Disclaimer: If I owned Jareth, I'd have noooo time to waste in writing. Suffice to say none of it belongs to me. Ever.
A/N: This is my first Laby fic, so if you R/R (and I greatly encourage this), please be gentle. I'm a very delicate maggot with hopes of transforming into a beautiful mayfly with the proper care and nurture (I don't believe in butterflies. They're ridiculously attractive, and anything ridiculously attractive is usually ridiculously conceited. *glances at His Nibs and thinks of the Bog* Erm, not that that's necessarily a bad thing...).
Also, I am so sorry I can't write smut. I promise, though, it'll be over soon.
Dreams, a professor visiting her middle school once told her, were a thing of beauty. Deliciously illusive, bitterly sweet, and unbearably true. A reflection of your inner being, he said. The raw core of your very soul.
If this was true, then that meant Sarah William's soul looked like an incredibly attractive man in an over sexed wardrobe.
Slender fingers traced light circles on the inside of her thigh, barely touching her but creating electricity inside Sarah's stomach nonetheless. Hot breath settled on her slender neck as she craned her neck to give him more access, lips so close she nearly cried out with need for contact. A lean, leather-clad knee skimmed her inner knee, settling dangerously close between her legs. Not close enough.
"Please," she moaned, trying to grind herself against said leg, needing that friction. Two hands firmly but gently kept her in place.
"Not yet," a smooth baritone purred, and she felt angel-soft hair against her cheek.
A tongue dragged sensuously over her bare chest, his hands tracing the contours of her waist. It lowered to a pert nipple, tracing the skin around it and moving inward. She moaned at the first real touch, her back arching in pleasure. Lips surrounded the sensitive flesh, suckling gently. Sharp teeth grazed skin, and Sarah mewled, wriggling her hips about to find some sort of friction.
"Oh gaaawd," she moaned, the tension decidedly unbearable. "Please..."
"Please what, precious?"
"Touch me."
He purred. She heard a snap of fingers and a felt a poof of glitter, and suddenly that knee was clothed in leather no longer. His hands were removed from her waist, his fingers moving to her inner folds. They quivered at her entrance, and she gasped.
"Tell me what you want," he growled.
That smug, cocky, glittering, narcissistic little bastard! If he thought he was going to turn me into some sort of whimpering-
She scowled, my eyes still closed.
His hands flicked at me, making me tremble involuntarily.
His tongue flicked at the shell of her ear and bit at her earlobe.
"I'm waiting, precious..."
There is no way in hell-
"I want you to touch me. I want you to make me crumble and melt and scream and moan."
Dammit.
She gasped heavily as she felt a tongue slip inside of her, vibrating as he growled into her.
"Jareth!"
Sarah bolted from her bed, the dark of the night blinding her. She looked around desperately, searching for a lean body and light, incredibly soft strands of unruly hair.
She didn't find it.
Chastising herself, she ran a slightly trembling hand through her lovely, dark hair. Nine years later and she still had the those kinds of dreams.
Her first of these naughty dreams had made its debut the night after her conquering of the Labyrinth. It had left her flushed, dazed and confused. It created feelings she had never realized.
And ever since, she could expect one a week with the same man every time, no matter who she was seeing. And once a week, she could expect a feeling of incomprehensible depression and deep emptiness.
She looked down at the man snoring softly at her side, lying on his stomach.
John had a mop of wildly blonde hair with rock hard abs and biceps with a smooth tan. His physique was toned and flawless, a celebrated rock star among the locals.
And yet...
Discontentment curled inside her stomach.
She winced. She found her fingers tracing the lines on his back and neck, gently waking him from sleep. He chuckled and rolled over, a large hand cupping her face gently.
The morning after, Sarah awoke to the wonderful smell of bacon. Rising from her own cotton sheets, she yawned deftly. She stood to fetch her robe in her closet and joined John in her kitchen.
He smiled charmingly at her, frying pan in hand as the sound of crackling oil and delicious scent of breakfast cooking pervaded the air.
Smiling blithely, he put the pan back down and sauntered toward her, a white muscle shirt molding to his chest. She tried to smirk in return, but it felt forced and flimsy.
He kissed her cheek, moving to her jaw and lightly biting at her neck.
She shivered a bit from disgust, but he took it as approval and carried on with his conquest.
"Uhm, John... Don't you think you should... Er, uhm... The bacon's burning!" she cried out in desperation.
Sarah winced as she felt his pout against her neck, but he left all the same. She wiped the spit from her neck with a grimace behind his back.
"No, hon, it's not... It's still relatively- Babe?"
She escaped to her room, locking the door behind her.
Headed towards the bathroom, she flipped her hair with a sigh.
The door closed swiftly behind her, and she busied herself and took a look at the mirror-
"Shit!"
Jareth's smug image grinned wolfishly back at her. He licked his lips deftly at her state of undress.
She blinked and he was gone. A hand flew to her forehead as she let out a big breath. She swore she was going insane...
Inside the Labyrinth's grand castle, a deep chuckle resounded about the grimy walls and chickens, high cackles echoing their monarch.
Jareth was plotting. And when Jareth plots, goblins and mischief are bound to follow.