I do not own Labyrinth.
I've tried to make this not so dirty and sweaty. It was hard; I was tempted. And when the party is referred to as "rollin'", it means that there are drugs that make it feel as if the ground is rolling. I don't know that from personal experience, I promise you. Also, this is kind of obscure to me in that I had no idea why I wanted to write it or why I felt like I had to write it. I just did. Enjoy.
I've tried to catch all the major spelling errors. Excuse the minor ones? Danke.
A Midsummer Night's Rave
The thumping beat pounded through the field and matched the pulse of blood through her veins. The music matched her dance perfectly and didn't match her dance at all. In her mind, the thrashing riff on Moonage Daydream, cleverly elongated, sped up and set to a techno-ska-punk overtone, was slow, streched out into a love song all it's own. The sway of her hips, her arms in the air, the curvature of her spine and legs. It was Heaven and Hell wrapped into a rave.
The black wide-legged tuxedo pants she wore hugged her curved bottom half, and the black leather corset-an old gem of her mother's she found in the attic-had been strategically ripped and torn, giving her the look of an urban Lolita, Daddy's little girl gone hard rock. While the dark coloring of her appearence matched the night sky almost to perfection and risked making her unseen, she seemed to be in the center of the abandoned cornfield, the neon green light emanating from the glow stick around her neck. She felt hundreds of pairs of eyes on her, watching her every move.
She was an exquisite enigma, wrapped in mind-blowing ecstasy, sprinkled with carnal delight and safely compressed in the sensual form of an eighteen year old stunner.
A strong wind came through the field, and the howling mixed with the drugged-out screams and hysterical giggles that surrounded her. The wind rearranged the laces on her corset and played with her hair, now inches above her ribcage in a style that, if one knew her past, came from obvious inspiration. Jagged and wild, styled with just enough gel and spray, dark pink streaks running down the tresses. Lifting one hand, she ran her electric blue fingertips through her hair, her other hand raising a purple Ring Pop to her heart shaped lips, her pink tongue darting out to savor the taste.
How had she gotten into this? That was as beyond her as it was anyone else. Fantasy and acting and make-believe was fun for about a week after what she experienced, but this was raw, in-your-face reality. Why pretend on a stage, when you can have real fun everywhere?
She opened her gray eyes briefly, only to see her friends and peers stumbling about wildly, some with bloodshot eyes, others with eyes shut, on the ground amongst the cornstalks, smiling like mad men. She rolled her eyes, but stifled a giggle. She really couldn't believe some of the people she was associated with. Strung out on acid and X and who knows what else, they looked like zombies just coming out of the coffin, dazed and confused and conforming, conforming, conforming. To her, a high off of drugs was as cheap and useless as polyester. The high she got was the high of music, of attention, of men. After all, why have polyester when you can have silk?
She had grown to appreciate the finer things. She aged a lifetime in thirteen hours, realizing that while life wasn't exactly fair, it was a hell of a lot of fun. She craved adventure like air, went through parties like water from a neverending spring. One man haunted her dreams, and she knew full well she haunted his, and yet neither had the common sense to call the other. Perhaps they were both too busy; he with whatever the hell he did and she with whatever the hell she felt like distracting herself with. Lightly dragging the tips of her fingers across two inches of exposed, toned midriff, she bit her lip and released a laugh into the night, wondering what it would be like if he were there with her.
And then, in an instant and an eternity, she felt a presence behind her. She didn't give a second thought as to who it could be, nor did she even consider turning around. The music was still pumping and she was still dancing, partner or no.
She felt his hands, rugged and wise and ungloved, come in contact with the small of her back. She arched her body, sweating dripping down the curve of her spine, and languidly rolled her shoulders, letting her hair blow in the wind. She thought she heard his chuckle, be it directed at the style of her hair or just the situation he found himself in, she couldn't have cared less. All she knew was that she was at a party guaranteed to be rollin', and yet her she was, high as a proverbial kite on nothing.
And Karen thought these midnight parties meant drugs and alcohol.
He moved closer against her, his tall, lean frame melting in to her's like a puzzle piece. The music was speed,speed, speed, yet here they were, possibly dancing the slowest they had since their last dance, maybe even slower. She lifted her arms up, still not facing him, and lowered them again, her elegant fingers entangling themselves into the soft, golden locks that brushed against her cheek and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand stick straight.
It was hot as only midnight in mid-June could, but she still felt shivers run up and down her spine, then back again, when his breath whispered possibilities into her ear. She released his hair, her hands coming down again, planting themselves on his waist from infront of him, digging her nails into his sides when a kiss was placed on her ear, her neck, where her shoulders began. Whistles and hollers of appreciation at this spectacle could be heard from all around, and she slid her eyes open, taking notice of the jealous stares they were recieving.
He didn't seem to notice, as he arms slid around her waist, pulling her closer to him, the volume on the music increasing and making the ground beneath their feet shake. He continued planting kisses along her neck, her cheek, even her back, until she slowly lowered herself, teasing him and tempting him all with one move. Her hands gripped his shoulders, and, using the grip she had on him, she slowly, ever-so slowly, lifted herself up, turning in the process. And she finally faced him, finally made eye contact with him after three years, three devastatingly long years.
He was different and he was the same. His hair was only somewhat shorter, his pants not as tight and his shirt not as soft. She smiled. She had wanted a man and she had gotten a man.
What should have been an awkward moment didn't last very long, as she continued to dance with him, to dance for him. If he was shocked that no words were exchanged he didn't show it, his hands roaming to discover what he had missed over the last three years; the changes and the sameness. While she danced, he stood, almost in awe of what he was finally allowed to look at freely.
She had come into her own, grown in a beautiful woman. Where she had previously only come up to his collarbone in height, she could now stare him almost directly in the eye with little or no difficulty. The corset she wore seem almost poured onto her body, as if Picasso himself had created his finest masterpiece, created her. In the dark of the night, he could see her gray eyes were sparkling, surrounded by a frame of black liner. The glow stick she wore dipped into the swell of her bust, lighting up the night. Her entire body was slicked with sweat. She was the epitome of sexuality from the top of her head to the soles of her feet.
He came out of his trance when her realized she was near him once more. The once innocent, vulnerable girl was gone, replaced by someone who could only be compared to a panther; mysterious, sensual, prowling the party with lust in her eyes. She dipped and shook and swayed before him, licking her lips and taking him in. And when he made to encircle her in his arms once again, she complied readily, letting him do with her what he pleased, in the center of the cornfield.
And when the surrounding neighbors grew tired of tolerating the noises, when the policemen raided the party, when the drug dealers and underaged drunks were taken away in the marked police cars, they were still in the center of the cornfield, the music still surging through their veins, entwining it's beat in the labyrinth of muscle and tissue and blood, forever to linger in their souls, forever when they danced.