A.N.: I keep telling Mztlynne she's to hit me on the head regularly so I stop getting so many damn ideas. She has failed in this yet again. So now this is happening.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Also, I hate "Cats," but maybe that's appropriate here.
Be careful of the genres here, people! It's humor/angst, and I know that seems weird, but trust me on it! It's not quite dubious consent, but it is a little iffy, so consider yourselves warned! Those of you looking for sweet, fluffy Jareth from "Signed,"...run.
Blue Bananas in the Moonlight
The goblins had never had a Queen before, and they found this development exciting, stimulating, promising and appetite inducing.
That last category, however, may have been irrelevant. Most things were appetite inducing for goblins.
The older, smarter, better made goblins that tended the King's Library did their best to correct this notion: there, in fact, had been Goblin Queens in the past, though it was long ago, and before the reign of King Jareth. This last point had been a bone of contention.
"Nu uh! King has always been King!"
The Chief Librarian had pinched his long, bumpy nose and taken off his very smudgy spectacles with a sigh. "There have been other Goblin Kings, just long ago."
"...But King is King."
"Now, yes. But before."
But none of the goblins who were alive now could remember before, so that didn't exactly make a whole lot of sense to them.
But to the topic at hand, the goblins loved their new Queen. They had always loved King Jareth and never wanted him to stop being King, so the addition of Queen Sarah was like Bonus Round Monarchy to them.
"Pretty," lilted Nogtwit, and he held up a few dark hairs he had pulled from the brush on her vanity.
"Smells good," agreed Bugwit, hugging one of her white, lace gloves to his torso, which would have fit him like a tunic.
"Sad eyes," sighed Wog, and his thin, boar's tail swept the dusty ground and rolled chicken feathers back and forth across the castle stones.
"What?"
"What?"
"Sad?" A sea of goblin faces turned to the upstart Wog, yellow and blue and puce and green eyes narrowed or widened in study. One of the members of the Goblin Guard stomped up to Wog, who, bravely, did not flinch away. This one was close to four feet tall, with a large, pot belly and low, protruding tusks. "Why Queen be sad?"
"Dunno," Wog shrugged, his tail still moving back and forth. "But she look out window and sigh." And Wog mimicked the forlorn voice of a princess locked in the highest room of the tallest tower: "Ahhh..."
Goblins in groups of twos and threes began murmuring anxiously amongst one another: sad, the Queen sad? This was not good. When the King was sad, bad things happened. Storms of ice and fire rained from the sky, at least three times as many of them visited the Bog of Eternal stench as on average, and there was no music or games in the rumpus room. What might the Queen do if she were sad? And perhaps worse, what might the King do for her?
"We can't have no sad Queen," the Goblin Guardsman at last pronounced over the worrying crowd, stretching out his spear in an effort for quiet (his spear was a broom handle with a large, curved rock attached to the end, but it was a very sharp rock, and the threat of it alone was generally quite effective on others in the Goblin Kingdom). "Some must find out why sad, and then fix!" More murmurs broke out amongst the nervous goblins, but the Guardsman silenced them by smacking his broom handle along the stone floor. When all were quiet, he looked the others over appraisingly and at last seemed to make his decision with a nod. Sweeping his staff across the group, he pointed it at Bugwit first. "You," he said, and Bugwit's chest puffed up and his tuft of scratchy, black hair bobbed with his agreement. "You," he addressed Nogtwit, who tried to shrink into the crowd and become invisible. "And you," he pointed finally at Wog, whose tail wagged more enthusiastically. "You see Queen, you fix."
Bugwit and Wog stood and saluted the Guard. Each seizing one of Nogtwit's legs, they dragged him from the rumpus room, not minding that his spindly claws left gouges in the rock as he was dragged behind them.
Much as Wog had described, Sarah sat in the large, open half-circle window of her room and sighed as she looked out over the Labyrinth. It would be a warm day today, she could feel the heat of the sun on her skin, and she closed her eyes against the light. Summer Underground; she thought of her plans to go to Huntington Beach with Toby and help him catch little crabs, but all that was gone now. Every plan she'd ever made was as lost as a dry leaf in a stiff breeze.
Sarah had been excited to turn eighteen, she remembered, drawing her skirted knees up to her chest and laying a pale cheek across them. She hadn't been able to sleep for all her thoughts and plans for her glorious future – just four more weeks till graduation, and Columbia in the fall, and then on to a brilliant career – and she had stayed up till midnight in nervous anticipation, just watching the numbers on the clock turn. She'd danced in her pajamas when the clock struck twelve, singing to herself.
"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me! Happy eighteen, dear Sarah!"
"Happy birthday to you."
She shrieks and turns, and her window has come open. It's now May first, but the nights are still cold,and she wraps her arms around herself in horror; her pajamas are far too thin to protect from the kind of chill she feels in the air, and worse, they cannot protect her from who is standing on her window seat – leering at her.
Oh God, oh God, no, it's him-! "Amazing what three years can do for a mortal girl, isn't it?" His black boots are shiny as he steps off the ledge, walking closer to her with a predatory sneer on his pale lips. "While your attire leaves a little too much to the imagination, you do look lovely."
Sarah screams again, she picks up the lamp on her bedside table and hurls it at his head. "Get away! Get away from me – don't touch me!"
"Queen?" Sarah jumped where she sat at the window, and felt for a moment she'd nearly tumbled out. She thought to herself, Would have saved me some trouble, but by the shaking of her hands, she knew that wasn't true: she most definitely didn't want to die. Instead, she turned to look at the three little faces peeking through her chamber door.
Wait, no. Two little faces, and between them, a goblin bottom with its tail between its legs. Sarah smiled. "H-hi, guys. You can come in." Bugwit and Wog walked into the Queen's chambers, dragging a still nervous Nogtwit behind them, and bowed low. Sarah smiled again and made sure her cheeks were dry. She didn't like crying around the goblins. "What are you doing with Nogtwit?"
The two that stood looked at one another thoughtfully. "Pulling him."
"I can see that," she dryly replied, already beginning to feel a little better just for the distraction. "But why?"
"...cause?"
"Because why?"
"Queen?" Wog let go of one of Nogtwit's legs and carefully scrambled up onto the window ledge next to her. "Why you have sad face?"
"Do I?" Sarah's pale brow furrowed with concern. She hadn't wanted to worry any of them.
Wog nodded, and Bugwit dragged Nogtwit closer to her so he could lay his head on her knee like a comforting Labrador Retriever. Sarah patted the tuft of his hair absentmindedly. "All time," Wog replied. "Look out window, sigh big sighs, look sad."
"I..." Sarah hesitated, stammering a little and looking from the faces of the worried goblins to the dull orange glow of the Labyrinth. "I guess I just miss home," she whispered, and no sooner had the words left her lips than all three mouths formed an O and they nodded their comprehension. Even Nogtwit sat up – as best he could, with Bugwit not releasing his hind leg.
"Queen not from here!" They chatted amongst themselves, and Sarah watched them with curiosity.
"She miss thing from home."
"We bring here, she no be sad?"
"Sound good," Bugwit approved.
"Sound good," Wog confirmed with a nod, and they all turned back to look at her; well, Nogtwit did not turn, as he was still being held by the leg. Rather, he rolled his head under so that his nose faced his stomach, and observed Sarah from his position upside down.
"Er..." Sarah pulled back from them slightly, all three sets of eyes on her. "You guys are creeping me out a bit..."
"What you miss from home, Queen?" Bugwit began with calm authority.
"What do I miss?" Sarah repeated, still not sure what to think about their sudden interest. "Well...lots of things, I guess."
"Like which?"
"Um..." She puzzled over this for a moment, and began very slowly. "I miss the smell of fresh brewed coffee, and the hum of towels in the dryer, and..." The light was coming back to her green eyes little by little as she spoke, and she picked up the pace. "I miss the feeling of getting out of school on Friday afternoon, and the taste of bananas, and my worn out old slippers, and my brother, and-"
"We no allowed take brother..." Nogtwit muttered darkly to one of his companions. They both nodded.
"That one no good. What banana?" he spoke up, addressing Sarah, who had been in the middle of explaining strawberry ice cream cones at the ice cream parlor, and she seemed surprised to be awakened from her reminisces.
"Bananas?" she repeated, and watched as all those little heads nodded. "You know, they're like, uh...long and yellow, and they sort of are shaped like an...um..." No comparison that sprang to her mind was really appropriate – probably because she kept thinking of Jareth's pants, and blushed furiously. "It's a fruit," she at last said, clipping the "t," with finality.
"...what you do with it?"
"You eat it," she laughed, swinging her legs forward from the sill so she could step back into her bedroom. "But you can cook with it, too: banana bread, banana cream pie-"
"Cream?"
"Cream," she sighed. "Like, 'cream in your coffee.'"
"Ohhh..." They nodded again.
Wog leaned into Bugwit and whispered, "What coffee?" Bugwit shrugged. Wog did not press this reveal and instead patted her bony knee. "You no worry, Queen! We find banana, we fix everything."
"I appreciate the offer..." Sarah began, sliding down to the floor from her seat. "But one banana isn't exactly going to fix things."
"...two?"
"If you want bananas, you have to plant a banana tree," she explained, pointing to some of the swaying trees of the forest beyond. The goblins all looked, studiously. "For banana trees, you cut part of the root of one tree and plant it. Bananas are clones like that."
"Ohhhh," they said again.
"...you don't know what that means, do you?" she asked them, her hands knotted into fists at her hips.
"No worry, Queen!" Bugwit assured her, giving Nogtwit's leg a good pull so that he was back on his stomach again. "We find nana tree."
"We plant."
"Make lots bananas!"
"You guys-" Sarah tried to interrupt them again, but the trio had already started to march off – well, all but Nogtwit, who was still being dragged along on his belly, but he was waving affectionately to Sarah as he was pulled from the room. "You guys!" Sarah began to give them chase, jogging across her bedroom-
But was stopped by the person standing in her doorway, and she nearly collided with Jareth's firm chest. The poor girl squeaked.
"Good afternoon, Sarah," the Goblin King purred her name, stepping forward with the long, lanky, confident stride of a jungle cat. For every inch he advanced, Sarah retreated. "I thought we might take the afternoon meal together."
"D-don't you have work to do?" she asked nervously, her backwards motion stopped when she collided with the chair of her vanity. Jareth came to loom over her, resting his gloved hands on either side of the tabletop, and Sarah collapsed onto the small chair with a bit of a whimper, his sharp face very close to her own.
"I am ahead of schedule," he assured her in a low, powerful tone of voice, and she began to shiver. "So I have come to share the extra time with you."
"Th-that's nice of you, but I'm not really hungr-"
"You will eat lunch with me, Sarah." The King's voice was harsh, his words clipped, and a dangerous flash of something went through his pale gaze. Sarah gulped a little. "Or would you prefer to dine in the privacy of your sitting room? I can oblige." Jareth snapped his fingers, and Sarah turned her head to see her small table covered with a vast array of delicacies, two silver goblets, and a large carafe of water. "I shall satisfy your appetite for food, and you..." The Goblin King tucked two of his gloved fingers beneath the girl's chin and tilted her head up to look him directly in the eye. His lips pulled away from sharp, glittering teeth. "You shall satisfy my appetite for other things."
The poor girl began to tremble.
"Was stupid idea!" Bugwit was scolding Wog when the trio returned to the rumpus room and explained their plan. "Promising her nana tree. How we go Aboveground? How we get trees?"
Wog's long ears pulled back along his head, not liking his public upbraiding. "Someone make wish, we go up!"
"Someone make wish – next to nana tree?" There was a murmur amongst the gathered crowd that this was not a very likely event and Wog became cross.
"So we make wish! We wish to go up and get tree!" There was a startled gasp amongst the others, and dozens of eyes fixed on Wog and his audacious plan.
After a moment or two of consideration, the Guardsman shook his head. "King no like."
"Is for Queen?" Nogtwit offered from his position on the ground, behind Bugwit. More discussion was had on this, and it was generally decided that, yes, for the Queen, His Majesty might be a bit more lenient with the rules.
A young she-goblin by the name of Tweezledown – with the loveliest yellow teeth – stepped bashfully forward. "Me wish you could go Aboveground, get present for Queen?"
The magic that made up the atmosphere of the Underground seemed to waver slightly at this request, but must have decided they were more or less the Right Words, and the trio of goblins disappeared with a small, "Pop, pop, pop!"
Banana trees were not used to being so violently handled as this one had been by Bugwit when it was ripped from the ground in the tropical heat of Costa Rica. He had used his serrated teeth to carve a sizable mound of the root off, while Wog and Nogtwit giddily climbed the strange trees in order to bring back samples of the pungent fruit.
Banana trees were also not used to being forced into the rich earth of the King's garden in the Underground – nor was the Underground used to growing them.
This unexpected union of Under and Above – somewhat metaphorical to another situation inside the Castle – created a produce of the most interesting sort, and the little sapling thrived in just thirteen dark hours. It sprouted, it blossomed, it grew.
And goblin fruit was made.
The King was not in a humor to bear the shouting he could hear coming from his Throne Room. "I'll kill them," he muttered darkly to himself, giving a stray chicken a vicious kick that sent it flying farther than it was used to traveling down the long, stone corridor. The sounds of raucous cavorting merely grew louder as his boots created a, "click, click, click," as he strode through the hall. "I'll bog the whole bloody lot of them. Seven in the morning, and screaming in my own bloody-"
The Goblin King threw open the huge doors of his Throne Room, and they hit the walls with a noticeable, "Boom!" but none of the absolutely over-joyed goblins seemed to mind much. With royal jaw slightly slack, Jareth watched them: some were dancing, some were bowing before him out of deference, others were kissing his boots in sheer happiness. This last group he kicked off, growling, "Stop that, you'll make them dirty."
"Majesty!" A round and bouncy goblin came bounding up to him like a child's rubber ball. "Majesty, Majesty!"
"What!" Jareth snapped, trying to determine the cause for such disgusting chaos.
"Look! Nanas!"
"So many nanas!"
"Bananas, bananas!"
And there were bananas. Mountains of bananas, pyramids of bananas stood in teetering stacks all around the Throne, piled next to walls, bananas being thrown, bananas being eaten whole, peels and all. And what was more, there were far more than just the dull yellow bananas a mortal might find at the supermarket: liberally mixed amongst these were bananas of a blue, even sapphire hue, twinkling delightedly amongst the stacks and stacks of tropical fruit. Jareth could do little else but stare – until he at last seized one passing party-goer and snarled, "Do you mean to tell me I have become King over a plantation?"
"'s going on?" There was a sleepy murmur by his elbow, and Sarah appeared behind him, covered only in his discarded shirt from the night before – which, luckily, was far too big for her, the sleeves dripping several inches beyond her fingertips. She rubbed a bit of the lace against her tired eyes and swayed on her bare feet. "I heard shouting...is there a prob-" and the girl gasped, pulling her hands to her chest and taking in the scene the way her husband had a few moments before.
"Queen!" Wog slid down one of the banana hills like he were sledding and ran to her in excited leaps and bounds, Nogtwit and Bugwit following excitedly behind. "Queen, see! We got them, we got the bananas!"
"You did!" Sarah squealed, and caring nothing for propriety, she scooped the little beast up and twirled him in her arms, planting affectionate kisses on his wrinkly, smelly head. "You guys did it, you did!"
Jareth watched this display, his bare hand tightening on the elegantly carved handle of his door, his sharp teeth set to a painful grinding – and realized he had never been more jealous in his entire, long life.
It would be a well recorded fact in the annals of goblin history that the steady diet of banana mush had done much to soothe the temperaments and wicked tendencies of the goblin race. It had also induced bowel movements the likes of which had never been seen before, and would seldom be seen since; and as the sewers of the Goblin City ran to the Bog of Eternal Stench, some of the less olfactory-adept goblin scientists were able to note that the level of the Bog rose by a solid quarter inch during this period.
This was less of an issue for the King and Queen, as their diet held considerably more variety than just mashed banana, but the fruit did grow tiresome after a while: they dined on banana cream pie, chocolate and banana bread, and snacked on dried banana chips when out between meals. Slices of banana were served over hot cereal in the mornings, desperate cooks created banana ice cream and banana cupcakes. At the Midsummer Festival, every guest was given a large, personal banana split (though they little knew what to do with them), and along with their Goblin Ale, some of the more resourceful residents of the kingdom had begun distilling their own banana liqueur. At length, the King made very plain – and in an official address that would be delivered to the entire Goblin Kingdom – that if he were served another tropical fruit, cylindrical in shape, anytime in the next five hundred years, the one offering it would be hung by their toes and suspended over the Bog of Eternal Stench for the rest of known time.
In the haze of potassium of those few weeks, Bugwit, Nogtwit and Wog had congratulated themselves heartily on their rousing success, and had been equally lauded by their goblin peers. One of the Royal Composers was orchestrating an opera to be performed about their dangerous mission to the Aboveground to hunt down the elusive and magical fruit, and how in doing so they had saved the kingdom. The success, however, was short lived: always the more sensitive of the trio, Wog noticed right away that Her Majesty's delight at all the sudden treats was not of the permanent kind. Oh, she had smiled and laughed and spun stories about making such confections with her stepmother in the Above, but very quickly the light left her green eyes, and the pale and drawn quality returned to her face.
Wog was whining piteously in the rumpus room, pacing back and forth and ignoring the growls he was receiving when his spindly tail knocked over tankards of ale and banana cordial. "Queen sad again!" he keened, a noise that would have put a marine's arm hairs on end. "So sad! She cries," and he seemed to cry in return, a desperate sound, an, "Awoooo," not unlike a lonely dog.
Nogtwit looked up from where he had been lapping spilled ale off the ground, flecks of dust and tufts of chicken feathers sticking to his bumpy lips. "...we give more nanas?" he asked, but Wog shook his head.
"No, no more bananas. They no fix first time."
Bugwit looked over from his spot on a threadbare pillow, where he had been grooming his favorite chicken. "We visit?"
Tweezeldown,with the yellow teeth (who now had suitors comparing their beauty to ripe bananas), shook her head widely. "No visit!" she cried, shaking her long, clawed fingers at them. "Queen do loud time with King!"
The soldier of the Goblin Guard cocked his head at a ninety degree angle. "Loud time?"
The she-goblin took a deep breath, and – in a surprisingly good imitation of their Queen – cried out, "Stop, Jareth, no, don't touch me like that! Get your paws off me, you stupid, owl faced jerk! Stop it, stop it, stop- oh God, yes, don't stop, don't stop, ah!" The goblins stared at her after her performance, goblin jaws hanging open with goblin tongues lolling out, though they did not really know why this was their reaction. The female simply shrugged. "That noise that come through door when they do loud time," she said, and apparently, this was all the explanation necessary.
After a long – very long – moment, Bugwit cleared his throat and scratched his rumpled tuft of hair. "Well..." he coughed, plucking a stray feather from his hen. "...what we do cheer her up?"
"What thing Queen like?"
"What thing Queen miss?"
Wog was a far cleverer little beastie than anyone gave him the proper credit for; not smart, not intelligent enough to work in the kitchens or the library, but he had an innate sensibility that made him infinitely well suited for the task of bringing his most beloved Queen some measure of happiness. This in mind, his boar's tail whipped back and forth with mindful agitation, and he grinned in the frightening way goblins do. "We go her house," he purred in a less refined way than his King might. "We go old room. We find thing."
This set up quite the murmured gasping through the rumpus room. "Such trouble!" scolded one of the older goblins. While some had gone to Sarah's house to fetch the child, none had ever been inside her childhood bedroom before! The only one to do that had been...
"Tweezledown," Wog turned to the she-goblin, "You make wish again, send us Aboveground."
Tweezledown visibly hesitated, her yellow teeth pulling at a stubby lip. "Er..."
"Five minute," Wog assured her with goopy, puppy dog eyes, holding up four fingers. "We come right back." Nogtwit was howling at the prospect of yet another adventure, and Bugwit had to physically restrain him by lifting the struggling creature up off the ground.
At last, however, Tweezledown nodded. "Five minute," she nodded, holding up four fingers in return. "I wish..."
"Pssst!" At no immediate response, Nogtwit hissed louder. "Pssst!"
"What," drawled Bugwit, his mood surly as he kept lookout by the girl's window. The parade of detectives that had invaded her room, looking for any clues as to the reasoning behind her disappearance, had at long last put all her belongings back as they had been before. But all the fingerprinting and fine dusting in the world could not wipe away what the stronger of the goblin trio observed on the windowsill: the fine, opalescent sheen of glitter, of the King's magic. This was how he had come to get her that night.
Nogtwit was not being nearly so observant, and was, in fact, hiding under one of Sarah's old, pink pillows on her bed. "We no alone!" he whispered.
Bugwit just rolled his eyes. "Duh."
"No!" he whimpered. "Look! There be-"
"This!" Wog struggled from the bottom of one of the drawers at Sarah's old vanity, holding up a worn red book. "She miss this one?"
Bugwit looked carefully studious for a moment – but then shook his head dismissively. "Books in library, she no need books." Wog gave an annoyed huff and went back to digging.
Nogtwit had begun a high-pitched, very pathetic whine, a sure sign he was upset, or he needed to use the bathroom. "Bugwit..."
"Shut dumb face."
"This?" Wog appeared again with a very carefully bundled towel, and Bugwit hopped down from his perch at the window to sniff it cautiously. Wog's knobby fingers peeled away the cotton towel, revealing a strange, purple object about as long as his arm and thick as his hand was across at one point in the center. In shape, it reminded him of an inflexible banana, but it did not smell like one; he licked it and made a face. It did not taste like one either.
Bugwit sniffed again and wrinkled his pug nose. "What that?"
"...dunno," admitted Wog, examining it carefully. "But it have button," and he pressed it. The thing immediately began to buzz and move in his hand and he dropped it to the floor while all three goblins screamed and Nogtwit dove back beneath the pillow.
"Kill it, kill it, kill it, kill it-"
"It dangerous?" Bugwit gasped, using a stuffed bear as a shield.
Wog carefully observed the rigid, humming snake from on top of the vanity, waiting for it to reveal its teeth and strike – but it never did. It simply kept buzzing and vibrating on the ground, the shaking motion making it bump across the floor a little. "...no think so..." he muttered, cautiously stretching a toe toward the odd beast. When it did not move to bite, he pounced like an oversized house cat and hit the button again. The beast went quiet.
Bugwit gave his companion a disapproving look. "No more buttons!"
"No more buttons..." he muttered.
Nogtwit was howling again, and at last the others turned to see what had upset him so. "More goblins here!" he nearly sobbed. "Big ones!"
"...no goblin smells," replied a very confused Bugwit, looking around.
Nogtwit directed his attention to the wall above the bed with a shaking finger, crying, "Look!"
The other two pulled themselves up on top of the tiny bed and stared hard. There were definitely two slanted yellow eyes observing them, but the eyes never blinked or moved or made any more study of them than that. With great bravery, Bugwit at last smacked at the wall – and was met with a flat surface. "...that no goblin," he grumbled, arms folded across his bony chest. "That...picture."
"It got words," Wog added, and he ran his knobby finger along the print. "C-a-a-a-a-t-s..." he read, long and slow. "Cats. Cats?"
"Cats," repeated Bugwit, completely baffled.
"Maybe she miss...Cats?"
"Cats?" whimpered Nogtwit.
"Cats," nodded Wog.
This was decided upon by all of them in unison, and with the quick, scrambling skill familiar to goblins, they gathered anything in the room that paired with that word or those strange yellow eyes, before the five minutes of magic ran out. The timing was fortuitous, for no sooner had the Underground summoned them home than the door of the bedroom opened, and the round face of a little boy peered in.
"I know I heard something, Daddy!" he was crying out down the dark hallway. "See? Someone's been in Sarah's stuff, come and see!"
The most familiar of Sarah's nightmares was, of course, a memory.
"You're insane. You're absolutely out of your mind!"
"Oh am I?" He sneers at her, revealing the point of sharp, dangerous teeth, and she draws farther back, knowing that she's about to hit the bed and there will be nowhere to run to once that happens. She catches sight of the clock on her nightstand and almost screams again: the numbers no longer flash twelve oh one, but thirteen.
She is the one going out of her mind.
But no, she has to fight him, and yells as much at him. "I won't go with you, I will not!"
"Sarah..." His growl is low, it's frightening, but she tries to hold firm.
"No, it's bullshit! I beat the Labyrinth, I beat you!"
"And here is your reward!" He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her so hard against him, and she feels like she might start crying at any second. "I have no more choice in this affair than you do: but you did beat the Labyrinth, and that gives you power over it. It's the most ancient rite – prove your worth and become the King's consort."
"I'd rather sleep with the Pope!" she shrieks at him, struggling against his hold.
Jareth just laughs low in his chest – laughs at her and all her struggles. "Possible to arrange, but not nearly so much fun."
"I know you're lying! If it were true, you would have kept me then!"
"Think we're so smart, do we?" he hisses at her, and God but she's afraid. "I don't fuck little girls, Sarah. Oh, physically you were ready, but your mind, your spirit...you had not matured enough to be able to handle the Queenship."
"And now I have?" she spits, incredulous, feeling her weak and tired body begin to fail against him. Please God, no, please give her strength!
"Enough," he nods. "You have reached the age of majority among your people, have you not?"
"W-what?" What in the hell did that mean? Did he mean...because she was eighteen? What kind of messed up logic was that! "It...it's just a birthday!" she stammers and his gloved fingers wrap around her chin and he hurts her.
"It's good enough to serve the Labyrinth's purposes," he mutters, and scoops her easily into his arms all while she thrashes against him in her thin little pajamas. And he just keeps laughing at her! "You know the tradition of carrying the bride over the threshold, yes?" He leans his sharp face into hers, so she can see the lustful glimmer in his eyes and how close his mouth is to hers.
Sarah Williams will feel ashamed of herself forever, because in that moment, in his arms and with him leering at her like that, she feels a desperate ache deep in the pit of her stomach and a slow growing dampness between her thighs.
If Jareth notices, he does not say, and continues speaking: "It suits our purposes. Not all brides were as obliging as you in the ancient times-" She lifts her hands to claw his eyes out, but he catches her wrists easily in just one gloved hand, still holding her with one arm. That horrible, humiliating chuckle. "Some were dragged off from their families and had to be carried into their lord and husband's house as they would not go willingly." And before she can take another breath, before she can give a desperate scream, the world is melting around her, and-
"Queen?"
Sarah's tired, green eyes peeled open at this address, and she stared, unblinking, up at the canopy above the bed. "Where is he?" Her throat was dry and her voice cracked as she spoke.
The little goblin – it was Wog – seemed to turn his head from side to side. "King?" he asked.
Sarah just closed her eyes again and nodded. She was tired, just so tired...of course she was tired, he never let her sleep. The poor girl (for that was all she was, at eighteen) bit her lip and tried to keep the sound of his voice out of her head. "Do you like it when I touch you like this, Sarah? How about this? Do you enjoy this? Come, come, love, how can I please my wife if she does not speak? I want you to speak, Sarah. Speak. Say my name. Yes. Cry out, just like that, gods, yes-"
"He just leave!" Wog helpfully chirruped. Of course he did; Wog would not have dared come in if the King were still present. And why would he stay? It wasn't like Sarah's feelings mattered to him. The way he treated her, she was just his harlot to loose his passions on- "Wog come on bed?"
"No, Wog!" Her voice was nearly a shriek, which was unusual for her when addressing the goblins, and his ears flattened back against his head in distress. But no, he couldn't come on the bed! See that she was completely nude under the bed spread? See the stains on the sheets? Let her have some dignity!
Though he did not know the cause of her discomfort, Wog was well versed in how to soothe his betters. "Wog no come on bed, Majesty," he assured her in a quiet, calm voice, and tilted his head a little to see her shivering there. "You cold? You want Wog get you blankets?" Mutely, Sarah shook her head and bit so hard on her lip she thought it might bleed. Good, she hoped it did, it would be a better reason to cry than her current one. Though he did not climb up onto the huge bed of the King, he did crawl very close to it, lifting his pointy nose to sniff tentatively. "Majesty?"
"Y-yes?" Don't cry, Sarah, don't you dare cry.
"Wog and friends, we make surprise for you."
Sarah rolled over, being sure to keep the sheet tucked firmly against her bare breast. "You did?"
Wog nodded, mouth opening in his excitement and tongue flopping out. "Big surprise!" he grinned, whipping his tail back and forth.
"Wog..." Sarah gasped, pulling herself out of her melancholy a little bit. So much trouble, thinking of her? "You didn't have to do that!"
"Wanted to," he sniffed. "You come see?"
"Now?"
The little goblin shook his head. "Tonight. We have all ready tonight! Big show! There be chairs – you bring King?"
Sarah smiled a little, just a very little, and Wog could have purred like a cat for it. "Of course. After dinner?" He nodded hard again. "I can't wait."
Wog spun in a circle in his joy before tearing back to the door. "Okay, okay! Tonight, after dinner, yay! Wog so happy!" And he skittered out of the room, and Sarah smiled a little brighter.
Things weren't all bad.
Sarah dressed just a little finer for the occasion: not a grand ballgown, but a very small step below that. A pale pink thing, sweetheart cut in the bodice, inlaid with crystals. It was shaped with a narrow crinoline, the silk skirt covered with a layer of pale taffeta, a slightly darker bow accentuating her trim waist. She wore roses of the same shade in her up-swept hair, and the King eyed her hungrily all throughout the meal. When Sarah had taken a last sip of her wine, she found Jareth's white gloved hand waiting at her side to escort her from the dining room. She blinked at it once, then rose from her chair to move without his assistance to the Throne Room, where whatever the surprise was was being staged.
Jareth's eye twitched at the slight. The impudent little...without a word, he seized her small hand in his and twirled her back to him, her skirt flaring in the breeze. Sarah cried out in protest, but the Goblin King's jaw was set with determination and displeasure. Without another word, he wrapped her arm around his and strode from the dining room to the Throne Room.
With what Sarah was sure was no small amount of effort, their heavy twin thrones had been moved to the side, so that the raised dais could be used as a stage, makeshift curtains of purple velvet hanging from the ceiling. A goblin in a stained and slightly grubby jacket bowed low before them and escorted them with great pomp to their waiting seats, while other, lesser goblins brought forward foot rests or offered trays with yet more wine or other delicacies. Jareth accepted two flutes of champagne, but waved the rest off, resting his chin on a balled fist in a decidedly bored expression. Sarah watched all the goings on with a distinct sigh of longing, no doubt remembering her own high school plays.
Jareth turned his head to observe her, rather than the bumbling of his subjects: for one thing, she was much more attractive to look at. Gods, was she, the line of her pale throat exposed like that. It made him hungry to sink his teeth into that flesh, gently, oh ever so gently...he began to imagine such pleasures, his tongue running unconsciously over his lips at each delicious thought. He would see her writhe beneath him, smell the roses that perfumed her rich, dark hair...slip his his gloved hand beneath the line of her bodice and squeeze-
Sarah shifted awkwardly in her chair, stealing surreptitious glances in her husband's direction. "Jareth," she addressed him directly.
He did not even blink, still resting his chin on his fist and devouring her with his mismatched gaze. "Hm?"
"Please stop looking at me like that."
"Like what, precious thing?"
"Like a piece of meat," she snapped, turning on the throne to hopefully stare him down. Did the man have absolutely no shame?
After a long, slow, languid moment, Jareth blinked, breathing a sigh through his sharp nose, and leaned back slightly. He looked both insanely contented and distressingly aroused. "I apologize, my dear," he drawled, adjusting his gloves around his wrists. "I was merely thinking back to our...engagement last night."
He was trying to upset her, there was no other explanation for it. Sarah's face burned. "Can we please not talk about that here?"
"Why?" He leaned forward against the curved arm of his throne, fixing his eyes on the crook of her throat and shoulder and wanting so desperately to bite her there, then soothe the injury with his tongue...He watched her lean away as he leaned forward. "Are you worried I'll reveal all your favorite things in front of the goblins?"
"You're disgusting!" she cried in a slightly higher, more tense voice that she wanted, and she pressed herself almost full against the arm of her own throne in a pathetic attempt to flee.
"There's nothing disgusting about it, Sarah." The girl closed her eyes; damn him, he did not play fair! It was never fair to bring out that tone of voice, certainly not in public! Most definitely not fair to say her name like that, in a way that practically defied description! Low, gravelly, aching with a barely repressed want. "It's natural and good. I might even call it beautiful, but that would do the word injustice."
"What?" She rolled her green eyes at him, making the mistake of turning her body slightly so she faced him, and had to face the intensity of his looks. Sarah froze and was unable to make her escape now.
"You are beautiful," he purred. "To use that word to describe anything else would be a blasphemy."
"Your flatteries don't work on me, dear," she growled at him, fingers tense around the arms of the throne in an effort to keep control.
Jareth snorted at her, drawing back slightly so that she felt comfortable enough to sit a little more upright again, as opposed to listing to one side. "Yes, well," he purred, watching her eyes closely to see each reaction that passed there. "You've never been very appreciative of all the things I've given you."
"Given me!" She was close to shouting now. "What have you ever given me!"
"Oh, let's see." He raised his hand and began ticking items off by lowering each finger. "A kingdom to rule, a throne beside mine, more dresses and jewels and finery than graced Queen Cleopatra, an eternity of youth and beauty, my solemn oath of fidelity and devotion, my own robust and considerable skills in your bed, I took your brother when you asked it of me, and I gave him back at the end-"
"You ego-maniacal, out of touch...jackass!" A few of the goblins turned their heads to see the beginnings of a real shouting match; it was always entertaining when Their Majesties began a full-on argument, but also just a tad bit frightening, like a good horror film. "I didn't want any of your...bullshit!" the Queen screamed, not caring in the slightest when her husband's nostrils flared or his eyes flashed. "And I would throw it all back in your face right now if I could!" She sputtered for breath, but would not stop when she had her dander up. "I hate you!"
Nogtwit had been checking the lights (annoyed fairies caught in bottles and hung from the ceiling), but he instantly dove for cover. Wog paused in preparing his costume behind the curtain and flattened his ears against his head. The whole room was silent, but for a few stray chickens, waiting to see what His Majesty might do.
To everyone's surprise, the Goblin King did not strike his wife, raise his voice, unleash his magic – or anything at all violent or aggressive. Rather, while Sarah was unprepared, he leaned toward her again and swirled his tongue around the shell of her ear, grinning as she shuddered at the hot, wet caress. "That's not what you were saying last night, as I recall..." he was purring. The King looked absolutely maniacal. "When your quivering thighs were wrapped around my head? And I-"
The Goblin Guardsman picked this excellent moment to smack Sarah's old stereo, and a whining, familiar sound blared to life, steadying out as the machine warmed up. Jareth flicked his lazy gaze in the black box's direction, Sarah sat up as chords of music she was sure she knew floated in the air...The curtain slowly parted, with much squeaking and quiet swearing of goblin tongues.
One of the goblins tiptoed onto the makeshift stage, a strange array of fur and feathers (where had they found fur?) glued to his face and a piece of spandex wrapped haphazardly around his lumpy body. He seemed incredibly nervous as three or four more goblins came in behind him, but he cleared his throat and spoke – sang? Noised very clearly:
"I has a gumpy cat in mind
Her name is jmny..."
Sarah covered her mouth to stifle her giggles as the poor creature suffered over the made-up, nonsense name. Jareth straightened a little in his seat, his hand dropping away from his chin. "What in the hell is this ludicrous display?" Sarah nearly broke out laughing just from that.
The poor goblin performer bravely went on:
"Her coat is of a tammy kind
Wif tiger stripes and leopard spots"
This went on some time until the refrain was reached, and the other goblins in similarly put together costumes jumped up and began their chorus, doing what Sarah was sure they thought was a tap dance, and looked more like the desperate spasms of an epileptic. She couldn't help it: she laughed long and hard, the first time in a long time she'd laughed. Her face hurt from the way her lips peeled in a smile. None of the goblins seemed to mind this, however, and if anything, it put them more at ease to continue the performance, knowing the Queen was obviously enjoying it. Jareth stared first at the debacle happening on the, "stage," and then at his wife, who had obviously gone entirely mad.
When this number was over, a bashful Tweezledown took the stage, dressed in a white muff Sarah recognized as one she'd given the goblins after she spilled tea down it. The she-goblin wore it like a tube dress, and the stain actually rather completed the look nicely. Those goblins who were not part of the theatrical performance were piled on top of one another in order to see, or hung from the rafters, and several could be heard sighing with longing over the lovely picture Tweezledown made. The little thing bat her lashes up at the lighting rig – the fairies had kindly dulled themselves to an irritated blue – and opened her mouth to sing:
"Mem'ry
All alone in da moonlight
I can smiles at the old days"
She paused, looking very confused, but then shrugged and soldiered on.
"I don't 'member the words
There's a part here
I think it's about sunflowers
Those taste pretty good"
Sarah bit her knuckles until they bled to keep from laughing as many of the other theater patrons wiped their eyes or loudly blew their noses. The Goblin King roared for more champagne, though this did not stop Tweezledown's un-harmonic ramble on a variety of different subject.
"I think I'll buy a new comb
Cause I think combs are pretty
Or chase a pig
Or maybe eat some figs
...and nothing rhymes with pretty!"
The Queen was mostly definitely in tears, which her subjects roundly approved of. Jareth snarled at the tiny goblin who came to pour his Liege more of the sparkling wine. "Give me that bottle, you great imbecile!"
"Yes, Majesty, I get more, Majesty!"
"Obviously, get more!"
"Jareth-!" Sarah gasped for breath even more than she had when he physically exhausted her in bed, and it made his eyes twitch to notice this. "Stop! It's too great to be shouting!" The King was about to wildly upbraid his wife, but found himself distracted by the storm of applause and whistles that greeted the climax of Tweezledown's performance. The little starlet bowed low to the ground, even blowing kisses to her adoring public, and Sarah swore she saw the Guardsman swoon. The poor young monarch desperately tried to catch her breath.
Before there could be any kind of lull in the show, a brassy, tinny trumpet blared from the stereo speakers, and Wog slid confidently onto the stage, a knowing and seductive glint in his watery eyes. Sarah's jaw dropped. Jareth appeared about ready to crush his champagne glass.
Wog was in a pale pair of the king's silk breeches, the waist pulled up to the much smaller goblin's armpits. The legs dragged well behind him on the ground, quite aiding in his slide onto the stage. It was very clear from the way he rotated his hips and from the squeals erupting from the audience that he thought himself highly alluring. A much less practiced goblin in a far lesser costume offered him a bowl.
"You want pheasant?"
Wog raised his nose in the air.
"No, grouse."
"You want house?"
"No, flat."
"Rat?"
"Mouse."
The most enthusiastic chorus yet piled onto the stage, every performer from every number, twirling and jiving with all the passion possible in little goblin hearts. Sarah was clutching her sides and howling.
"Rum Tum Tugger is curious cat!
Rum Tum Tugger don't like to cuddle!"
"Enough!" Their King had sprung to his feet, and a hush fell over the Throne Room. The Guardsman slammed the stereo in startled desperation, and the abused machine whined before at last bringing the soundtrack to an clumsy halt. Sarah's laughter started to die, but slowly. "This humiliating display is over!" Chickens clucked awkwardly, but Sarah furrowed her brow and rose to her feet.
"Don't yell at them."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me!" The girl was suddenly a Queen, and the goblins stared. "They were having fun and they were trying their best, so don't yell at them."
Jareth's fists squeezed and relaxed in a rhythmic, pulsing movement, perhaps in time to the way a vein at his forehead had started to throb. "How dare you-"
"You go ahead and do whatever the hell you like with me," Sarah shouted, the adrenaline keeping her from experience a very rational fear. "But just leave them the hell alone!" A very loud, very palpable silence hung over the Throne Room, and it was broken by something absolutely terrifying.
The sharp smile of the Goblin King.
"Done," he purred, and before Sarah could in any way fight him, he bent before her and pulled her over his shoulder, holding her by the backs of her knees.
The Goblin Queen was screaming, pounding her fists against her husband's broad back. She would have done her level best to kick him, but he had seized her ankles with one hand, and continued to look like the, ahem, cat who had eaten the cream. "Put me down!" the young girl was shrieking. "Take your hands off me! What do you think you're doing?"
"Whatever the hell I like with you, precious thing," the horrifying man grinned against her leg before biting at her thigh through the thick layers of her skirt. His teeth were sharp enough, however, that Sarah hissed at the sensation. The King kicked stray goblins and chickens out of his path as he walked to the large double doors, and they opened at a mere gesture of his fingers. The small goblin Jareth had earlier harassed was scampering down the hall with a new bottle of champagne, and the fey king blocked his path, still smiling that awful smile. "Ah, excellent. Send that to my suite, would you? And," he jerked his head angrily in Wog's direction; the little goblin's ears went back and he actually began to growl low and defensively in his throat. "Burn those trousers. Better yet, throw them into the Bog of Eternal Stench. I do not wish to ever lay eyes on them again." Sarah still thrashed against his shoulder and Jareth chuckled in a frightening way, running his hand up her thigh to squeeze her round bottom. "Patience, my love. I'll see you satisfied soon, not to worry."
"Go to hell, you sadistic son of a bitch!"
"Darling," he was purring, doing the same motion again but this time with his hand under her skirt; Sarah stiffened and then shivered under his touch. "Don't make me get out the restraints and that sweet scarf we used to gag you before. Actually," he paused thoughtfully and jostled her as though he were adjusting the way her weight lay across his body. "I know how wet that made you. Go on and fight me, I'll make it worth your while."
Dozens of goblin eyes strained in goblin heads, that were arched on goblin necks that peered through the great doors of the Throne Room in an effort to see down the darkening hallway, where their Queen's screams could still be heard echoing.
For the first time in his long, little life, Wog was mad at his sovereign.
The idea that any subject, by their nature subservient to their king, could dare to be angry with the ones who held power over their lives was an absolutely radical one, but it whirled and buzzed inside the little goblin's brain like a fly buzzing around the Bog of Eternal Stench. He prowled around the Throne Room like a miniature tiger taken off too tight a leash, and snarled and snapped and bore his pointed teeth to anyone who might flinch at him. Most of the others were busy taking apart the makeshift set, though Tweezeldown sat in a corner and cried her eyes out. The even smaller goblin that Jareth had earlier addressed had quickly come to angrily demand Wog remove the costume, but he had merely kicked it off with equal ire. "Don't want King's pants no how!" he shouted, and the shot messenger scuttled away when the trousers landed conveniently across his ears to be disposed of.
Bugwit watched the entire territorial display with dispassionate interest, raising a bushy eyebrow at all the pointless snapping and snarling. "Wog," he cautioned, but the little creature just wheeled on him.
"It him," he growled, pointing out the Throne Room door. "He one make her sad."
Bugwit pursed his lips a little while Nogtwit threw the jars full of fairies out the windows to crash on the ground. "He King."
"So!" he sputtered, wickedly indignant as his tail flipped back and forth in his agitation. Nogtwit tried to catch it to hold it still to calm him, but he could never get a grip on the slippery little thing. "Maybe he bad King."
There was a horrified gasp from all those who listened, and many angry eyes turned on Wog, who was wise enough to realize his mistake; his ears flattened against his head and he made himself very small, as though attempting to burrow into the floor. Sarah was popular, but Jareth was still their King. Bugwit quickly stepped in front of his tiny compadre before anything could come to blows, and it seemed cooler heads prevailed, for soon the goblins were back to attempting to correct their master's throne room.
Jareth was laughing when he put Sarah on the bed-
Not quite puts, not quite drops, not quite throws her on the bed.
-which was one of the few things she simply could not stand, and her fingers went to his face like claws-
She squeaks and screams and cries her protest. "Jareth, please! Don't do this, take me home, I want to go home, let me go home!"
-but he laughed again and seized her wrists in one hand, licking down the soft skin on the inside of her arm and covering it with kisses.
The Goblin King leans over her on the bed, breathing already very heavy, and gazes deeply into her green eyes. Sarah can't look away, and what's worse, she honestly isn't sure if she feels terrified or desperately aroused at the moment. "Darling," he pleads with her, placing a soft, barely chaste kiss at the hollow of her throat. Sarah whimpers and tilts her head back in spite of herself. "You would leave me all alone? Pining here after you?"
"I-I-"
"Mmm..." Jareth laced her fingers with his own, not even flinching when she tried to dig her nails through the fabric of his gloves. "You are, truly, the most passionate, the most intense woman I have ever known...never change, Sarah."
"Go to hell, Jareth."
"More sweet nothings, my love?" He released one of her hands, and made a twisting motion with his wrist. She recognized the fur-lined manacle that appeared in his palm, and he smirked wickedly at her. "I will hold good to my promise. Just one ankle to start with, I think, though. I think I can handle the rest of your enthusiasm myself."
"Do you think I would hurt you?" he asks her, drawing closer, and Sarah tries to scoot back, but there's nowhere left to go. She finds that as he leans over her, she presses down, down into the softness of the bed. "No matter what may happen, I will never hurt you, my Sarah." And she knows even then and later, no matter how frightening he is...he never does. Which is almost outrageous, because it would make it so much easier to hate him.
Almost on instinct, Sarah's temper cooled considerably when her husband looped the strap around the lower right poster of the bed. It could have been training, but Jareth knew better: there was no taming Sarah, and he liked it that way. Her breathing was labored, partly from her struggles and shouting, and partly because her body was already atingle with anticipation of what would come next, especially as she watched him remove one of his fine gloves – with his teeth. Her pulse quickened. Jareth bent at the waist like a proper, courtly gentleman, and kissed the sharp point of her ankle, sighing over her skin. With deft and ludicrously gentle hands, he lifted the layers of her skirt away from her shapely legs, so he might kiss and stroke them in turns. "So beautiful...I never knew such a beautiful girl would beat the Labyrinth."
"Beauty wasn't the reason," Sarah snapped, but she could feel herself shaking as she watched him stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Jareth's eyes roamed her body, the heaving of her breast. "Of course not," he smiled with a slightly conservative air, his fingers trailing higher and higher and closer, and- "But did you think I spoke only of your physical beauty? That is but one tiny facet of your radiance." His hand pressed between her thighs and Sarah gasped, her hips arching against his touch in a manner that was completely beyond her control. Damn it, he did these things to her-! Jareth's smile merely deepened.
He leans down to kiss her, and she tries to turn her face, her whole body, away; however, he catches her with just two fingers on her chin and pushes her face back to him. "So shy, my love? You needn't be concerned for your virtue. We'll be married in the morning. There's no reason to hold back."
"S-stop..."
"No." He kisses her, but it's very gently, which is so confusing! He's vicious and cold when he steals her from her bedroom, but the way he kisses is so soft, it's like kissing spun sugar, and his mouth just tastes and feels so good against her own. Sarah can't help it, she leans into the kiss and whimpers. She can feel Jareth's lips pull into a smile when she parts for a gasp of breath. "Still want me to stop, precious thing?"
Jareth gently moved his fingers against Sarah as she leaned into his strokes, watching her pant and seeing how the blood rushed to her face – and not just there, if the soft swelling he touched was anything to go by. "Oh, my love..." he sighed, watching the rising and falling of her breast as it struggled against the confines of the gown's bodice. "You don't know what you do to me." He suddenly withdrew his engaged hand, relishing in the needy whimper it elicited from his Sarah, but reached both hands behind her back to unhook the stays of her gown. She wiggled obligingly as he pulled the dress from off her, slipping it over her head and discarding the entire silky thing on one lounge chair. Gods, but she was gorgeous, her pale and ivory skin flushed like that, her growing dampness betraying her increasing desire. Making sure she watched each movement he made, Jareth slid the used fingers into his mouth, licking her slowly and deliberately from him. The poor girl moaned and dropped her head back onto a pillow, panting desperately.
He has her undressed now, and Sarah is terrified. This can't be happening, she's not ready-! She knows in the darkest corner of her heart, she's been dreaming about him like this, dreaming of feeling the hard planes of his body, but not like this. She tries to stop him again. "Jareth, please. I've never-"
He stills above her, and somehow, that increases her fear. "Never...what, precious?" The hungry way he looks at her has only gotten worse.
Sarah trembles beneath his hands. "Never..."
He raises one arched eyebrow at her. "Never?" All she can do is gulp and shake her head. Almost with no warning, Jareth's hand has dipped between her thighs and he has pressed a finger inside of her. Sarah gasps and nearly lifts off the bed – half in pleasure, half in pain – and he is moaning, hard. "Sarah." He sounds like he's about to go out of his mind, and Sarah feels sweat and juices drip across her body. He catches the taut peak of her breast in his mouth and she writhes beneath his skillful seductions. "So warm, so tight...you mean to say you've been waiting faithfully for me, all this time?" She gasps and trembles. Had she been? Unknowingly? "You precious thing..." he moans and dips his mouth to her other breast, licking and nibbling in turns until she feels sure her body is about to catch on fire. "I am going to be so good to you, I am going to give you everything you want..."
She knows it won't work, but it's her only chance. "Let me go home."
Jareth stiffens, and slowly his lips pull back so she can feel the sharpness of his smiling teeth against her hot skin. "Well. Everything, except that." He presses another finger within her and she gives a desperate, choked sob of-
Jareth's eyes shuttered, the deepest, darkest desires of the most hedonist fey running riot through his body. Sarah watched him as he shuddered head to foot – he really could not control himself. The girl had come to a dark satisfaction in these last few weeks: he'd stolen her from her family, he'd stolen her from her innocence, but she stole the Goblin King's control, even if all she did was look at him. She had to have something to live on, after all. Jareth was growling, rippling his clothing off his body, like he was nothing but an animal and could not be so restrained. "More," he gave a husky rasp, going on his knees in front of her and holding her thighs apart with his hot palms. "I want more of you." Sarah gasped and shot up as his mouth plundered her, the intense, insistent flicking of his tongue against her making her cry out in perfect agony. "Sarah," he groaned into her and softly bit her fleshy thigh, his eyes closing again and tracing the mark with his lips and tongue. "Sweetness, I love you." Each time he separated his mouth from her aching body, he gasped and delivered a desperate declaration. "I am chained to you and I love it."
Sarah knotted her fingers into his corn silk hair, struggling to breathe as she ground her hips against him. "Jareth-!"
"Yes..." He broke his lips away so he could bring those back to her mouth and pull her close to straddle his hips. With one stray hand, he reached down and removed the manacle's loop from round the bed post. "We are chained to each other now, Sarah..."
As soon as she was freed, Sarah's legs wrapped around him and pulled him in closer to her, and watched him hiss his desperate pleasure. Her eyes drifted from his gaze, to his lips, to the little space that was left between them, back again-
She wants to say no because she should say no, and she's sure she's afraid-
But she has never wanted anything more in her life than she wants this to happen right now.
And she hates herself for it.
Jareth let all his weight fall forward, so that she was pinned beneath him, and Sarah ran her nails down his back with just enough pressure to watch him fall apart all over again. She wasn't as weak as she'd been before she became the Goblin Queen, and he damn well knew it. This was, possibly, the most messed up relationship in the Underground or Above – but when he filled her, when Sarah arched her back and begged for more-
It tore the reality of the world apart and made it anew. Every single time.
Everything about their time together was exhausting with its passion, but a part of Sarah (the part she hated and loved in equal measure) thrived upon it.
It may seem incredible, but goblins do have wash day. It was a mandate by the Crown, lest the City become as fetid as the Bog. Each quadrant of the city was assigned a different day to appear at the baths and be washed, and the punishment for failing to arrive at the scheduled time was serious. If it seems not to do much good, this is only because goblins are so very efficient at becoming filthy again.
Bugwit understood that wash day could be depressing for any self-respecting goblin, but Wog dragged himself along with an extra sadness that would have broken the heart of the meanest of Rock Callers. With concern for his friend, he pulled on one of his long ears, but Wog barely even flicked his boarish tail. He tried pulling that, instead, but the response was much the same. "Wog..." he whined, while Nogtwit pulled vines and crawlers off the nearby wall, giggling all the while.
"Wut," he muttered, eyes downcast and for all the world the lowest little goblin in the Underground.
"It get better," he tried to reassure him, scratching at his tuft of black hair that would soon be scrubbed to a disgusting, glossy sheen, but Wog simply shook his wrinkly face.
"No. It no get better."
"It do!" he assured, pulling harder on his ears. "We try new present?"
"What point!" Wog sighed with exaggerated exasperation, throwing his tiny, thin arms into the air. "King just break, or throw out window, or put in Bog! Queen be sad forever!"
"...we find new way." Bugwit's temper ran out for Nogtwit's incessant giggling, and he snapped at him, "Nogtwit!"
"What," he whined, puce eyes wide and wet with feigned innocence.
"What you do!"
"Nuttin'!" and his grubby hands quickly disappeared behind his back.
Bugwit was growing cross, and he stamped a cloven hoof on the ground in obvious impatience. "You show Bugwit."
"But-"
"You show Bugwit now, Nogtwit!"
With a forlorn sigh, Nogtwit revealed his private collection from round his back: an assortment of colorful feathers, lost pieces of string, particularly bendy twigs, and the rare vine flower. It was all woven together in a fairly complex looking loop, and it rather gave the impression of looking like a-
Wog's eyes lit up. "That it!"
Bugwit and Nogtwit both blinked at him. "What it?"
"Come, come, we go now!" Grabbing the wrist of one of his companions in either hand, he began to pull them off in the direction of the Castle, but both sets of feet dug firmly into the soft ground.
"Wog," Bugwit scolded in a dangerous, low growl. "You take us back to Castle?"
"Yes."
"Do something make King mad again?"
"...maybe."
"Before we do wash?"
"..." After a moment, he released their wrists. Bugwit made an eloquent point: it would be one thing to incite the ire of the King. It would be quite another to do so while also flaunting one of his most important proclamations.
Sarah had come to investigate the Throne Room, to see if any permanent damage had been done after the goblins' production. For their sake, she was relieved there had been no irreparable harm, and she picked up a stray chicken that had once again wandered into forbidden territory. Sarah was getting better at handling livestock, she mused to herself. She'd never had much experience with chickens before, and she generally thought they were kind of smelly in the flesh (er, in the feathers). But when she had complained to Jareth, he gave her free reign to institute a new hygiene policy for the poultry, and the goblins had done as she asked with great enthusiasm. They certainly cleaned their chickens better than they cleaned themselves. The odor wasn't nearly so pungent or unpleasant now, and considerably fewer of the black birds roamed the halls of the Castle.
The Goblin Queen snorted to herself, setting the chicken down on a nearby balcony. "Free reign," from Jareth. Just a meaningless task to keep her occupied, that's all it was. Why did he even marry her? Because the Labyrinth mandated it? Her title was meaningless. She'd had more power as a teenage girl than she had as a Queen. The Underground needed a strong women's rights movement, and it needed one now.
The girl was spared her self-pitying melancholy when her ears picked up a soft sound skipping up the great stone steps toward the Throne Room; toward her.
"Majesty!" The cry was distant, but it was plaintive, and Sarah leaned on the tips of her toes with interest. "Queen!" Before she could investigate the sound, the massive doors to the Throne Room were pushed open with great effort – by Bugwit, Nogtwit and Wog.
"Guys?" she asked, her brow furrowed with confusion. "Is something wrong?"
They came skidding to a halt in front of her, falling to their knees – but it was at least partly because they were out of breath, as well as deference to her station. Before Sarah could ask more questions, Wog raised his thin hands to her, gasping for air and clearly making her an offering.
It was a...a crown. It was all twigs and feathers and tracings of beautiful, green vines, but each thread and bauble had clearly been cleaned with more meticulous care than the goblins even showed themselves. Each curl, each leaf was so carefully placed – and it was all for her.
Sarah thought she was going to cry.
"Wog..." she gasped, reaching out her delicate, shaking hands to accept her dearest gift. "Oh, Bugwit, Nogtwit...you guys, how can I thank you-"
"What is going on in here now?" The Goblin King was leaning in the doorway, his pale and flashing eyes narrowed dangerously. Sarah quickly grabbed for her crown, Nogtwit took off and was hiding behind a molding tapestry. "The Court hours most distinctly do not start until thirteen in the afternoon."
Cautiously, Sarah stepped in front of the goblins, who looked up at her with pleading eyes. "We're just talking."
"Talking?" Jareth sounded somewhere between incredulous and amused, walking into his Throne Room with a most definite swagger in his hips. He raked his eyes up and down the body of his Queen and Sarah shivered beneath his stare. "You'll find them a trifle dull for conversation, Sarah." With a confident smirk, he stopped before her, resting one gloved finger on her soft cheek. "You'd find your time much more...nicely occupied with me."
Her eyes were downcast. "I just-"
He followed her looks – noticed the crown. "What is that disgusting bird's nest you're holding?"
"Not nest!" Wog piped up from behind Sarah's calf. "It crown!" Bugwit elbowed him, hard, but Wog merely grumbled and rubbed his ribs.
"You think that is a crown?" Jareth sneered. "For her? You pathetic little mongrels. That is not suitable for her. Watch closely." And as he spoke, the King twisted his wrist in an easy motion, features carefully schooled with bored indifference; the most perfect silver and gold diadem balanced lightly on his fingertips, the crest of it matching the form of his pendant. It was shimmering and beautiful, and he smiled with a cool satisfaction to see it. "Much better. Now, my Sarah, I'll just take this little-"
"No!"
The shriek that broke from Sarah's lips as Jareth reached for her shabby crown rang in the emptiness of the Throne Room. It actually shocked him. Bugwit and Wog stared at her, Nogtwit fell down from his position behind the tapestry.
Her green eyes were wild with fire, and she clutched her gift to her breast, her shoulders angling away from her husband and absolutely refusing to let him near it. "It's mine, it's not yours, you can't have it!"
Normally, Sarah raising her voice to the King in even a fraction of the way she just had would have meant he transported them both to an oubliette, not to return for several hours, and with the girl much quieter afterward – for days afterward. However, the Fey Lord was actually so startled, he could only blink at her for a moment, before setting his mouth in a firm scowl and scolding, "Now, see here, Sarah-"
"Shut up!" Nogtwit squeaked and tried to crawl up the stone walls. "It's my crown, they gave it to me! It makes me Queen of the Goblins!"
Jareth was becoming cross now. "You're already Queen of the Goblins, you silly little twit."
"No," she snarled at him, taking a firm step forward – and the King stepped back. "You wouldn't let me be. For all the trust you give me, I might as well be your...your...concubine!" Jareth seemed very taken aback by this upbraiding. Wog turned to Bugwit to ask what that word meant, but the bigger goblin cut him off with a swipe of his hand across the line of his throat. "Well, they want me to be their Queen, understand?" she continued, head held high, voice entirely certain. "And I'm going to be." Without a second's hesitation, Sarah brought the crown down atop her silken head-
And never did man nor fey look more regal, even if he were to be crowned with the purest platinum, and dripping the finest ermine. Sarah beat them all.
It was then that the Goblin King did a very funny thing, a thing he had never done in over thirteen hundred years of life in the Underground: he dropped to his knees before the slip of a girl, bowed his head in submission, and kissed her ringed fingers in absolute worship.
"Yes, my Queen," he breathed over her soft hands, while the goblins looked at one another in total confusion. Nogtwit came out of hiding, but felt no better for it, because he was pretty sure the world was ending if his King were on his knees – and before a woman. "Oh yes, Sarah!" The King rose to his booted feet, a possessive fire glinting in his unreal eyes. Sarah looked up at him – nervously, for a moment, and then with a far greater understanding. She smiled a little. "Come, come here." With the greatest of gentleness, he wrapped his hands around her elbows and guided her carefully back to the waiting throne, sitting her down upon it and kneeling before her again. "My Lady, how might you be served?" He picked up her little foot and kissed the top of it, kissed her ankles and her shins. He began to pull up the hem of her skirt and kiss his way past her knees-
"Jareth," she gasped through her teeth. "The goblins."
The King flicked his eyes up at her, and turned his head. Yes, those three morons were definitely still standing there. Staring. "Leave us," Jareth commanded with his usual haughty air.
"No, wait!" Sarah stretched out a hand, and three pairs of little eyes lit up with interest. "Wog...come here." Cautiously, but with great enthusiasm, the little goblin scampered over to his waiting Queen and sat at the foot of the throne, looking up at her with a great deal of respect and admiration. Sarah smiled with the gentleness that had won her all her victories in the Underground, and lay her soft palm against the creature's wrinkled face. "I love my crown, Wog." His tail began to wag hard against the flagstones. "But it's so fragile, I'm worried I might break it. Would it be alright if I kept it in my room, behind glass? So it's safe? I...I want to have it forever."
Wog sighed like a lovestruck simpleton. "Whatever Queen wants."
Sarah smiled that winning smile again and pet his face. "Thank you." She glanced down at her husband, who still hand his hands firmly wrapped about her legs and with a very possessive glint in his cold eyes, and raised an eyebrow to her most loyal subject. "You guys had better hurry along now."
Bugwit, Nogtwit and Wog were out of the Throne Room like a shot, and Wog's tail wagged with such speed and enthusiasm, it nearly became his own self-propulsion system. The roaring success of the crown, the creation of a true queen in the Underground, was going to be proclaimed far and wide that evening. Along with it, Bugwit was also going to dig his friend in the ribs with his elbow and mock in a nasally voice, "'Whatever Queen wants!'"
"You just jealous," Wog would reply, thin nose in the air. "Cause you no got petted."
"Not!" Bugwit would then sneer. "I gonna go do loud time with Tweezledown!"
"Nu uh!"
"Yeah huh!"
Nogtwit would go back to happily and peacefully collecting pieces of string that lay abandoned in the rumpus room.
For their part, the King and Queen of the Goblin Kingdom were still in the Throne Room, completely unaware of what raucous celebrations were to be had by their subjects that night. Jareth had his chin set upon her knee and he stroked along the outside of her hips and down her thighs with the tips of two of his gloved fingers. "That was most magnanimously done, precious."
"You think so?" Sarah flicked her hair back. "I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Anyway, I'm ready for my present now."
"Are you?" he teased, planting an adoring kiss on the top of her leg. "Are you actually going to be grateful when I give it to you?"
"Don't push your luck, Goblin King," Sarah scoffed, but she wound her fingers through his silver-gold hair anyway. "You're stuck with me forever, just remember that."
"Not long at all, Goblin Queen," he purred, and he lifted up the diadem to slide it over her brow. Sarah leaned obligingly forward, and he kissed the tips of her fingers when he had finished. "My fealty to you forever, my Queen." He slid his head forward so that it rested in her lap with the more-than-contended sigh of a man in rapture.
Sarah ran her fingers down his back. "You know," she whispered, and he twitched deliciously at the sound of her voice. "Just a thought, but what if we traded off who wore that manacle from time to time, hm?"
Before the girl could blink, she found she was no longer sitting on the throne, but rather the vast and plush bed she shared with her husband. Jareth was twirling the fur-lined contraption on his finger, already missing his gloves – among other items of clothing. "Do tell, precious thing."
The End
A.N.: Okay, you guys are allowed to bug about updates on this one, because honestly, there will probably be more. Apparently when you take Slightly Evil Jareth out to play, he doesn't like to go nicely back in his box. A big thanks to Mztlynne for all her help on this one and for the betaing. Just to keep you guys abreast of what I'm doing:
Started the next part of "Say When," but that got way-laid because of this and because-
Working on a crossover with Chet, and of course it's Labyrinth. That's about half way done. When that's done, I'll be uploading in bits and pieces, and hopefully my attention can go back to "Say When." Skipping around on fics has gotten me into trouble before, but Laby so completely blows up my brain with ideas I don't know what else to do. It's wonderful and terrible at the same time.
"Labyrinth" is the property of its creators, no money is being made, etc., but I do happily lay claim to Bugwit, Nogtwit, Wog and Tweezledown, and there will be yet more goblin personalities if and when this continues. Ah, the blessed curse that is my life.
