Fragile

By: Lara Winner

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Labyrinth or its characters.

I could fight this until the end

But maybe I don't want to win

I breathe you in again

Just to feel you

Underneath my skin, holding onto

The sweet escape is always laced with

A familiar taste of poison

-Halestorm "Familiar Taste of Poison"

I feel like I'm dying.

My heart is racing, the palpitations vibrating my chest in a furious rhythm that makes it hard to focus. I keep taking steady breaths but no matter how much air I take in it still feels like I'm suffocating. It's been minutes or maybe hours, I'm not sure how long I've been curled up on my bed hugging my knees. It's not going away, I need help.

Getting help is an altogether different challenge. I'm not sure I can actually coordinate my body properly. I try to stand but my legs are unsteady and my vision is hazy around the edges. I hold onto the wall with a trembling grip and slowly make my way into the hall. The corridor is tilted at an awkward angle and spots are swimming before my eyes. I will myself not lose consciousness.

A nurse notices me and I reach aimlessly for her as my legs give out. I slump down the wall into an ungainly heap on the floor. If I could breathe I would laugh at my own lack of dexterity.

Between my gasping and shaking I manage to say, "Panic… Attack…"

It doesn't take long for the nurse walk me back to bed and give me medications to calm my nerves and help me sleep. But I should have known that dreams would not offer comfort when fear was eating me alive.

I am falling.

Terror clutches me in its merciless grip as I frantically flail my arms about to somehow stop my plummet into the pitch black abyss below. But there's nothing but fetid air rushing up to sting my eyes and take my breath away.

Suddenly there are hands… everywhere.

They pull and grip and painfully halt my descent. Looking up I see light, very far away now. Something about this is familiar and yet not, like a memory gone wrong.

"Help!" I scream toward the light in the vain hope that someone or something will hear me.

"We are helping," multiple raspy voices croon at once. To my horror faces begin taking shape, grotesque formations of hands that look back at me hungrily.

"You're hurting!" I cry and sinister laughter erupts all around me. I scream in pain as fingernails morph into claws that begin to dig into my flesh.

One hideous face, larger than the rest, commands my attention.

"Up or down?" it asks.

Down is the way of forgotten things. I need to be in the light.

"Up. I want to go up," I plead.

The face twists into a sneer, "That's not what we want."

Wild, screeching laughter drowns out my scream as once more I begin falling but this time claws are ripping my skin to shreds as I tumble down into the forgotten depths.

I wake to my own muffled scream and oppressive darkness.

It takes a long moment before I start to register important details such as the hard floor beneath my back, the odd weight against my abdomen, the fact that I can't move my arms and the gloved hand pressed against my mouth. Squinting into the darkness I realize Jareth is perched on top of me, holding me down, bloody streaks staining his white linen shirt.

"Snap out of it Sarah!" he demands harshly, his voice a tense whisper.

I nod my head against his hand. Carefully he uncovers my mouth. Disoriented, I murmur, "You're bleeding."

"No," he rectifies sharply, "you are bleeding."

As if Jareth summons forth the pain with his words, I can feel thousands of needle pricks winding trails of fire all along my arms. Wincing, I ask, "Is it bad?"

"You've caused more harm to yourself in the past," he answers placidly, yet there's a touch of mockery in his tone that reflects in is hard glare as he says, "I'm going to let you go now. No hysterics."

He releases my wrists and the rush of feeling flows back into my hands and fingers as me moves off of me. I sit up gingerly, taking stock of what I've done. There are scratch marks up and down my forearms, some just red lines while other have broken the skin and ooze blood. It's not pretty but its also not fatal.

Jareth is right, I've done worse. But that offers little comfort at the moment.

I absolutely hate to cry in front of Jareth but there's no stopping the tears of frustration that well up and spill down my cheeks. "It was a dream," I cry desperately, "A fucking dream! I'm not even safe from myself when I'm asleep." Staring at my violently shaking hands all I can see is the blood caked under my nails. "What if I can't make it stop? What if I go too far?'"

"Then don't allow it to come to that," Jareth replies coolly.

Of course he's removed and rational. I don't expect compassion from the creature sitting beside me and the fact that he doesn't coddle me is enough to force me to try and get a grip. I envy his aloof demeanor and respect the unspoken challenge he's issued. I take a few deep breaths then rub away the evidence of tears and try to follow his lead.

"What do you suggest, Your Majesty?' I ask with caustic politeness.

"Must you ask?" he says with a twisted smirk. "Simply give in. End this silly battle of wills and I promise you will be yourself again."

Preferring anger to anxiety, I focus on my piqued ire and defiantly growl, "What the hell kind of choice is that?"

"A fair one," he replies tolerantly. "Unlike other poor wretches in this place you have a viable option."

"That's right, become your slave to reclaim my sanity," I retort sarcastically.

For a moment Jareth watches me in silent contemplation, his winged brows furrowed in thought. He sounds honestly puzzled and a little sad as he asks, "You would rather destroy yourself than let me love you?"

I ignore his earnestness and the way it tugs at my heart. "Coercion is not love Jareth and it's wrong. It's not fair to have that kind of control over someone!"

"And you assume that control is only in my grasp?" he snarls softly and a terrible shadow settles about his expression. "You break me with a look. You summon me to your side with a single thought. You deny all that I could give you out of pride. You have immense power Sarah, and you take it for granted," he sneers cruelly, "Tell me, is that fair?"

"It's not like that," I protest weakly, flinching at the vitriol in Jareth's accusations. I know that, in a sense, he's right. He's never tried to renounce my claim on him though he must resent it to a degree. And I do take for granted that he's always there, whether I can see him or not. I can't imagine the emptiness I'd feel if he were suddenly gone from my life. But I have very good reasons for not taking his crafty affections at face value.

"My precious girl," he says with dangerous gentleness, "It pains me in ways you can not fathom to watch you become nothing more than a shadow of yourself. And I warn you now Sarah, your fragile constitution will not hold out indefinitely so if you do not make a choice then I will make one for you."

"Damn it Jareth! You can't excuse forcing me to do what you want by saying it's for my own good," I snap.

"I will do what is necessary," he reaffirms, unmoved by my vexation.

As I look down at my hands and the rust smeared on my skin, panic bubbles up inside of me. How can I hold my own against Jareth when I have no control over myself? Am I willing to give up my identity, the last piece of myself that I can call mine?

Meeting his unrelenting gaze I summon everything I've got. "You have no power over me."

Instead of the anger or resignation I expected, Jareth's features alight with grim satisfaction. Suddenly I have the feeling that I've just done exactly what he predicted I would and it's undoubtedly to his advantage. A shiver of apprehensive anticipation runs down my spine.

"Are you so certain?" he asks archly, his mercurial nature shifting his mood from somber to flirty in the span of a heartbeat.

The grin Jareth's sporting can only be described as wicked as he moves toward me and out of reflex I scuttle back. There's only so far I can go before I'm backed up against the wall, literally. My panic blooms into a million butterflies because I'm well acquainted with this side of my capricious Goblin King and I know the devilish gleam in his eyes does not bode well for my nerves or my resolve.

Jareth takes my hand and his skin is warm against mine- I blink. "You… you were wearing gloves a second ago," I blurt out inanely.

"Yes I was," he laughs darkly, "and now I'm not. Much better for touching, wouldn't you agree?"

I make a small hum of agreement before I catch myself. Jareth may be adept at slinking past the cracks in my defenses and getting under my skin but that doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for him. I flash him an acerbic grin, "Disappearing gloves? Is that all you've got?"

"Hardly, little girl," he sneers before leaning in and capturing my lips in a bruising kiss.

Jareth's not gentle as he nips at my bottom lip eliciting a gasp at the curious sting and I shiver as his tongue sweeps against mine staking a claim that feeds the chaos within me into a violent fusion of uneasy desire. I reach up and push at his shoulders in an attempt for space but he gives no quarter. His kiss is intoxicating and I feel punch-drunk from the spike of raw need drawing down deep into my core. I'm barely aware that my fists are wrinkling his linen shirt and that I should be fighting him, not pulling him closer.

Always fighting. Always resisting.

Jareth pulls back slightly and I drag in a ragged breath. His mismatched eyes are aglow with hunger and I can feel the same ravenous fever coursing through my veins with each thundering beat of my heart.

This is the precipice we've been dancing toward for years. But tonight is different. I've never seen Jareth quite so affected by his own antics. His composure is tenuous at best and with a female's intuition I know that I could push him over the edge so very easily.

It's a decadent temptation and a dangerous game to initiate. I should be far more wary of the consequences. I should stop this before I give him yet even more leverage.

Leverage. Power. Control.

I've been just as afraid to take them as I have been to give them. But not anymore. I'm tired of doing what I should do. I refuse to succumb to my own madness. Jareth proclaims I have power. He vows I can break him. We'll see about that.

"Be careful what you want," I whisper against his lips, "you might get it."

I pull him to me, pressing myself against him and the game is begun. My kisses and caresses are a bit clumsy and his are rough with crumbling restraint but it only fuels the fire we've started. I can feel the flames seeping like poison into my soul spiraling and pulsing like a living thing needing to be released.

Clothing disappears, whether by magic or frantic pulling I'm not sure, probably both. We walk the fragile line between pleasure and pain. My nails score his skin as his teeth mark territory on my collarbone. I allow his fingers to wander and tease and I take in each euphoric sensation greedily. But when Jareth tries to move on top of me I embrace my reckless abandon and push him down onto his back growling, "Mine!"

Because it is. The pleasure, the moment, his body and even his obsession are mine for the taking, to exploit and use as I will. And Jareth understands my voracity. I can see the depraved gratification in his lidded gaze as he drinks in the sight of me; naked, sweaty and without inhibitions. I take him inside of me and even the pain is delicious as he grips my waist and clenches his teeth. I watch a king become my slave with the just a movement of my hips.

A small voice far in the back of my mind warns that Jareth would not be so complacent if there wasn't something valuable I was giving him in return, but I can't hold onto the reasoning amidst this wild rush of feeling. I rock my body and claw his ribs for purchase as the heady promise of fulfillment begins to dance just out of reach. Staring into his fever-glazed eyes unbidden words roll off my tongue.

"Fear me."

Only your potential, sweetling.

"Love me."

I do, so very much.

"Do as I say."

Perhaps, on occasion.

"And I will be your slave."

As you wish.

I cry out as ecstasy, undiluted and mind-rendering, erupts under my skin spreading like a wildfire scorching everything in its wake. I can barely draw a breath as tremors ripple though my body, each wave leaving me tingling and a little less coherent than the last.

I'm too dizzy to really comprehend Jareth's crystalline laughter or the implications of what could make him so happy.

The last thing I see before allowing my eyes to slide shut is the disjointed image of the world falling down.

A.N.- Alas here is my next humble offering with a twist of lemon. I debated on how graphic to get with this chappy because trying to balance the right mix of fear, lust and resented affections can get a bit difficult without adding a sex scene that would make a porn star blush. But there is at least one more scene with citrus, if not two, coming up in the story so if y'all want it a little more "tart" let me know.

I also tried not to go overboard with the romance. While I adore fluff in the right context, between Sarah and Jareth it just seems out of place. I can't imagine Jareth being gentle and sweeping Sarah off her feet. He may have moments where he is affectionate but he's just not our beloved goblin king if he's not a bit psychotic at the same time. It's that little bit of dangerous instability that makes him such a naughty temptation, am I right ladies?

I'm not sure if I like how this came out but after a bunch of deleting, cutting, pasting, rewriting and a small pile of scrap paragraphs I think this is about as good as it will get. I will try o have ch. 4 ready to post next week. As always, thank you for reading and reviews are much loved.