They were quiet in the cab back to her apartment. She'd thought of taking Jareth out for a drink with Miguel, if only to convince Miguel once and for all that Jareth was not enabling or encouraging her desire for dangerous fun, but Miguel had promised to be home before midnight. He gave her a wink as he left the theater, along with a not-so-subtle "text me and call me immediately" gesture.

As they climbed the three dimly-lit floors of her building Sarah was relieved that Chris hadn't been averse to her being the one to keep their apartment—Julia hadn't been the worst roommate, but solo living suited her much better. Plus the fact that she didn't have to explain Jareth's presence—and the fact that he would likely exit via the mirror and not the front door—to anyone.

She fumbled with her keys for a moment, opened the door, tossed her jacket on the sofa and turned on a few lamps that bathed the room in soft light. She looked around and, perhaps in an echo of what she'd experienced in the theater, tried to imagine how he must be seeing this place—the cheap-but-not-used furniture, the framed theater posters on the walls, the pictures of Toby and the rest of her family (minus her mother) on the bookshelf, the mismatched coffee mugs hanging on hooks above the kitchen window, the ancient radiator.

"Not exactly a castle bedroom with candles and wine, I know," she muttered, looking at the floor.

He moved closer and put a hand under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. "I prefer you in brighter light, actually," he said.

Some lingering tension relaxed inside her, and she kissed him, her senses still alive with the heady mix of watching something she'd made with someone who'd inspired it and knowing that it had affected him. He pulled her against him, and his body felt so warm, so much warmer than when…

And then she hesitated, because everything felt different, and she was suddenly afraid of how she would look and feel to him with all the illusions of Other Side stripped away.

He felt her hesitation. "Sarah, what's wrong?"

She shook her head. "It's all…it's all so real, and I'm not saying it wasn't before, but…" She backed away and wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't know what I'll look like, feel like to you on this side of the mirror. I'm…" She rolled her eyes. "Fuck, I'm afraid of…I don't know, of you not wanting me as much."

His mouth fell open. He started to speak and then stopped twice, finally saying, "That is a very, very stupid thing to fear."

Sarah raised an eyebrow at him. "Says the immortal with magical powers who's never been less than gorgeous a day in his goddamn life."

He laughed and ran a hand down her neck and over her shoulder. "Much as I hate to admit it, you're not the only one with something to fear." He removed a glove and touched her cheek.

She felt a slight tingle, but the sensation was weaker than what usually happened. "Certain, er, skills of mine are somewhat muted here," he muttered, pulling his hand away. "In case you were expecting something earth-shattering in the bedroom."

She snorted. "You really think your magic fingers are the only thing that keeps me coming back for more?"

"And do you really think the slight illusions that the other side of the mirror might cast around your body are the only things that keep ME coming back for more?"

She smiled. "Wow. You're very good at this."

He spread his hands. "I believe it's in my job description."

Her eyes fixed on his, she ran a hand down his cheek, tracing the fine detail of his jaw that had never been quite as clear in Other Side. Still gazing at him, she pulled her dress over her head and slipped out of her boots and leggings. Her underwear was black cotton, and her bra was opaque—not exactly the sort of risque things she usually wore whenever she had a chance to pass through the mirror.

The look of raw desire on his face was enough to tell her it didn't matter, though.

He reached for her, and she put a hand to his chest to push him back. "Your turn," she whispered.

He grinned and quickly unbuttoned his shirt and jeans, tossing them carelessly on the floor. She unhooked her bra and slipped out of her underwear.

In Other Side's light Jareth's skin, hair, and eyes had always seemed to gleam. Here, in the faint lamplight of her apartment, he didn't gleam, though he was still as pale as he'd ever been. He was thin, but not sickly-looking. When she touched his chest it felt warm under her fingers, the steady thrum of his heart stronger than she remembered. She ran a hand down his chest over his abdomen, firm under her touch, and then heard him suck in his breath as she gripped the inside of his thigh, which was softer.

She could smell the city's night air on him, mixed with the very faint smell of his own sweat. The sound of his breathing, growing quicker by the second, made her own breath quicken.

She pressed herself against him and he wrapped his arms tightly around her with a groan, lifting her slightly off the ground. "So real…" she whispered, kissing his neck. "I wish I c—"

He pulled back and clamped a hand over her mouth. "Sarah," he gasped, "much as it gives me life to hear what you desire, I think you know by now the danger of uttering the words 'I wish' in my presence."

She froze. "Shit. You're right, I'm sorry."

He kissed her and pushed his tongue between her lips, and she tasted everything familiar about him mixed with a host of new tastes. "Do go on," he whispered, kissing her cheeks and eyelids, "only perhaps choose different words."

Sarah laughed. "I…it would be nice if…I could keep a piece of this," she whispered. "This realness."

He smiled and pushed her gently toward the bedroom as he continued kissing her. "You can always wish me here again."

She reached behind her to open the bedroom door and switch on another lamp, eagerly returning his kisses. "Tempting."

He lay her down on her bed and buried his face between her breasts. "Do tell me more of what you need, precious," he said, his hands running quickly up and down her torso and over her legs. As expected, she didn't feel the extreme heat and intense sensation that his hands usually gave her, but the intense feeling of tangibility more than made up for it.

She pulled him on top of her and moaned when she felt a hardness pushing between her legs. "I need…you to go first," she gasped. "Tell me what you want."

He pushed against her but didn't penetrate her, and she gripped the sheets and bit her lip. "I want every inch of you," he whispered, kissing his way down her stomach.

She pulled away slightly and closed her legs, smirking at him when he gave her a surprised look. "More detailed."

He returned the smirk, slowly spreading her legs apart and slipping his hand between them. She moaned and stuffed her mouth with a section of sheet to muffle the sound.

"I want to commit every last inch of your flesh to memory, because it's much clearer to my eyes and hands and mouth here than it's ever been." He kissed the inside of her thigh. "I want you to scream my name in multiple languages, and when you've got no voice left, I want you to suck me dry." She gasped as he slipped a finger inside her. "I want to lick every drop of sweetness from you, and then I want to fuck you as hard as your mortal body can stand—which I know from experience is very, very hard."

He pushed his fingers in deeper and buried his face between her legs. She screamed his name, not caring who heard her.

Her dreams were vivid.

She was in the labyrinth, and it looked strangely rejuvenated, the vines that clung to its walls a more vibrant green, the maze walls clean and free of slime. She was standing just in front of Hoggle's gate, which was now a thriving garden.

She'd never been back, she realized, not to this place specifically. Her journeys to the other side of the mirror had always taken her to places of her own invention or memory, but never back to the labyrinth itself, though she had seen it in her mirror occasionally, when Jareth was wandering through the hedges and stone walls. Seeing the gate in front of her now she felt that long-ago sense of dread and anticipation, but it was faint. Everything looked so different. Why should she be afraid of this place?

She felt a strange sensation pulling her toward the open gate, which revealed walls covered in bright green vines. It was as if invisible hands tugged her toward it.

But when she passed through the gate she was on a stage that seemed to be surrounded by a ball of glass. When she looked down at herself she was wearing her usual jeans and leather jacket, but then the image shimmered and she was wearing a ball gown, and then the jeans again.

At the other end of the stage she saw Jareth, wearing that sequined blue coat, but then his image shimmered as well and he was dressed as he had been at the theater, then back to the jacket again, until the shifting in herself and in him made her feel dizzy. He smiled and held out his hand.

"Coming, precious?"

She moved toward him. "Where to?"

He took her hand and they were floating, then falling, and it was terrifying but amazing to feel the wind rushing over her and not know what waited beneath.

"Not sure." He kissed her. "It's your dream."

She gasped and woke up. It took her a few seconds to remember that she was in her own bedroom.

She shifted slightly, thinking she was in an empty bed, but then she jumped when she felt Jareth move against her, his arms pulling her tighter into the crook of his body.

"Bad dreams, precious?" he whispered.

She turned around to face him, marveling at the way his eyes gleamed in the dark. "Just strange ones." She nuzzled his neck. "Could you see them?"

He threaded his fingers through her hair, and she felt the faintest of tingling sensations, as if he were reaching within her mind to caress the dreams she'd just had. "Pieces."

Her hand made slow circles against his back. "I was in the labyrinth," she whispered.

He rolled on top of her, pulling one of her legs around his waist. "Indeed. Were you wreaking havoc on the place?"

"No, I w—ahhh," she gasped as one of his hands moved lower. "It…it was pulling me inside…but then I was on a stage, and you were there, and we were falling, but it wasn't scary…"

He laughed and then gasped as her own hand slipped between his legs. "Intriguing," he said, kissing her neck and chest.

Her hand moved against him and he responded in kind. They both moaned softly. "Any idea what it could mean?" she asked.

He closed his eyes, clearly losing interest in the conversation. As if you aren't as well. "Mortal symbols, Sarah. For you, perhaps your memories of the labyrinth are—ah, gods, you wicked girl—a gateway to all manner of possibilities." He licked her ear. "All paths are open, you could say."

She sucked in her breath and arched her body against him. "That's…very…"

He kissed her hard and pushed his tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Very what, precious?"

She wrapped both legs around him and pulled him against her. "Doesn't matter," she moaned.

He chuckled against her neck. "Glad we're on the same page."

He slid into her slowly and she cried out, kissing him wherever she could reach. Their touches were less fevered and urgent this time but no less pleasurable. He whispered shocking things in her ear and she whispered equally shocking things back as he pinned her arms above her head, and warmth and heat filled her so deliciously as he moved inside her that she couldn't be sure later where the dreaming ended and waking began.

When Sarah woke up the sun was shining through her window and Jareth was gone.

She felt a pang of disappointment—she'd been hoping, she was reluctant to admit, for a third (fourth?) round and then maybe a leisurely breakfast. Which was something she'd never hoped for, she realized, with him.

She stretched her arms toward his side of the bed, which still bore the faint indentations of his body and traces of his scent. She wondered if he'd been wished away by someone, or if the labyrinth just exerted its invisible pull after a certain amount of time had passed.

As she wrapped her nakedness in the rumpled sheets the light caught something on her bedside table.

It was a crystal, with a note stuck beneath it.

It would appear that you snore on this side of the mirror.

J.

Sarah rolled her eyes, wincing at the pleasant ache in her limbs as she reached for the crystal. When she lifted it up she saw another bit of text that had been hidden underneath it.

Realness. Of a sort.

As usual, the crystal was full of images that seemed to fill her field of vision like a film screen. This time, though, each moment was especially brief, with the pictures blurring quickly into each other. She saw images from last night's play, Jareth staring rapt at the stage, her own face lighting up as she saw how the play had affected him, and (she blushed) a few brief images of the two of them naked and then sleeping curled in each other's arms.

She ran her fingers slowly over the crystal and felt her throat catch. She held it up to the light, expecting that if she looked on it long enough it would turn into a bubble and pop, and everything that happened last night would be revealed to have been a dream. Or at least something between dreaming and waking, far from the real world of this apartment and this bed.

The crystal stayed firm in her hand.

She slipped it under her pillow and let herself drowse for a bit longer, imagining that the crystal radiated a warmth that she could feel spreading from the tips of her fingers, through her body and across the bed. She smiled and giggled and heard herself say something she'd said the night before, only this time the words meant something different.

"What the hell am I doing?"