glove.

He doesn't wait for me to offer a tour but strolls around the living room and glances into the kitchen. I can't take my eyes off of him.

"It's strange," I say toeing off my flats and jamming my feet into the slippers by the door, "I met you on a late spring evening, but this winter night suits you much better."

His eyes catch mine from across the room. "Had you made your foolhardy wish on a night like this one you never could've beat me," his grin is feral in the multicolored glow of the Christmas lights. "You caught me as my power was waning."

"You're a winter king then?" My voice is low but still seems loud. He doesn't answer. "You always underestimate me," I say before disappearing down the hall.

When I reach my bedroom I catch my breath. Gandalf is snuggled in my blankets but the mutt wags his tail by way of a greeting before closing his eyes. I can't let myself think about the fairy king in my living room while unzipping the dress and throwing it over the bed. With shaking hands I pull on the nicest pair of black leggings I own. Next comes a large black sweater, as if selecting black lounging garments will somehow keep things formal. I just couldn't stand the idea of being trapped in the dress a moment longer.

Bracing myself, I return to the living room half certain he'll be gone. A figment of alcohol and unwise wishing, but he's still there draped across my sofa.

"Tea?" I ask trying not to fidget. Let him think I entertain gorgeous fairy men all the time. No big deal.

"That would be lovely," he cants his head as he says it. The gesture is one I recall too easily, it reminds me that a bird of prey lurks behind those iceberg eyes of his. I will not be his mouse.

"I had a dream once that you visited at Christmas time," I say returning with the tea pot and two mugs.

"You did." It isn't really a question.

"Yes," it was not long after our first encounter. "It seemed so real. Dream Jareth was fascinated with the Christmas tree," I say feeling a smile curve my unwilling lips as I pour the steaming chamomile tea into our cups.

"Say that again?" He reaches for the cup, his elegant fingers encircle mine, his gloves are off. The brush of skin nearly unnerves me. He's so cold.

"What?" I look up. It is a mistake. His eyes are hungry and they won't let mine go.

"My name, say it again," his voice is softer than I've ever heard it. I'm not sure what he wants from me. I'm not sure I'm willing to give it.

"You want me to give you your name?" I let go of the cup and watch his face. The lamp light is so dim, the moment is too intimate.

"I'm a king," he smirks and slouches back against the sofa with his cup recovering his nonchalance.

"Right, and kings don't want," I shake my head and pour my own mug before settling into the sofa myself. We drink in silence for a moment or two, it's more comfortable than I would've thought. Is there something fundamentally wrong with me?

"It's nearly midnight, but I guess that doesn't mean much to you does it?" I ask after a moment. "What are you doing here with me instead of out doing whatever it is you do?" I don't want to think about whatever it is he does.

"What makes you assume that this isn't what I normally do?" He glances at me over the rim of his tea cup. "Perhaps, I watch you every New Year's eve."

The thought is not a comforting one which is probably exactly why he said it. "I'd feel sorry for you if watching me was your best shot at entertainment. Why did you show yourself?" I draw a leg up beneath me and turn my full attention on him. He may never sit on my couch again with the glow of a thousand multicolored lights reflecting off his corn-silk hair and pale skin. I never want to forget a single detail of this moment.

"Because, I once fell in love with a girl," he says setting the cup down on the end table and leaning toward me our knees nearly touching.

"No you didn't," I shake my head and grasp my mug tight with both hands. "It's impossible. You don't even know what love is."

"And you do?" There's no humor in his face now. "Do you know what it's like to never want anything?"

"I'm not a king, Jareth," I settle the cup in my lap but he won't release my eyes. "I am drowning in want."

"Have you any idea what you did to me? You may be drowning my dear, but I'm being consumed," his voice is tight but his posture loosens as he swings an arm over the back of the sofa and waits.

"You want me?"

"Kings don't want, Sarah."

"Oh yes, I guess want is as common as anger," I set my cup on the coffee table. A reckless type of bravery builds within my chest at once painful and thrilling.

"I long for you, yearn for you—I crave you, Sarah." He's a heart-stealing thesaurus this Goblin King.

My wayward body answers his admission. I feel myself crawl across the sofa to him as if my thinking mind is totally disconnected from skin and bone. Jareth seems to tolerate my liberty taking. His eyes hold mine as I settle between his knees, closer to him than I've ever been in real life as my legs clash with his. The temptation to reach out and touch him is so strong.

"I don't trust that expression in your eyes, my dear. It's destructive."

The ancient clock in the hallway begins to chime. It's finally midnight and my eyes fall to his lips. I am going to kiss him.

Quick, before I'm abandoned by this reckless sense of bravery, I lean forward and lightly brush my lips against his. It is such a subtle thing but my entire being reacts to it. My hands come up to that sharp planed face as I kiss him, tease him again.

His hands find my waist and pull me into his lap. There's no need for words as our lips explore each other. He tastes like tea and magic while his mouth claims mine and his tongue skims along my bottom lip. My hands are in his hair, it's soft and feathery beneath my touch. Surprisingly, his ears are slightly pointed beneath all that lovely hair.

I have no idea what I've done.

Jareth pushes me onto my back and my heart leaps into my throat. My living room is gone, but I can still hear a faint chiming. In vain I try to let my brain catch up to my body. There's nothing above my head but stars. The room is round like it belongs in a tower and there is in fact a ceiling, it only has the ethereal appearance of sky, enchanted.

I should be upset I suppose but I'm feeling too many other things as his tongue introduces itself to the sensitive skin of my throat. He's lost in me, it is a powerful realization.

He let's me roll him over, pin his wandering hands to these unfamiliar sheets. My eyes devour him. It's the smug look on his face that sets my heart to racing again. He could rip me apart.

"Your craving isn't love, your majesty," I press a kiss below his ear. He smells like the night wind in winter. "I can't both love and fear you. You can't be my slave if I am the one doing as you say. You will never rule me."

"What do you want from me?" The sharpness of his voice is gone, it's all velvet now.

"I want you to understand," I tease his lips again. I can tell it's killing him to allow me this small thing. Perhaps he's afraid of scaring me off but he keeps still, he reins himself in. The king is surprisingly patient.

"To love someone gives them power over you," I pull back so that I can look down into his eyes. They are dark with desire.

He smiles, all sharp teeth and challenge, "Then I've loved you all along."

Once again I find myself flipped beneath him. His deft fingers removing the barriers between us.

"Happy New Year, Sarah."