"Ugh." Sarah dropped her heavy bag onto the kitchen table with a grunt, and then flopped onto a chair. Sighing, she kicked off her smart black shoes and tipped her head back, feeling the tension in the muscles along her back and shoulders decrease slightly.

It had been a long day. Teaching was Sarah's calling and she adored it, but that didn't stop her from being exhausted by it. Today, two students had 'forgotten' to do their homework, one girl had burst into tears for no apparent reason, she'd had to tell off a whole class for being disrespectful, the projector had failed to work, and one of the younger kids in the corridor had met with a horrific accident involving a pot of glue and a box of scissors. Fortunately nobody had been badly hurt — though it was debatable whether the school carpet would ever recover — and bruises and wounded dignity had been soothed with arnica and kind words; but everything piled up, and the long and the short of it was that Sarah was tired.

She glanced at the pile of marking that was spilling out of her bag onto the table, and then made a conscious decision to ignore it. It was Friday, damn it all, and she was going to take a night off. She couldn't remember the last night she'd done that; just dropped everything and taken time to do nothing. Karen was always telling her to take a break — she rolled her eyes just thinking about it. You overwork yourself, dear, she'd say. You should give yourself some time off. And then the inevitable — So have you met anyone nice lately?

"No, Mom, I haven't met anyone nice lately," she muttered, getting up with an effort and filling the kettle. "I haven't met anyone, in fact, because I have no social life. I'm twenty four years old and I have no friends."

She permitted herself a smile. Well, perhaps that wasn't quite true. But her friends weren't exactly of the kind she could tell her parents about — not unless she wanted to end up in an asylum some time soon. And they certainly weren't the kind Karen was hoping for. (I'd so love to see you settled down with a nice young man… What about Janine's boy, Robert? You used to be so close in highschool…) Sarah snorted.

"Robert's an ass. I can't believe how into him I used to be. Ugh, rather be alone than be 'settling down' with him…"

Putting the kettle on to boil and getting some pasta down from the shelf, she paused, suddenly conscious that it was a lie. She wouldn't rather be alone. She was lonely, and it was hard not to have anybody to come home to. Even Hoggle, Ludo and Sir Didymus — not to mention the goblins — weren't the type of company she craved. It was hard to meet anyone when your job took up all your time, even weekends with marking and lesson planning, and Sarah had never really been one for close girlfriends, so she didn't have anyone to go out with — not that the social scene most people her age liked really appealed to her. Sarah much preferred to curl up in a corner with a good book than to go out clubbing. But how was she supposed to meet anyone? Once she'd dreamed of romance, of a knight in shining armour who would sweep her off her feet… but now those dreams seemed old and faded, insubstantial compared to the drab reality of her everyday life.

Of course, romance had entered her life once before, in the shape of not a knight but a King; a King who had danced with her and courted her and offered her her dreams…

Not liking where her thoughts had led her, Sarah slammed the jar of pasta on the side with unnecessary force.

"Snap out of it, Williams," she told herself sternly. "You're happy the way things are. You love working with the kids, you love the school, and you're just tired and grumpy after a long week."

Thirsty, she wandered over to the fridge, trying to think of things that would cheer her up. I could stick a Disney movie on — no, it's no fun on my own. I just want company… I could Skype home, I guess, but it'll just be more of the same from Mom, and Dad will awkwardly hover and not know what to say, and then we'll settle into our usual conversation about how Toby's doing. Not that she didn't like to hear about how her kid brother was getting on in school — he was remarkably intelligent — but tonight she just wasn't in the mood. Maybe I'll call Hoggle and the others and see if they're up for a game of chess. Only… I don't feel like talking to them either. They're lovely, of course, but they're not… not… She shook her head sharply. Not what, Sarah? You're being ridiculous. Just get over yourself and enjoy an evening free of work.

She stared blearily at the contents of the fridge. After a long drive home and a full day of standing, she was craving something sweet and cold to drink. Ah, a bottle of peach juice — perfect. She yanked the bottle out off the shelf, only to find to her disappointment that it was more than half empty.

The juice was a guilty pleasure of hers. It was all Karen's fault. Sarah had come home from highschool one day to find that there was no Coke in the fridge; instead, there were three bottles of peach juice. She had gone white and backed away, much to Karen's disgust.

"Don't be so melodramatic, Sarah, it's just fruit juice. I decided if you're going to rot your teeth with sweet drinks you might as well do it healthily. This stuff is delicious. Come on, have a glass." She'd shoved a tumbler of the juice — thick, pulpy, golden stuff — at Sarah, and glared intimidatingly until the girl had taken a sip.

At first she'd almost gagged, the sensory memory it conjured so strong that she wanted to shatter the glass against the wall. But then… the sweet, spicy, heady taste caressed her tongue, and she'd closed her eyes in sheer pleasure. Screw Ja—the Goblin King and his false promises and poisoned peaches; she would do what she liked, and he couldn't control her. She'd downed the whole glass and held it out for more.

"Good," said Karen, slightly surprised. "Now go and get your brother, I need to help him with his homework."

The peach juice had become a staple of Sarah's life, and when she'd graduated college and begun her new job the peach juice came too. It was partly the delicious taste, partly the (admittedly doubtful) health benefits, and… though she never would have admitted it… partly the guilty sensation she felt every time she drank it that was so addictive. The flavour, so intense and so smooth, still reminded her of that forbidden dance: that moment of weakness when the enemy's seduction had almost won her over. Rather than avoiding peaches, as she had for the first year after her little adventure, each time she ate or drank the fruit it felt like a little added victory over the Goblin King. Like she was accepting his challenge, and rubbing it in his face.

None of this was in her mind now, however; all she was thinking was how thirsty she was. Unscrewing the plastic lid, she tipped the bottle to her mouth and drank.

What happened next was a combination of two factors. Firstly, the bottle was made for pouring, not drinking directly from — a terrible habit Sarah had picked up since living alone — and its neck was very wide. Secondly, Sarah was both exhausted and clumsy, and whether the fridge door caught her sleeve as it closed or she simply wasn't paying attention to what she was doing, the result was the same: disaster struck, and the entire contents of the bottle sloshed down her front.

Gulping down what little had actually got into her mouth, Sarah put the bottle down and groaned. The stuff had gone all down her chin and throat, and was currently happily trickling between her cleavage onto her stomach. Frustrated with her own clumsiness, she rinsed her hands and face in the sink and then decided that the shirt was already ruined, she might as well use it to mop up the rest. Tugging it over her head, she dabbed the damp floor with it and then did her best to soak up the juice on herself. Luckily the bra she was wearing was off-white; the stains wouldn't really show, though it was irritating that she'd probably have to wash that too.

Still in her bra and skirt, she meandered down the hallway to drop the offending shirt in the washing basket. The kettle finished boiling with a loud click, and she headed back to the kitchen to start the pasta before she got changed. Pyjamas sounded like a good, cosy option.

Once the pasta was merrily bubbling away, she poured herself a cup of tea, still thirsty and not really wanting to risk opening another bottle of juice — knowing her luck, she'd chuck this one all over herself, too. She was just contemplating the sticky mess on her skin and wondering whether she should have a shower, when a voice behind her nearly made her heart stop.

"I'll have a cup, if you're offering."

It was a lazy, amused drawl, and it was a voice that she knew intimately, though she'd heard it few enough times. Sarah gasped, whirling round, and immediately crossed her arms over her chest.

"What are you doing here?"

The King of the Goblins was leaning casually against her kitchen wall, watching her with a horribly delighted smirk. He was wearing tight grey pants and a white silk shirt, his hair was shorter and less choppy than she remembered it, and his grey-blue eyes had exactly the same mocking, alluring look from before. He looked like all her worst nightmares come true — and she was only wearing a bra.

"Enjoying the show," he said, as if surprised she'd even asked. "Do you make a habit of bathing in peach juice?"

Sarah flushed up to her eyebrows. "I—" she began hotly. "I — get out of here, you — you — pervert —"

"Thank you, I'd rather not," he said pleasantly. "But I will take a cup of that tea, if you don't mind."

"Wha —" she spluttered. "I am not giving you a cup of tea!"

"Whyever not?" He was still smirking, infuriatingly, and worse still he was lazily eyeing her from head to toe and not bothering to hide it.

"Because," Sarah blustered, "I do not give tea to strange men who have invaded my kitchen!"

"Don't you think that's a little unfair? I wouldn't call us strangers, precious; or have you forgotten me?" The Goblin King gifted her a pointy smile that showed all his teeth, and her insides quivered in spite of themselves.

"I know who you are, thank you," she shot back, trying ineffectually to cover as much of her skin as possible. "You're the one who stole my baby brother and nearly killed me when I tried to get him back!"

"Now, now, my little Champion, don't be so ungracious in your victory. Besides, I didn't kill you; I merely frightened you a little."

"And fed me a drugged peach!" Her bra strap, loosened by her defensive stance, slipped down over one shoulder, and she winced, not daring to pull it up again. Dammit, how did he make her feel naked even with only one item of clothing missing?

"That didn't cause any permanent harm, judging by your actions," he pointed out reasonably. She couldn't think of a cutting response to this, so she just glared at him.

"Go away."

He pretended he hadn't heard her. "I take my tea black, with no sugar."

"You would." She was torn between chucking the tea at him, boiling hot as it was, and just running away from him — only somehow her feet were rooted to the floor where she stood.

Slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself away from the wall and stalked closer. "You've left the teabag in," he pointed out. She scowled at him.

"I thought I told you to go away." Shit, there was definitely a note of panic in her voice. Too much to hope he hadn't noticed it.

"Did you? Sorry, I was a little… distracted." Okay, now he was definitely eyeing her up, and he could see way too much, and she had to get out of there now. "Do you even know how to take a teabag out?" Oh my God, he was right in front of her, so close she could smell him, and he smelled amazing… Earth to Sarah! This is an emergency!

"Of course I know how to make tea," she found herself snapping. "I'm not an idiot."

"Ah. You see, I wasn't sure, because I don't know anyone else that drinks peach juice by spilling it everywhere."

Gah! She wanted to punch him, but that little smile of his was ridiculously disarming. Was he… was he teasing her? She felt shy and touched and furiously angry all at once. His eyelashes were incredibly long; why had she never seen that before? Reaching a decision, she turned round before she could do anything stupid, like— shutupshutupshutup. She plucked the teabag out and dropped it in the sink, feeling his amused gaze over her bare shoulders.

"There. Black tea." She pointed at it. "Now drink it and leave me alone."

"Sarah, Sarah." She froze: he was so close that she could feel his warm breath on her back when he spoke. "Always so prickly, so tense. I'm not going to hurt you, you know."

She didn't reply immediately, because disconcerting as it was, he had hit on the very thing that she'd been thinking. "How do I know I can trust you?" she said tightly.

The Goblin King let out his breath in a long sigh; it tickled her neck. "All right. You don't. But Sarah…" His voice, which moments before had been nothing but seductive, suddenly held a hint of pleading. "I'm asking you for a second chance. I'm lonely too, you know."

Sarah looked down at the countertop, and the tea. "Who told you I was lonely?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. "…Hogbrain has his limitations, but he does care about you, so I was able to get information upon your circumstances."

She rolled her eyes, but somehow she was finding it hard to be mad. Maybe he was right. Maybe she did owe him a second chance. After all, she wasn't saving Toby any more.

"So…" His voice was quiet, but there was an edge of arrogance to it that made her want to slap him and kiss him in equal measures. "Can I stay for tea?"

"Fine," she huffed. "You may stay and drink tea with me." Wow, things I thought I'd never say to the Goblin King.

"You won't regret it," he breathed meaningfully, and before she could do anything sensible like move away or stab him with a kitchen knife, two gloved hands slid around her bare waist and a warm mouth kissed her shoulder, just where it connected to her neck. She gasped, both in shock at his sheer audacity and at the sensation, and then closed her eyes because his kiss was doing funny things to her stomach and her knees felt like they might collapse.

"Ja-reth," she protested, but then a voice whispered in her mind: do you really want this to end? Isn't this what you've been looking for? Companionship, friendship… love? While she was trying to think up a suitable retort to this, he was kissing her neck, and now her collarbone, and his hands were splayed across her waist, and… he chuckled against her skin, and her eyes flew open.

"What?" she demanded, blushing furiously.

Jareth let go of her enough to tip her chin up so that she had to look at him. His eyes were dark with a mixture of laughter and desire. "You taste of peaches," he told her, grinning.

Furious, mortified, and completely vulnerable, she pushed him away. "I hate you!"

"No you don't," he said calmly. She glared at him, but both of them knew he was right. "In fact…" Inexorably, he pushed on her shoulders until she reluctantly turned to face him. Instinctively, she made to cover herself again, but he made a tutting sound and his hands snaked out to capture her wrists, holding them down at her side. "Don't hide yourself," he said, in a tone that was unexpectedly gentle. "Sarah, you're beautiful."

Facing his open, honest gaze, she flushed again. He wasn't lying, she could see it in his face; he truly thought she was beautiful. A little dizzy from that idea, she glanced down to gather her scattered thoughts. "I…" she managed to say. "…I'm going to go and have a shower."

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "Is that an invitation?"

"It most certainly was not!" she said hotly, the strangely tender moment broken. He was laughing at her again, and she knew he was provoking her on purpose. She wrestled herself free from his grip, and stalked over to the door. There she paused, with her back still to him. She wanted to ask him if he was still going to be there when she got back, but couldn't think of a way to say it that he wouldn't misconstrue.

"Sarah?"

"Yes?" She turned back, hoping she didn't sound too eager. He was grinning his most wolf-like grin.

"Are you sure you need a shower? I'd be happy to offer my… personal services."

Butterflies exploded in the pit of her stomach, and her cheeks reddened even more as the image of what he meant unfolded vividly in her mind's eye. "You're impossible!" she burst out furiously, and she marched out, slamming the door behind her.

Maybe you need a cold shower, Williams, said a wry voice in the back of her mind, though she made an effort to ignore it. She turned the key in the bathroom door twice in the lock, knowing it was a futile gesture; if Jareth wanted to get into the room, he would. It felt strange to take her clothes off knowing he was in the same house. She jumped into the shower before she could change her mind, and let the deliciously warm water wash away the remnants of the juice. It had been meant to be a quick shower just to rinse the stickiness away, but as the heat hit the tight muscles in her back she almost gasped out loud. Maybe she'd stay just a little longer and let the hard week be washed away too…

What if Jareth is gone when you get out? She could hear the little voice even over the sound of the rushing water.

Then good riddance, she answered fiercely. Why should I care?

Because you don't want him to.

She hit the tap and the water flow stopped; the sudden silence was almost eerie. She wrapped herself in a towel that barely reached the tops of her thighs, and peered into the foggy mirror at her blurry reflection. She'd never really liked the way she looked. Her hair was too straight, her nose too big. Her shoulders were freckled, and she'd always wished she could be as skinny as girls in movies and magazines were; the kind with hipbones and flat stomachs. And yet he had looked at her body and told her she was beautiful.

Cautiously, clutching her clothes to herself, she opened the bathroom door, holding her breath to see if she could hear anything. At first, silence, and the sickening disappointment was so stupid because really, what had she expected…?

"Is that you, precious? You have five minutes to put clothes on before I come in and find you," called a teasing voice.

Excitement, relief, and another emotion she didn't know how to name jumbled themselves up in her chest. "Don't you dare!" she yelled back vehemently, and made a sprint for her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I don't care what he thinks of me, she was thinking, and yet she chose nice clothes: jeans that flattered her, a pretty t-shirt. Sarah, you're an idiot.

Still… He said I was beautiful.

When she came back into the kitchen with towel-dried hair, feeling somewhat self-conscious, a strangely domestic scene met her eye. Jareth was busy laying the table, having miraculously worked out where everything was: he'd set a place for her, with a glass of water, knife and fork, and a soft white roll of bread on a plate. Where had that come from? She didn't have any fresh bread… He carried something over to the table, and she saw that it was a plate of pasta. Instead of the hurried, olive-oil-and-nothing style she usually ate it in, it was enfolded in creamy tomato sauce and basil leaves.

"That looks amazing," she said, and he turned quickly to her with a smile so genuine, so open, it left her reeling.

"It's for you. Come and eat, Sarah."

Hesitantly, she sat down, unused to being served. "What about you? Aren't you hungry?"

Jareth sat himself down at the table opposite her; he chuckled in the way he had before, velvety and dark. "Yes, but not for food."

"Behave yourself," she chided, even as the flush on her cheek deepened once more. "Or I won't let you come back."

"Won't you?" He wasn't expecting an answer, she realised, and she didn't need to give him one.

"Here. Since I stole your tea." He handed her a mug full of a steaming amber liquid. It was a strangely endearing gesture, and involuntarily her thoughts returned to another time when he had offered her a gift and she had turned aside. He met her gaze, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. But this time, I have a chance to make amends.

"What is it?" she asked, looking down at the tea with curiosity and to hide a growing smile.

Jareth's intense gaze turned wicked. "Peach tea, of course," he said sweetly. "Try not to spill it this time, will you?"

Hello, my lovely readers. As some of you will know, I am currently embroiled in a horrible Italian essay that is taking far longer than it should. As a result, naturally, all my fanfic urges rise to the surface and demand to be fulfilled. Yesterday I was drinking some Italian peach juice - delicious stuff - and managed to spill it all down my front. Being me, I took my top off and happily wandered around clearing up the rest of the kitchen in my underwear. It wasn't til I got into pyjamas that the possibilities struck me...

Slightly different style from the usual, and this time Sarah is (supposedly) American. What do you guys think?