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Sarah drifted happily into the spacious, well-populated room and gravitated naturally toward the most attractive—and cleanest—seat in the room.

Which just happened to be Jareth’s lap as he sat on his throne.

He had both legs tossed over the side of the large ivory armpiece and was staring off into space, attempting to lose himself in his thoughts (as usual when surrounded by his diminutive subjects), so he was taken by surprise when, seemingly from nowhere, one hundred thirty pounds of woman dropped into his lap.

He tried valiantly not to jump, or look caught off-guard, and almost succeeded...but not quite.

“Hi!” his new lapmate chirped. “How are you?”

Jareth blinked at her slowly. “Sarah,” he began, trying hard to be patient, “what have I told everyone about sitting in my throne?”

Sarah’s chipper expression didn’t even waver. “I’m not sitting in your throne,” she informed him, as though it explained everything. “I’m sitting in your lap.”

“I noticed,” he remarked drily. “Would there happen to be a reason why you chose my lap as your seat of preference?”

Sarah shrugged, comfortably nestled against his chest. He didn’t miss the fact that her cuddling up to him had exposed more of his chest between the edges of his already gaping shirt. “I wanted to come thank you for last night,” she said innocently, looking up at him from where her head rested on his bare shoulder.

Jareth quirked one eyebrow at her. “What else was I supposed to do, when you appeared in my bedroom, begging to join me?” he asked rhetorically.

She simply made herself warm and cuddly against his chest. “Yes, but you didn’t have to,” she pointed out virtuously.

Jareth snorted and finally wrapped his arms around her. Knowing her, she wouldn’t stop squirming until he did...and maybe not even then. “The goblins had trampled your bed, and you had to sleep somewhere, since your bed was obviously no longer an option.” He grinned wolfishly, gazing down at her dark-haired head. “I may be cruel, but I’m not that cruel.”

Sarah squirmed until her back laid against his chest, her head tipped back over his shoulder. “I still think it was sweet of you,” she protested. “Though I didn’t know your bed was quite so comfortable. Or warm.”

Jareth rolled his eyes to himself. “I do like to be comfortable while I sleep,” he remarked. “Though I’m not sure that you got an accurate impression, considering the fact that you fell asleep on my chest.”

Sarah had the grace to blush...briefly. He could tell that she was trying to think up a teasing rejoinder, so he intervened.

“You may have to try it again,” he suggested deviously, slipping his leather-gloved fingers under the edge of her shirt and inching them up her stomach. “To get a proper impression.”

“Mm... Is that an invitation?” she checked, trying not to squirm. He knew she was ticklish there!

“Perhaps,” he purred. “Would you accept it?” His fingers were now tracing her ribs delicately, and he smirked to himself. If he kept this up, Sarah might just find herself shirtless in the middle of his throne room.

...not that she wouldn’t deserve it.

“Perhaps,” she definitely-didn’t-squeak. After a moment, she jerked upright.

His hands...!

“Actually, I have to go. I promised to meet Hoggle, and—”

Jareth chuckled quietly at her frenzied, half coherent excuse—though it became a hiss when she twirled in his lap—grinding her hip into his lap!—and ran.

“You,” he croaked, pointing at one of the goblins at random. “Why don’t you go take some of your friends and play in Lady Sarah’s room again? Leave her a nice surprise, why don’t you?”

That would ensure him his own chance to “thank” her...