Summary: Sarah and Jareth get divorced and meet up years later at an art gallery opening. What happens then? Angst and smut ahead. Lots of angst.

Disclaimer: This fic is based on the premise of the movie Conversations with Other Women—I do not own the Labyrinth or Conversations with Other Women.

She takes a sip of the pink champagne, cringing a little as the fizziness hits her tongue. She's never been one for fizzy drinks, but that's the only booze they're serving at this gallery opening.

There are quite a few people present here but she finds the quality of the art displayed overpriced. The masses have only flocked today because the gallery owner and artist is a major Hollywood actress. Flipping her long, straight, sable hair behind her shoulders, she smiles, little do most people know said actress isn't even human. She's a different being…one of his kind.

She tells herself that she doesn't know what she's doing here. But that's not true. She knows exactly what she's doing here. That's not exactly true either. She somewhat knows what she's doing here.

Standing in front of a piece labeled 'Nihilism' she stops herself from laughing when she looks at the hefty price tag of thirty eight k. It's a plain white canvas with a black dot in the right hand corner. But she knows there will be no shortage of buyers as those scurrying for favor will snatch every piece up by morning.

"The prices are going up because people want to start bidding. The demand is too high for this…exceptional piece of work." It's a man's deep and lilting voice. Crooning almost, with a hint of mockery.

She turns her head slowly. "Are you a potential buyer?" He wears an expensive suit—an indigo, slim fit—perhaps too flashy up east. But out west, it's blends with the background.

Rich laughter. He shakes his head, his unusual hair falls around his artfully stark face in wisps. "I couldn't put a price on something so obviously priceless. How about you?"

She flashes him a smile, which widens when she notices how his lips part when he looks at her. "I didn't come here to buy anything." Taking a sip of the champagne, she continues, "I came here for the free booze."

"And they let you in?" a small smile tugs his lips, but she knows that he's trying not to smile too widely.

Shrugging elegantly, she inches a little closer to him and speaks in whispers. "The artist used to be a friend of mine."

His smile broadens, he can't help it. No matter how hard he tries to hide his inhuman teeth, he fails. So why should he bother? "I notice you say 'used to,' as in past tense. May I ask what ended your friendship, something dramatically scandalous?"

"Nothing scandalous at all," she says, rolling her eyes. "Just plain old boring, every day shit you wouldn't care to know."

"But I do care to know, precious."

She decides to humor him. "My friend comes from a distant land, one I used to reside in. She cannot breach protocol by continuing to be my friend," she says sighing. "You're very persistent, you know."

Same dulcet laughter. "So I've been told. You say 'used to,' precious thing, anything happen for you to leave this… distant land?" His strange eyes glitter with raw emotion.

She looks at him, her eyes sly, not betraying the emotions running wild in her chest. "My heart was taken out of my chest and smashed into a million pieces," her tone is absolutely flat. Smiling at the look of shock in his eyes, she continues, "not literally, mind you. But that's what it felt like when it happened."

"Is that what you really felt?" his voice is tender enough to make her heart twinge.

"I felt a lot worse, actually." She sips her champagne and walks over to a different corner, one away from inquiring faces. She doesn't look back—she knows he's following her steps.

"Are you here with someone, precious?" Try as hard as he may, he cannot stop himself from asking.

"Why would ask that?" Having learned how to play his games throughout the years, she answers his question with another one.

He tilts his head and inches closer, his wispy hair looking like a crown atop his elegant head. "You look…delicious." The hunger in his eyes are true to his words.

She wears a strapless column gown, simple enough, with two slits that came up to the knees, with dark brown, open toed heels. It's the color of the dress that catches everyone's eyes—bright crimson. As bright as freshly spilled blood. She wears no jewelry and her hair flows straight, behind her back.

"Well?" there's a hint of impatience in his tone—he's not a man used to waiting too long for the answers he wants. Of course, there's the fact that he's not a man at all.

"I'm not here with anyone, if that's what you're asking." She plays his game well, pleased when she sees annoyance flicker in his eyes. "But I am with someone…" Holding up her left hand, she notices his utter shock as he appraises the four carat, emerald cut engagement ring on her finger.

His eyes blaze with anger, which settles into despair that he quickly hides. "Mortal?"

She snorts. "Of course. I'm done with immortal men."

He narrows his eyes, "Why the hostility?"

"My…"she thinks of her right words, "ex-husband? Though technically there was no marriage certificate and no subsequent divorce so I don't know if that's the correct term." She shrugs, "anyway, ex-husband was an immortal and let's say…he left a lasting impression."

"But you're not a mortal, are you?" he backs her further into the corner, his eyes blazingly intense.

"I had to convert into an immortal to get bonded to my ex. Apparently, that process is irreversible." Her eyes gleam with amusement, but there's a tinge of bitterness that laces her words.

"So you will marry this…mortal and watch him die?" His tone borders on vicious.

She shrugs. "Maybe I'll do to him what my ex-immortal did to me and keep him around forever." She smiles as he bares his teeth. "Or maybe I'll stay with him for a few years and move on, I haven't decided yet. But enough about me, what about you—are you with someone?"

"No."

"Really…no one?"

"I have a few acquaintances but I am not with them."

She laughs. "That means you're with multiple someones, don't brush them off by calling them acquaintances."

"Sarah, I'm so glad you could make it," the actress swoops in on her, giving her a hug, "I haven't seen you forever, and…" her voice trails off and her golden skin visibly pales when she notices the man next to Sarah. "My King," she whispers, she wants to curtsy but cannot—not with so much media present.

A few others of his kind notice them and whispers fly around the room. "The King and the Queen." Well, former Queen.

With a flick of his wrist, the mortals in gallery freeze and those of his kind are free to pay homage to their King. "Rise," he commands, after a sufficient amount of time has passed—and just like that the mortals come back to life. He turns his attention back to the golden skinned actress, "you may continue your friendship the Queen, Meilis."

"Former Queen," Sarah interrupts, meeting his disapproving stare head on. "I think we should be very clear on using correct terms—if Meilis is allowed to renew her friendship with me, she will not address me as the Queen." She knows he doesn't like it when she contradicts him. But he isn't her King anymore so she does not care.

"Very well," he yields. "Former Queen. You are dismissed." The mortals freeze again for a few seconds so that Meilis can curtsey before scurrying away.

"I'll see you at the Gallery opening in New York," Sarah calls after the receding actress. She turns back to him, hardening her eyes. She knows his tone is perfectly normal for a King, especially one of his stature, but she has always hated that part of him. "That was generous on your part," she says.

"Yet your sweet voice sounds so very critical, precious."

"I am not having this conversation here. There are more than a few members of court around us," she whispers as she takes his hand. "Could you do the whole invisibility cloak thing? I'm going to transport us." She could never learn the appropriate terms for magical spells, so she uses terms from Harry Potter instead. Much easier.

A small laugh. "That's not what it's called, precious."

"Whatever it's called—could you do it please? Now?"

As usual, he concedes and she transports them to her house in Rolling Hills.

Trying to keep his rage contained, he stares at her flatly. "You think it wise, bringing me to your residence where you…" he cannot complete his thought.

She lounges on the sectional couch and takes off her, rather painful, shoes, completely unperturbed by his behavior. "Where I what? Fuck my fiancé?" She takes off the ring as she says this.

"You go too far, Sarah." His voice is deceptively quiet but his eyes are aflame with fury.

She remains unperturbed. "He avoids LA like the plague, you can relax, he's never been to this house."

Sitting next to her in one fluid motion, he rests his head on her shoulder, his wispy hair tickling her skin. "I love you."

"Not the way I want you to, Jareth."

"Come back with me," he murmurs as he places feather light kisses across her shoulders.

"No." She leans back on the sofa.

"You are mine." He snakes an arm around her waist and deftly places her on his lap.

"That's up for debate." She shuts her eyes as he sets her hair aside, laying a trail of kisses along her shoulder and neck. A small moan escapes her lips when he kisses a certain spot on her neck.

"You will always be mine, Sarah." His hands rove her body from above her dress.

She gets up from his lap, her movements not quite as fluid as his, but graceful enough. Turning around to look at him, she studies the lines of his face. Bastard looks as beautiful as ever. "I was yours Jareth, and hell will freeze over before I'm ever yours again."

"That can be arranged, my love," he says, baring his pointy teeth.

Rolling her eyes, she beckons him to follow her. "Want to see my patio?" she asks, heading there before looking at him for a response. "When you broke my heart the first time, Jareth, I said I would never allow myself to feel that kind of pain again." She turns back to glance at him, "when you broke my heart for the hundredth time—when you tore it out of my body and shattered it—I swore on my life that I would never allow you to do so again. I will never be yours as long as I'm alive."

There is no venom in her voice—only steady conviction. Yet her words make him flinch. "My vengeful Queen."

They walk in silence until they reach the glass doors leading to her patio. The house is situated on top of a hill, and the patio overlooks the city lights. There's an infinity pool at the very edge and some lounge chairs arranged alongside it. At the other side is a fire pit and a small outdoor kitchen space. She has used the pool maybe once and the kitchen…never. She can't recall using the kitchen.

"I'd offer you wine, but I don't keep any," she says coolly, heading to the small fridge in the kitchenette and taking out a bottle of Southern Comfort. "You're not exactly supposed to chill this, but leaving it out in the heat isn't advisable either so…" she realizes she's babbling. "You want this?"

Raising a brow, the Goblin King looks at the bottle suspiciously. "What is it?"

She grins. "Peach whiskey."

"And what's that?"

"It's a really cheap drink that's a nice national treasure." Opening the bottle, she takes a swig, not bothering with glasses. "Here," she hands him the bottle.

His brows furrow—he's not accustomed to uncouthly chugging liquor from a bottle, but he does so anyway, wincing as the bittersweet taste of the peach whiskey hits his taste buds. "I shall refrain from having this vile drink again," he states haughtily, handing the bottle back to her.

She shrugs. "Your loss, Your Highness," she teases as she takes another swig before placing the bottle on the counter and walking towards the pool. Tilting her head sideways, she slowly turns around to look at him. "I feel like swimming," she drawls as she unzips her dress, looking him in the eye.

He will not look away for the world. He cannot look away. There she is, standing in her sleek and chiseled body completely naked. The fact that she never wore undergarments through the night arouses him to the limit.

"You –" That's all he says before she jumps into the pool, a few drops of chlorinated water splash onto him.

She finally raises her head from the water, her legs moving with the skill of a selkie. "Join me." Her sable colored hair flows in the water and her lips look darker than ever.

"I'd rather not, precious."

Amusement flashes through her jade colored eyes. "Scared of the water, my King," She floats on her back, her eyes closed and her rose colored nipples peeking through the surface of the water.

A slow, rumbling laugh. He is painfully hard at the sight of her luscious body move through the water. He drops down and lounges on a poolside chaise, his eyes never leaving her body.

Swimming up to him and resting her chin on her hands, by the side of the pool, she smiles. "Join me, won't you?" she uses the imploring tone that he uses on her. Used to anyway.

"You look like a mermaid," he says, his lilting voice low, "one willing to pull a sailor down and feed him to the god of the seas."

She reaches up and circles one of her fingers around his ankle. "Should I?"

"Sarah." There's a cold warning in his voice.

Looking up at him, her jade eyes flashing, she pulls him hard enough that he falls into the water.

"Sarah!" He roars her name.

"I'm so sorry, my King, I was compelled to defy you." She manages to speak among fits of laughter. The mighty Goblin King, wearing human attire, drenched. It doesn't escape him that she does not look sorry at all.

He doesn't exactly swim in the water—his arms and legs are not constantly moving, but he is somehow on the surface. His outfit and shoes have disappeared, leaving him as naked as she.

Swimming to where she is, he drapes an arm around her shoulders, pulling her body to him, her back pressed firmly against his chest. "Dearest," he says, laying kisses against her ear as he presses his hardened arousal against her lower back. "What do you think is going to happen tonight?"

Turning around, she brushes her lips against his. "Tonight, Your Highness, I will grant you your dreams." She kisses him then, her lips devouring his. Her tongue lashes against the roof of his mouth and the backs of his sharpened teeth.

The Goblin King stays still for a few moments, alarmed, before responding to her kiss. But when he does, his passion is strong enough to drown her. His mouth is slick against hers and his body taut. He takes care to reign in his sharpened teeth so as not to hurt her. His hands slide across her shoulders and down her arms, down her hips and towards her center.

She breathes softly—she can almost feel him touch her where she needs it the most. Almost. "Jareth," she whispers.

He cups her there, his fingers resting on the top.

"Jareth, please."

It's probably the please that does it—he slowly explores her with his fingers, his thumb circling a spot that makes her weak all over. "What do you want me to do, dear love?" He presses his hardened length deeper against her back.

She needs a few moments to gather her wits, his fingers having rendered her powerless. With a wicked grin, she runs her hands down his thighs and pulls him closer against her back, satisfied as she hears him groan against her neck. "I want you to fuck me Jareth. Remind me that I am yours and I will never be anyone else's…even if you have no power over me."

–

In a flash, they are in her bedroom, lying against luxurious off white, a gazillion-thread count sheets. He pulls her thighs apart and places himself at her entrance. "I cherish you, my dearest love."

With that he plunges into her, pounding with all his might. If he had patience, he would have gone slower, but he has no patience. Not any longer. She has remained out of his grasp for too long.

She takes him in, her inner walls rushing to accommodate his massive length, moaning against his chest. Her hips rise to meet his in their symphonic rhythm until they cry out in ecstasy.

The Goblin King looks positively angelic in the morning—his gold and silver hair spread against the sheets like a splayed halo. He stirs lightly as she wakes him.

"Some bacon and scrambled eggs for you, Jareth," she says, placing a breakfast tray by his side.

"Thank you, my love. The scrambled eggs recipe is new."

She takes a bite of the scrambled eggs, her tongue touching the fork. "The least I could do, Your Highness." She smiles at him, "I learned the new recipe from my fiancé, my love."

The breakfast tastes like ash in his mouth.

She laughs. Mocking him. Mocking herself. Laying a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth, she breathes in his scent. "My Goblin King," she whispers to no one.

"Your Goblin King," he repeats.

"I will always love you." She may have tears in her eyes.

Fin.

AN—should I do a follow up chapter with a happily ever ending?

Also—J has done something pretty drastic. Repeatedly. For her to be like this. I wonder what it is.