"Well if you're going to be such a baby about it then you might as well leave!"
As expected, she received no response other than the roar of Steve's Mercedes as it pulled away into the night. Sarah tossed her head, rolled her eyes, and hooked the straps of her high heels over one finger as she dug through her purse for her keys.
Four years. Four goddamn pointless years she had wasted trying to push and twist her latest relationship into something that at least resembled functional. It wasn't the first time her boyfriend had abandoned one of their arguments in favour of flouncing off instead, but this time she was relatively certain that he wouldn't be coming back. Good. Fuck him.
She finally managed to blunder her way into her modest home, though she would swear later that the keyhole she had aimed so carefully at had insisted on shifting each time she tried to slide the key home. The shoes ended up littering her hallway floor, as did her purse and the burden of her sexiest black bra as she stumbled her way through to the kitchen. There was a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge that had been calling her name ever since that whole stinking 'date night' had taken a turn.
Steve didn't like it when she drank – it wasn't ladylike when she drank – and so it had made her all the more determined that evening to gulp down as much alcohol as her stomach and liver could handle. She never usually finished more than a glass or two at a time – and even that was a rarity, with how likely Steve was to complain – and she already knew that she would be paying for that night's spiteful session come morning. It was all just so regressive. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, as much as she tried to see past the ugly truth, her boyfriend wanted someone who would blindly follow all of his dumb little rules more than he wanted her. He would never truly be happy until he had her barefoot and pregnant, content with doing little more with her life than raising his children, and warming his meals and his cock. It was time to stop pretending that she would ever be that woman.
She just didn't understand what it was with the men in her life and their desperate need for control over hers. Her boyfriend, with his old-fashioned ideals, and all the ones that came before him. Her father, and his long lectures over the years about a proper career, and where exactly her life should be headed. It was all of them, the old friends turned bitter when those friendships did not lead to something more; it was the old bosses and the teachers who at times had offered her more condescension than encouragement. Even worse, it was the man who had started it all – the one who had at first demanded, and then pleaded for her obedience, and who still sometimes haunted her dreams.
Sarah groaned as she poured out a generous measure of wine. Thirty years old and she still hadn't managed to leave all of her childhood fixations behind. Her time in the labyrinth – in a realm of fantasy and magic – had opened up her eyes in more ways than one. Yes, there were extraordinary things beyond the dull world she had grown up surrounded by; yes, she could dare to reach out for the life she wanted, rather than the one others wanted for her, bowing to no one's will but her own. Those thoughts were all well and good for a teenager who had yet to take on her first real job, or get her foot on the first rung of the property ladder. Years later, she found herself not quite so optimistic. Sometimes you needed the ordinary work to pay the bills, and the ordinary home and ordinary boyfriend to keep you safe and warm at night. Sometimes, just to keep the peace, you had to pretend to be happy as you settled for a life that wasn't anything close to what you had always dreamed of. It wasn't quite as easy to reach out and make those dreams a reality as Jareth, with his tempting offers, had made it sound.
It wasn't every day she thought about the Goblin King and his demands, but he popped up often enough to mean he was never too far from her thoughts. He was in her head whenever she faced a challenge, whether it was an unexpected confrontation, or a particularly trying day at work. Or if I'm struggling to come. He's always willing to help out there.
Sarah snorted into her wine. The resulting spray was enough to cover her cheeks and nose, and to send her reeling back against the worktop, cackling with glee. At least the demanding asshole was good for something, even if it was just giving her libido a boost when things were a little too tame in the bedroom for her liking. I bet he wouldn't be tame in bed – not if those ridiculous pants of his were any inclination. That 'fear me, love me' thing was pretty hot, and as for being my slave …
Her mind only sank deeper into the gutter the further she dipped into her wine. Now that is a man who knows how to fuck, if I've ever seen one. Even if he was a twisted, domineering jackhole. My god, he was hot back then.
Before she knew it, she had gulped and giggled her way through most of the bottle, and all of that wine and the warmth it generated didn't do a damned thing to change her mind. I wonder if he still remembers me, and how I beat him. She took another long swallow. I wonder if he still has those fucking pants.
More laughter exploded from her lips; yet more wine was sucked in through them. Every flat surface of her modest kitchen now seemed like the perfect place for the Goblin King to take her across, and the more turned on she got, the harder and faster that taking became within her perverse thoughts. Ah, Christ, I need to do something about this. I need to do something about it now.
She could have called Steve, begging him to come back – begging him to take her to bed. She could have drunk-dialled any of her other exes, in the hope that at least one would be up for some late night, no strings fun, completely out of the blue. She would have hated herself the next morning if she had chosen either of those options, but she wasn't thinking about the future in that moment.
She wasn't thinking at all.
"Hey, Goblin King." The words rang out loud and proud, even though she could barely stand by that point. "You talked a lot of shit about fear and love back then, but what it all boils down to is that you want me, right? Well, if you want me so much, then why don't you just come and take me? Can't do it, huh? Can't do it when you haven't been called on, huh? Well, what if I even the sc…ore?" She raised a hand to stifle a belch. "I wish for it. You hear me? Sharah Williamsh wishes for the Goblin King to come and take her away, right fuckin' now."
Tap tap tap went his chamber door. "Bugger the fuck off," came his resounding roar.
Tap tap tap.
With a roll of his weary eyes, the Goblin King raised his ale cup to his lips and took another hearty swallow. He had no intention whatsoever of seeing the bottom of said cup that night.
Tap tap tap.
Six years. Six miserable, soul-crushing years, in which he had never once allowed himself the permission, or indeed the privilege, of taking a day off to call his own. Ruling over a kingdom – particularly one as disorderly as the Goblin Kingdom – wasn't the sort of calling that lent itself well to freedom and paid holidays, but to have laboured so long without taking a single personal day to rest was surely madness. No wonder his poor father, proud and conscientious man that he was, had all but turned cartwheels at his son's coronation, so eager was he to pass on the dreaded royal mantle. Jareth had no son of his own to relieve him of his duties and his burden; what he did have in abundance, for that one, precious evening, was ale, and wine, and sweet, honeyed mead. One way or another, the kingdom would just have to run itself while its ruler finally took a little well-earned time out to drink himself stupid.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The door-knocker persisted, hero or fool as they were, and every rap of their determined fist was a jarring blow to his dwindling patience. As the noise continued, the sullen Goblin King heaved himself to his feet and staggered across the room to see which unfortunate goblin had drawn the short straw when it came to interrupting his king's alone time.
The door flew open, and poor Nitpickins practically filled his already filthy undershorts when his king made an unsteady appearance in the entrance to his solar. A leather-clad hand shot across the threshold, and before the little grey goblin knew what was happening, he was up in the air, his scuffed boots kicking out in vain at least four feet above the ground. He could only pray that his king's fist remained clenched around his fraying collar, and not his scrawny neck. King Jareth glared at him through narrowed eyes as he lifted him higher still.
"Did I miss your knighthood ceremony?" Jareth asked.
Nitpickins' tiny, terrified mind held no answer. "M-my … my king?" he chirruped.
"Was I absent when you were dubbed a noble lord of the realm, or even – gods forbid – hailed as the new crown prince?"
The young goblin gulped. Wherever the conversation was going, it wasn't good. "N-n-n-no, my king."
The Goblin King nodded, having expected no other response. He took another gulp of his drink, eyes still fixed on his prey over the rim of his cup. "I see. So then, tell me why, if you are neither knight, nor lord, nor pr…ince-" He paused in his questioning to stifle a belch against his forearm, the small goblin swinging in his grasp as he did so. "Then why, dear Nitprick, do you consider yourself imporshen … imprort … special enough to completely ignore my command not to be disturbed under any circumstances for the next twenty-six hours? Is the castle by chance on fire? Are there ogres at our gates?"
Poor Nitpickins shook his unkempt head. "N-no, my king … b-but … there is … well … this." Trembling, the goblin thrust a glowing white crystal under his glowering ruler's nose. His squeak as the king released him in favour of snatching up the shining orb was part relief, even as he went tumbling to the hard stone floor below. He scrambled back onto his feet at once, sketching a bow even as he rubbed at his sore bottom. The king had been far too cranky lately to risk just slouching around in front of him. "You told us to come straight to you if the-girl-who-ate-the-peach ever made another wish. You told us to come find you, no matter what, and she did … she did wish!"
Jareth's eyes were fixed only on the crystal, hardly seeing the whimpering goblin beyond it. "How long ago was this?" he demanded.
"Just now, majesty. Nitpickins came to tell you right away, just like he was told!"
"Good … good." Jareth shoved his cup in the vague direction of the timid creature's voice, and wrapped both of his gloved hands around the crystal. "You did well to come here, but now you may go."
"Yes, my king. Thanking you kindly, my king."
Quick to take his cue, the tiny goblin scuttled off as fast as his legs could carry him, hardly able to believe his luck. Not every goblin could call himself fortunate enough to avoid punishment and secure a cup of the king's finest ale, all in the same night. Luckily for little Nitpickins, he was just smart enough to find somewhere far and safe enough from his king's wrath to settle down to drink it.
Jareth scoffed as he gazed into the crystal. He had replayed his Champion's wish more than once, and yet he still couldn't quite believe the woman's gall. For years, she had been content to let him wait and wonder, never allowing him a second chance to crush her strong spirit; years of silence and stalwart stubbornness in which he almost came to despair that she, the one girl who had ever managed to best him, might never be conquered. Years of nothing, and now this … proposition. Tempting as it was, there was no challenge – no worth in claiming such a hollow victory. Such a foolish wish, made in a moment of drunken weakness, could never give him the taste of power, of victory over her that he so craved. Given such liberties, he could take her, for his lover or his bride, his prisoner or his unwilling slave, and yet she would never really be his.
It irked him.
It outraged him.
Then, as a warm, sweet surge of inspiration took hold, it made him smile.
"Take you, dear Sarah? Take you? Oh, how I most certainly will."
How he managed the long walk to his personal library, he would never quite remember. Exactly how many books of curses and dark spells he pored over in his drunken state to find just the right one would forever remain a mystery to him. All the scheming Goblin King knew was that when he finally spoke those ancient words of power, and spilled the token amount of sacrificial blood, Sarah Williams would finally belong to him.
Sarah woke the next day with her head full of sand and her mouth full of rocks, or perhaps it was the other way around. Everything hurt. Her stomach felt like it had been tossed about like a volleyball, and her tongue seemed to be held together with nothing but sandpaper and battery acid. Fuck. Me. Never again. A demon must have been hiding down at the bottom of that wine bottle, ready to possess the poor soul that drank from it, because the deep, guttural groan that rolled up from her throat was nothing short of unholy.
She was sprawled, face down, in more pillows than she ever remembered owning, and when she finally fought herself free of those, there was an impossibly thick curtain of hair to contend with. Blonde hair. Did I find someone to take to bed after all? I don't even remember picking up the phone.
A quick scan of the otherwise empty bed told her that wasn't the case, but it also raised a new problem: she didn't know whose bed she was in. A few experimental tugs on those curious golden strands and the responding pain in her scalp revealed that she appeared to be the owner of the blonde hair. What the hell did I even do last night?
With great effort, she managed to roll her aching body onto its back, but that immediately brought the uncomfortable sensation of her cock pushing up against the sheets. Her hand was already halfway down her belly to fix that problem when her mind finally caught up, pulling her up short. Slowly, she peeled back the bedcovers to reveal a distinct lack of breasts, more soft, blonde hair, and a morning erection that seemed far too impressive on a woman of her size.
"Oh," she said, in a deep, rich voice that definitely wasn't hers, but that she remembered far too well. "Oh, no."