I always enjoy updating this fic, it just sort of writes itself.

I do not own any of Jim Henson's work.

Warnings: some violence, language, sexual situations


Steal my blood and steal my heart
Whatever it takes to get you off

In my bones and in my soul
Always be in your control

Bitch, Allie X


Rain is an ever present company these last few days, and he finds it humorous that his Labyrinth is reacting so negatively to his champion's presence, as if it can sense her and weeps for her suffering. His kingdom shall flood before he decides to care.

Time moves slowly in her presence, a pinnacle to his never ending existence, a distraction - even if only briefly. For someone as old and powerful as he, death is a fascination - an experience he'll never willingly seek but will most likely never endure either, something he merely gifts to others. He despises that her existence is so limited, while he continues to age and warp over centuries, his mind tangling over memories, losing himself amidst the clutter. His mortal could simply cease to exist so easily, as frail as she is. Their games could end before he has even begun to truly enjoy them.

That thought stirs him, lancing like a blade between his ribs, a disconcerting realization. His hunger is warping yet again - into what, he isn't entirely sure. Warm arms embrace an icy body, shaky breaths against a frigid chest, as his champion sleeps curled around him. The pain was too much for her, he'd forgotten the rumored misery of the experience…

He cringes, unsure why he can't simply enjoy her pain as he'd longed to all this time. He smothers the irritation over the matter with self-serving disregard, slowly stroking black locks between his fingers, mimicking the mortal's nervous habit that she thinks he doesn't notice, enjoying the motion he's often envied her frail fingers of.

Frailty… oh yes, she was frail. Fierce, foolish, young and ill-mannered. All things he could fix in time. He catches himself in the thought, as if he intended to mold her instead of break her. As if you would make her something more than a mere treat, his mind whispers, mocking him for such a thought. His salacious grin spreads. What a devil he is to entertain such ideas.

As he has proven, his intentions are always for his own benefit. Such a fragile thing, his Sarah. He simply couldn't have that. So he'd stolen her frailty from her, gifted her something in return. What a foolish thing to have done, he chuckles darkly to himself. Foolish, but delightful. A never-ending game between them.

There is now a piece of light within the black depths inside of him. It burns uncomfortably, but he finds the sensation pleasing. It will remain a part of him until the day he claws it out of his chest, this little piece of white light, so pure and innocent. It delights him even now as he rubs the part of his chest above his heart, feeling the sensation bloom and mingle with his potent darkness. He wonders if she will feel this burn too, or if she will feel the chill of his being instead. Her body is still warm, much to his pleasure. He hadn't been sure if she'd grow cold with the change. He enjoys her warm-blooded nature, another piece of her he often craves.

A whimper escapes pink lips, a tell of more of her broken dreams. There are reasons she has only slept when he had forced it upon her since her arrival. Had he been a weaker being, he would have studied her dreams, learned what had been done to her to make her mind so restless, her behaviors so erratic and impulsive, yet so brazen and unyielding. But he wasn't, and he wouldn't. It didn't matter in the end.

Sarah sits up suddenly, black hair in tangled tresses falling around a petrified face, eyes stark with sleep and disorientation. He ignores his body's reaction to the cold when her warm limbs leave him. She doesn't seem to be awake, her eyes lifeless even as she pats her cheeks with nimble fingers that come away glistening with remnants of tears. She laughs, amused by something.

"My darling creature," he purrs lowly from his pillow, a wolfish grin spreading on his lips – despite himself, he's missed her repartee while she's recovered. "Bad dreams?"

Jareth tugs her onto his lap as he sits up against the massive headboard, enjoying how very compliant his precious creature is in her dreamy state. She straddles him without resistance, arms lifeless at her sides as he draws one wrist to his lips and brushes it with a kiss, her pulse slow and rhythmic against the skin. She doesn't acknowledge him, still unaware to the world around her.

"Shouldn't cry," she whispers to herself, "Loves it when I cry."

Jareth runs his tongue along her cheek, the track of tears dissolving against his tongue, the delectable taste of her skin igniting hunger in his blood. Taste like sugar, she'd said to him, though she is sweeter and more addictive like ambrosia.

"Your tears only sweeten you, darling," his voice rumbles.

"He thinks they're adorable, likes them more than my screams," she mumbles, green eyes thickly fogging.

Jareth pieces together her meaning - a reference to the Doctor. She whimpers then, he hadn't noticed his grip tightening against her hips. So the Doctor likes his victims timid and crying? How unfortunate for him that Jareth prefers them screaming.

His champion is still lost in her daze as he grasps her by the nape and draws her closer to him, running his tongue along her lips before nipping and kissing her slowly. He aches, and his bodily instinct is to shove her away in irritation over the matter, but her precious tongue flicks out to taste him in return and he allows it, quite enjoying himself.

"I like your taste. Makes me forget," she whispers softly, delicate fingers slowly rubbing the spot above her heart now, a soft furrow of her brows in confusion.

An unfamiliar tug in his chest makes his claws sharpen, startling his attention away from her movements. Jareth rolls her to her back, studying the creature with dual eyes. She's soft beneath him, legs cradling him now. The idea to wake her from her state and indulge makes him growl, pressing into her fully as he takes her lips once more. She's gotten better at receiving his advances, receptive and learning with every time he falls prey to her allure and indulges. Her hips push up to meet his, the grind pulling a hiss from him. It's becoming painful, these teasing moments, but he loses himself in her, working her up with measured thrusts, grinding his aching length against her damp, heated core till she's drowsily writhing beneath him, fervently kissing him back as she clutches him. He could make her come like this, half-asleep and so pleasing. Not a full, mind numbing release, but a soft, edge-setting release to leave her aching for him - begging for him. Then, when he was inside her, he would let her shatter.

But if he indulges now... no, that wouldn't do. To have this waif of a thing, so young and reckless, sitting alongside his throne? Like an equal? The usual anger and resentment floods him, but the first flicker of doubt singes his black heart as he realizes his vendetta is growing less enticing than his other desires.

He pulls away sharply, severing their contact. He isn't thinking clearly. She is breathing heavily, eyes fluttering closed, pink lips reddening, dark hair spilling over his sheets. Still stuck in her dream world, body still exhausted from the gift he's given her.

With a vile curse, Jareth vanishes from his room to find distraction and release elsewhere.


Who knew the King of her nightmares had an obsession with barely-there, presumably expensive lingerie?

Arrogant, depraved Goblin King.

She rolls her eyes at the red, lace bralette and skimpy thong that is no more than a string that she's been dressed in while she slept, obviously for his own amusement.

Feeling warm and energetic in a way that tingled her bones, she had awoken in his bed, sheets mussed from one corner to the next, an obvious sign of her distressed sleep - though she remembered none of her dreams.

Had he slept here beside her after cleaning and dressing her? The image of Jareth in such a vulnerable position as sleep makes her scowl, a brutally human picture of him in her mind that dares to distort her vision of him and all his power. In a flurry of movements less fluid than usual - finding her knees locking and her head drowsy - Sarah pounces from the warmth of the bed and scans for her captor. There's the sound of cascading water in the en-suite bathroom, and she perks up instantly. Perhaps she should repay him for watching her bathe. A perfect opportunity to regain her footing in their little sparring match.

But how to assert herself as an opponent after such a wounding loss? These garments wouldn't do. No, he wouldn't be getting a single ounce of pleasure in seeing her like this. She strolls casually to his chest of drawers and steels out one of his white blouses, pulling it over her head and rolling the sleeves. It swallows her and she grins, amused at how vastly more erotic this feels than prancing in undergarments before him ever had. Touching his things felt forbidden, a trickle of thrill in the action of it, her rebellious nature rearing its ugly head and filling her with luscious adrenaline. He thought to trap her for another two hundred years? Ha! He'll forsake her long before then, and she would savor every second of his torment until that moment.

Sarah saunters into his bathroom, eyeing him in the shower across from her, the glass fogged from the heat of the water. He must have already sensed her movements, because his own gaze locks on her expectantly as she comes around the corner. Obviously anticipating her arrival in something more enticing, his gaze roams over her from head to toe, a flare of black in the depths of icy blue before locking eyes with her with a very vivid 'are you fucking kidding me' glare. So he didn't approve of her sticky fingers pilfering through his wardrobe? Perfect. She grins brightly, nibbling on her bottom lip to resist a snicker.

"Just trying to smother my heathen-like nature, Jareth. Isn't that what you wanted?" she spins in place, showing off the billowy shirt like a pretty dress.

Jareth refuses to entertain his elicit thoughts as she shows off for him. Her voice is a serene, her smile tinged with something truly deviant. Perhaps she's finally brought out the claws he so very much likes. Enticing little minx.

"In my chambers, I'll keep you as I like. If you tempt me, I'll simply keep you naked, like the heathens of old," he drawls, lathering himself in suds and taking his measured time with it.

Sarah watches him do so, regrettably enjoying the view. She's never seen anyone so naked before, aside from herself, and she is fascinated by how riveting she finds the mere sight of water sluicing down his chiseled features. Her tongue presses to the roof of her mouth, tempted to follow those trails eagerly on its own. Nothing about him resembles the men of her past, he was an alien where they were pigs, different in quality and design but not necessarily better in nature. Still yet, his wickedness has its own draw, like an enchanted, crisp red apple in the hands of a starving victim, all too tempting to bite and taste - even at the risk of death. He did nothing to hide himself from her, perhaps enjoying her study of him… The thought snaps her from her delectable view, eyes narrowing on his once more.

"Care to explain what you did to me last night?" she asks, approaching the glass with slow steps.

"Last night?" he chuckles, and it is rich – a flicker of amusement more genuine than it is deadly. "I'm afraid you've been out for several days, pet."

"Days?" her breath catches in her throat, "I slept for days?"

"Are you so opposed to nourishing your body that even sleep appalls you?"

"Perhaps I've simply developed an inclination to never be so vulnerable within the proximity of evil men," she bit back tartly before she could catch the words on her tongue.

Jareth's features grow stone cold at her words. Perhaps he avoids considering what had been done to her by the good Doctor and didn't appreciate the reminders. If the truth enraged him… well that certainly shouldn't please her.

"What did you do to me?" her voice is a low hum as she changes the topic, a pretense for her stifling curiosity.

The water stops, and he steps out into full view. His body is… captivating. She can't draw her eyes from him fast enough, trailing over every plain of his chest, stomach and then the obviously straining erection between his legs. Heat flares in her gut, a clenching between her legs, and her tongue swipes across her lower lip unconsciously before meeting his gaze once more. He tilts his head at her, flashing teeth in a smile that is more a warning, as if to remind her of who she is ogling. He dries himself with a white towel, striding toward her with a grace only he seems to capture, stopping when he is inches away to lean in close and invade her space, perhaps to stifle her confidence by using her innocence against her once more. He should know better by now, innocence was a shackle she no longer bears.

"Aren't you quick to the point, my darling creature," his own tone is sizzling, apparently not so unaffected by her greedy eyes. "As I promised, I gave you a gift."

Sarah turns to fully face him, fighting the heat in her cheeks and the urge to dip her gaze lower.

"Tell me," she asks prettily, absolutely petrified to know, dying to find out.

"I've made you immortal, Sarah. After all, I did promise to return you home. Alive." He is grinning so darkly at her. Her brain short circuits as it processes this news.

"You're lying," she accuses with a careless air, dismissing his words as though it were the easiest thing in the world to do. An ache begins in her chest, subtle at first, and she finds her fingers absentmindedly rubbing the spot on her chest to assuage the icy sensation as it grows.

Jareth's hands are suddenly on the collar of the shirt she wears, and in one fluid move he rips it down the front before removing it from her entirely. His eyes graze over the sight of her before he spins her in spot to face the floor length mirror behind her. One hand on her shoulder, the other clasping her neck, locking her in his embrace as he stares at her in the glass.

"You can already see its effects on you," his words heat against her ear. Her eyes graze over her own frame, as if she would find some kind of infallible mark to identify this change.

Instead she sees herself. But she is… glowing. It's subtle, but she can see her bones are not jutting quite so much anymore from beneath her skin that is now a lovely glow of porcelain instead of the ghastly pale as before, and her cheeks have a color that's more natural to them, the bruises under her eyes gone, and her hair looks healthy, vibrant. It's nothing exceptional, but surely what she'd have developed naturally had she not been subjected to the institution for years.

"I'll still expect you to fill yourself out, my precious thing. The Doctor and his medicines may have riddled you bare to the bone, but you've allowed this," he trails his fingers from her neck down to the band of her thong in a slow stroke, "To whither in your own foolish negligence of it since escaping him."

He was chastising her appetite and insomnia even as he gazes at her as though he were desperate to devour her in that moment. Her mind is still too fuzzy processing what he's done to her to retaliate. Like the fog crystallizing into ice on the windows surrounding them, so too does the ice inside of her thicken and burn like dry ice, evicting any remaining sensibility amidst the scattered remnants of her lucidity. For the briefest of seconds, she feels consumed by something far darker than herself, something more powerful.

"Careful, Jareth," her voice is a husky, lethal melody of warning. "Someone might think you're beginning to care."

"What good are you to me if you die from some mortal ailment? I ensured to eradicate the possibility. However, I welcome your attempts of retribution," a razor sharp smile flashes in the mirror, his desire dissipating behind the challenge, before turning from her and continuing into his chambers.

"Careful what you wish for, Goblin King," she whispers to herself, fingers curling painfully into her palms.


Fucking immortal. Of course he had. Why not ensure she lived an eternity, ensnared or hunted, to reflect what she'd done to him - ensnared and haunted. She was so very sick of losing say over her existence and the manner in which she lived it. So very sick of being trapped, coerced, toyed with. She could never return home now, and they both knew it. What would she say when her family aged, when Toby became an adult, and she remained an eighteen year old girl?

"How did this happen?" Thomas is perhaps more so appalled than she is by this turn of events. Not surprising, the man seems incapable of deciding who irks him more – Sarah or his King.

Jareth left her in her little hole of a room hours ago. It could have been days really, the light never changes outside her window so she can't be sure how much time has passed. Thomas was the only break in the ice of her captivity, and her mind had worked itself into a festering, chaotic mess by then.

Thomas jerks roughly on the laces of the corseted dress Jareth sent for her to wear tonight to his little dinner party. Sarah coughs, the air knocked right out of her as he finishes. It had taken several failed attempts to dress herself before the man brusquely interjected, yet surprisingly he avoided touching her as he assisted, not even an accidental brush of the fingers. Had he noticed her aversion to touch?

"Oh, you mean this wasn't part of the master plan behind my abduction and eventual torture and mutilation?" she bites back, acidic words dipped in sugar.

Thomas frowns at her in the mirror from behind as he straightens his own shirt, a begrudging approval in his eyes. This gown was designed to entice, the crimson red like fresh blood against her skin. Its corseted waist and thickly gathered skirt make her look beyond her years, and eons more seductive than she was capable of on her own.

"Jareth does as he pleases. I simply find it hard to believe he would bind his being to yours when his intentions for you have been made so clear."

Sarah chokes on her next breath. "What did you say?"

Thomas nods. "Imagine snipping a hole out of your soul, and replacing it with a piece of his own. You live eternally now, because he does. A bond like this is considered sacred, yet he wastes it on someone so undeserving." Thomas doesn't even have to try to cut at her the way Jareth does. Somehow, his genuine sentiments toward her inadequacies are more annoying.

"No. I'll cut it back out, extinguish any part of him from myself," she can feel her chest restricting as the ringing begins again. Don't lose it now, can't lose it now.

Thomas steps closer, that familiar Fae chill brushing against her exposed shoulders with his proximity. He levels his eyes on her, and she imagines he would have snatched her by the shoulders to shake her but is resisting.

"Do not reject the bond. It will poison you, kill you, if you do not accept the change within you. Don't even think of it as something other than a piece of you now," his words are moderate, not as harsh, but they're no less condemning.

His hate doesn't seep so low that he would allow her ignorance to kill her. At least there was that – a bond over her survival, if anything. Thomas gives her a curt once over, nodding with approval before extending an arm for her to take. Sarah raises an eyebrow at him, a mocking twitch on her lips at his gentlemanly gesture.

Thomas drops it instantly with a grumbling, "Come, before we're late."


"I always cherish these intimate visits, my Lord," a pretty blonde is sighing over her wine.

Sarah snorts into her own glass. This 'intimate' visit involved a total of twenty guests seated at a massive table and presently enjoying their fourth course of the night. Jareth sits at the head, the blonde to his right, Thomas to his left, and Sarah beside Thomas. Dual eyes pin her with narrow gaze at the noise, but she merely smiles sweetly back at him, licking the wine off her lips. Jareth has entertained this woman's attentions all night, disgustingly musing over her and all her tiresome gossip and self-indulging remarks.

Sarah can't recall if this the same as the one she met at the ball. Jareth seems to have a preference for blonde hair, blue eyes and this one could be one of many he entertains himself with.

She stabs a carrot on her plate, but doesn't bother eating it. She's ignored every course thus far, mostly out of spite. Her ire is mounting with every passing second, and she is itching for a fight. Her mind is a working machine, churning up a strategy of pure idiocrasy in her eroding state of mind. The revelation of what he'd done to her is disturbing, his complete disregard for her, his amusement with her powerless state. It's all just sizing up to be an utter meltdown on her side of the court.

"Is there an issue with the foods my cooks have provided, Sarah?"

Jareth's direct question startles her. He'd ensured her lips were locked once more with one of his crystals before they'd entered the dining hall, and neither he nor anyone else had deigned her with more than a few leering glances all night.

"I'm sure it's delicious," she hums spitefully.

"Then eat it." His command is sharp, and the startled stares from those around her only delight her.

She takes the carrot she'd impaled and takes a refined bite, just enough to make him bristle at her insolence, before pushing her plate away once more.

"Are you watching your figure, Defeater?" blondie asks, a sly curl to her perfect lips, her blue eyes sharp and calculating behind delicate lashes.

"Just saving room for dessert. I have a craving for something sweet," Sarah gives Jareth a siren's smile, batting her lashes with lethal kill-you-in-your-sleep eyes. His jaw clenches. The woman glances between the pair, a ruffle in her demeanor with her apparent dislike of whatever is crackling between them.

"Sweets will hardly sustain you. However will we invite you to the King's bed if you don't build your strength?" she chuckles merrily, as if she's told some kind of joke, several others chuckling darkly around her. Sarah sees red for a moment, but her mask of bored-temptress is still holding strong amidst her mounting fury.

"My darling creature is far too innocent for such games, Bianka," Jareth gives the woman a devious grin, brushing the back of his hand along the curve of the woman's nearly exposed breasts.

She swoons into his attentions, distracted for the moment, but he's already locked his eyes on Sarah once more. She ignores him, faking a yawn and patting her lips with her hand in a show of boredom.

"Defeater, perhaps you would like to make a recommendation for dessert?" Thomas asks, derailing the conversation.

Sarah blinks at the man. More surprises from the second-hand man today. Sarah taps her chin in thought, scrunching her features comically, though an idea had already trickled into her mind that had her giddy from the inside out.

"You know, Thomas, since you asked, I think s'mores sound absolutely mouthwatering."

A tension seems to have stolen through her captor. Jareth's gaze settles on Thomas briefly, a look of warning, or perhaps irritation.

"Oh! An Aboveground treat, how exciting," Bianka's tinkling voice grates Sarah's ears.

Surprisingly, plates with graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows are instantly rolled out, little candles at every plate for roasting them. Sarah wastes no time charring her first one to a crisp, ignoring the other ingredients and devouring the charred, gooey fluff in one bite. She licks the remnants from sticky fingers, ignoring everyone around her in favor of the treat.

"Your human has a lovely tongue, my Lord," the man beside her is grinning as he speaks, watching her every movement as she repeats with a second marshmallow. His insinuation only ignites her, adding to the growing chill inside of her that is beginning to consume her thoughts. This darkness was like a manifestation of her own, usual dark thoughts. Something more provocative and addictive, something more powerful.

Ears ringing. Heart racing. Nails itching to claw.

"She needn't remain so innocent," Bianka agrees, her tone a deep purr. She reaches a hand across the table to touch Sarah's face. Sarah forces her body to remain still, ignoring how sickly the contact will make her feel, her fingernails dig into the tender flesh of her thigh, biting skin through the thick skirt to avoid backhanding the woman away from her.

"Do not touch my possessions, unless you wish to lose one of your lovely hands," Jareth's smooth voice holds no ounce of emotion, yet the silken words held no less of a threat.

The woman pulls back sharply, elegantly folding her hands back into her lap. Jealousy is alight in the woman's eyes, and Sarah speculates she is a favored mistress, one with idealistic hope of becoming more and despising anything that stands in her way of that. 'Anything' presently being the dark haired heathen at the table.

Sarah, incapable of speaking, pops a third marshmallow in her mouth, licking her lips clean with obvious disregard for the woman's insecurities.

"Defeater, this is how you roast a marshmallow. Whoever taught you to burn such a tasty treat?" Thomas asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension around them, barely lifting his eyes from the marshmallow he is meticulously roasting to a golden brown. Sarah's lips twitch, amused for once over something other than Jareth's torment.

"What can I say? I like them black and bitter, like my heart," she coos, lighting another marshmallow on fire. Thomas's cheek twitches, fighting a reaction to her response.


Sarah watches with passive disdain for the after-party unfolding before her. The music, the laughter and drinking - it all bristles against her nerves, a sinister malcontent solidifying with every passing moment. The ice, it burns in her chest, and she's begun to suspect that this frigid sensation is the piece of himself that Jareth 'gifted' her. Her skin has reddened from rubbing at the spot, but cold only grows with each passing moment. It was likely due to her inability to accept it, as Thomas had told her to. It is foreign, it feels foreign, and she wants none of it, even as she recognizes the terribly sinister darkness that seeps from it like a heady drug.

"I am prettier than you." Bianka's voice pulls her from her watchful gaze. It's more factual than spiteful as she appraises Sarah.

Sarah smiles smartly at the woman, before dropping the smile into a look of disregard.

"How cold you are, for such a warm blooded creature," Bianka muses. "Perhaps that is why you warmed the King's bed these last few days, while he in turn warmed mine."

Sarah blinks back at the woman. Bianka was grinning, obviously intent on slicing away at Sarah's feeble human feelings. Sarah laughs. Loudly, excessively, the noise growing into something raucous as Sarah feels the last of her sensibilities shatter in favor of her more treacherous thoughts, the darkness spilling into her heart. The woman frowns, confused, before simply disappearing.

Without a single pair of eyes on her, forgotten to her silence, Sarah silently stands, maneuvering just so as she turns and makes her way to her destination so that no one notices the candle lit within her hands.


Screams. Panic. For being immortal beings they certainly had a lack of courage in the face of a minor catastrophe. Of course, the throne room – surprisingly easy to find from the dining hall - succumbing to the engulfing inferno within it perhaps was not considered a minor catastrophe. Nor was the curling smoke filling the halls, muffling the chaotic chatter and fear amongst the revelers.

Sarah had to admit, she was impressed with how very flammable everything had proven to be, and she'd only singed her gown in a handful of places, a few blisters forming on her fingers, a smudge of soot on her nose and cheek.

Jareth stands at the entrance of his throne room, several tension thick moments passing before he waves a hand over the space, extinguishing the flames entirely in one gust, leaving behind black char and ash. He turns slowly, eyes scanning for her and her breath catches in… excitement? Anticipation? Perhaps this is what insanity feels like. His guests dissipate in fear, as if a silent warning had scared them off, the teetering control radiating from him growing dense in the air.

Sarah leans against the wall not twenty feet from him, casually eating another blackened marshmallow, preening at him, unmistakably pleased with herself. Despite the fact that his body language and features depict imminent death, she keeps a level gaze with him as he prowls towards her. Thomas traces between the pair, shoulders squaring and back to her. She chuckles in delight at this turn of events.

"Perhaps I should deliver the human to a cell, until you've decided what's to be done with her," his firm voice is so rationally calm between the mounting cloud of Jareth's temper, and the uninhibited, vindictive human behind him.

"Leave us, Thomas," Jareth's voice is surprisingly lit with amusement, but his eyes are blades of silver.

Instead of tracing away as the others had, Thomas widens his stance. Sarah had to give it to the man, he couldn't stand her, yet he was imperiling his life to stop his King from his next move.

Jareth flashes a predator's smirk at the man, tracing around him and solidifying an inch in front of her. Sarah glances up with big, doe eyes, an innocent mask in place. She brought the last of her sticky fingers to her mouth to lick away the marshmallow bits, but Jareth caught her wrist, drawing the finger between his own lips, hot tongue licking away the sugary confection as he sucks on it. Lust floods her, eyes glazing with desire even as her fury builds behind her serene demeanor. He releases the finger with a sharp bite on the pad of her fingertip, moving his grip to frame her neck in his hand. A sudden tingling down her throat – ah, he's removed her seal.

"How very… foolish of you, Sarah," he speaks lowly, a husky timber sweeping over her skin.

"Oops, you're right. I'd intended to burn down the whole kingdom," she gives him a boo-hoo pout. "To err is human," she sighs disappointingly, ignoring his grip tightening around her neck.

He laughs harshly, but it is strained and fragmented through the restraint he is using not to irreparably harm her.

"Do you think I will not destroy you, as I have every runner before you? Do you think defeating my Labyrinth makes you untouchable?" He brushes his nose over hers, as if he can't help himself from touching her.

"That's just it though, isn't it? That I am so untouchable," Sarah says, running her finger along the sharp expanse of his chin. "Seems to me like your just a sore loser, Jareth," she laughs coldly, smiling even as cold fingers cease the flow of oxygen to her lungs, the eyes of a madman the last thing she sees as his restraint finally snaps.


A/N:

To address some themes and questions -

J/S jealousy factors:

Sarah's jealousy is much more an indication of her youth, and slightly childish in nature. It is more so directed at the idea that there are potentially other defeaters of the Labyrinth, that she isn't special in that sense, and that Jareth's infatuation with her holds no significance. Less so on the aspect that he's sleeping around with other women, though that too irks her - if she is to be controlled by possessive men, why do they get to flounce around and dally with other women? Tit for tat.

Jareth's jealousy is more defined. He's possessive and considers her his due for the havoc she's wrought on him. He doesn't like that she's been abused by another, for various reasons. So the fact that Sarah laughs at him, an all powerful being, and unravels for a mortal Doctor gets under his skin. She has associated the Doctor with despair and pain, while she associates Jareth with amusement.

Will J/S end up together:

This relationship is built on warped feelings for one another, and they both are channeling those feelings in whatever way pleases them presently. Whether they'll end up together, you'll have to keep reading to find out :)

Also, I really enjoy some of the comparisons you all have made regarding this version of Sarah. Winona Rider especially, she is one of my favorite actresses of all time - I adore her and everything she has ever done so I love that some of this Sarah's traits resemble her.

Side note - I am in the process of getting my AOO account up and going, so I'll hopefully have that completed over the weekend - really excited to try their site out!

Keep those reviews coming - I enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing these chapters!