DISCLAIMER: We don't own Labyrinth or any of the characters associated with the film. They are the property of the Jim Henson Company.
Authors Notes: We hath returneth! With a delightful story in mind pour vous. Enjoy this little taste. :D
Sarah Williams hated sex. There was nothing wrong with her physically. She was a perfectly healthy young woman with more than her fair share of fantasies, but she actually, truly and deeply hated sex. And, it wasn't because of any virginal misconceptions. She'd tried it out a couple of times, and it felt good if her partner knew what he was doing (which hadn't been very often). She hated it because it was so dirty. She shivered whenever she thought of someone else's naked skin against hers, someone else's sweat dripping on to her, someone else's…well, you get the idea. She hated the idea of being that filthy. All that exertion only to be sticky, sweaty, and…slimy…in the end. All this led to a shower, and Sarah found that she much preferred the shower part…without sex beforehand.
At first, it had all seemed like too much work, too much effort – so, she fell into a general dislike of the action. She would decline often, feign headaches, complain that she was too tired then roll over and fake being asleep. After all, she'd only just had a shower – she didn't want to get dirty again. Too much work. Then, from this general dislike grew a sort of fear. If she did have sex, she would get dirty and being dirty means that there was a transfer of germs, and in her opinion nothing was that good it was worth dying from. She had thought that perhaps she just hadn't found the right man, but after several failed attempts at relationships she decided that it was just her preference. Her last boyfriend had called her the Queen of Headaches. She really needed to come up with new excuses. Needless to say, she simply decided to move on with life. She even considered becoming a nun simply to avoid being bothered with all this sex nonsense.
She had all but given up on the subject entirely when a very strange thing happened one afternoon.
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Jareth loved sex. Since he reached physical maturity, he had loved it. The thrusting, grinding, explosive rhythm of it all. He loved to bring his partners up, make them tumble down that hill of ecstasy over and over again, before he finally took his own release.
He had learned very quickly that sex was better for himself when he was good for his partners. He learned to explore a woman's body, find out the secret spots that were that woman's and no one else's. All of their individual curves and valleys. The types of touches they enjoyed, what might leave one cold, but the next crying out for more.
He learned to taste of women, found that every woman had their own distinct taste, a bouquet – much like a fine wine. He would imbibe frequently of his favourite vintages.
He knew that the hot, sweating meeting of bodies in beds, in dark corners, even on the dining room table was always going to be his favourite activity. He constantly felt so close to completion as he watched his lovers writhe and scream and beg for fulfillment. And he always felt almost invincible when he would enter them, and feel them pulsing around his manhood.
He knew the life he had was phenomenal – and so he never looked for anything more. He had believed that he was completely satisfied forever when a very strange thing happened one afternoon.