here it is! i was having a bit of trouble with this one, does it show? anywho, i love the reviews! They keep me writing! i am so grateful to everyone who took the time to let me know they like the story. ^_^
*rifles through her stack of papers and mumbles* okay, the warnings, the warnings. *ahem*---if you need adult supervision to see R-rated movies, or if you have trouble digesting situations of a 'sexual nature'---please GO NO FURTHER! Those of you left may proceed. ^_^
btw, I've been thinking of posting my first labyfic, as incomplete and stupid as it is. Just a thought, but would anybody be interested in reading it????
Title: Twice Upon A Time
Author: Loki
Rating: R, mostly for language, but clearly not all.
Disclaimer: all standard ones apply.
~*~*~*~
Chapter Five: The Language of Roses
It took Sarah at least an hour to get up the courage to make a conscious decision to go down those stairs. She couldn't recall how long it had actually taken to go down. Without Jareth to hold onto it took much, much longer. It was also, no doubt, quite amusing. To see a girl, such as Sarah, scooting down the sky, testing each invisible step and pausing every few minutes to make sure she was still on something solid. She spent the rest of the time cursing Jareth. And just in case he was having a good laugh---making many gruesome promises. She did make it down, eventually. Now she was sitting upon her bed, exhausted, shaken, waiting for the time to move on so she could go to school. In her hand was the sterling rose, she hadn't brought it with her, it had simply appeared when she did. She wasn't sure what Jareth intended with that. Probably a reminder of exactly how he had over-powered her, and how she had let him. Sarah sighed, laid the flower gently upon the vanity and picked up her books. A little early, but it gave her time to think. Even if she wasn't certain that was a good idea. Karen's eyebrows raised as Sarah passed her in the hall, but Sarah moved on, only pausing at Toby's door for a moment.
The walk to school was uneventful and quiet; her only company was the sound of her shoes crunching over the broken sidewalk. All the company she wanted. The front entrance was practically deserted, some girl sat upon the steps up, reading. They glanced at each other a moment then continued on with their own little worlds. Sarah found a cozy corner right outside the entrance, picked up Titus Groan and flipped it open. It would be another twenty or so minutes before Ashley would likely show. She decided reading was a great way to make the clock turn faster.
"Sarah!"
Both she and her silent companion jumped as if struck. The girl, whose name clearly wasn't Sarah, looked at her expectantly, then to the pale, lanky boy trotting up the front sidewalk. Guilt was the first thing Sarah felt. But if it was because of Jeremy or Jareth---she couldn't tell. I like Jeremy. Perhaps he's not as commanding in presence as Jareth, but that's a good thing. It is! She closed her book and stood up, only throwing a momentary thought to her appearance. As absurd as that was, Jeremy had been her friend for a good year now, he had seen all her many costumes.
"Why are you here so early?"
"Why are you?"
He shrugged, "I have a make-up test and it was either come early or stay after school."
"Oh." Insert an awkward silence that caused both to shift nervously. Jeremy's my friend, this shouldn't be happening. She glanced through strands of her dark hair and smiled, trying to set them both at ease. Of course, it only seemed to strain things further. Damn Ashley, I could have put this off for awhile!
"Yeah, well, I gotta go."
"Good luck"
"Thanks."
Well, that went well. The other girl was smirking blindly at her Psychology book, Sarah couldn't think of anything that might be so funny upon those pages. Go ahead and laugh. Laugh-Laugh-Laugh. Sarah retrieved the rest of her books and let her feet carry her away. She didn't know where she could go, but walking was definitely what she needed. The school was of moderate size, and she had never bothered walking the perimeter all at once. Unfortunately, for her, walking and thinking went hand in hand, one always led to the other. And she had much to think about, but oddly she kept flashing on Jareth kneeling beside the lake. A quietness she could never have believed of him, if she hadn't seen it for herself. She still found it hard to grasp. The man has so many faces---how can I trust him if I don't know which one is real!? She hesitated, stopping to press her free hand against the slowly warming brick. When has this ever been a matter of trust? I shouldn't even be considering it.
Just then a glint of pale lavender caught her eye; she glanced down to the ground to see the rose softly laid out at her feet. How---how did it get here? She swept it up and cast her eyes about suspiciously, but knew he wouldn't be there. At least, not where she could see. He did enjoy all his little games.
She put the rose in her locker for safe-keeping, only to find it sitting, screaming colour upon her bland first period desk. She snatched it up to the tune of so many knowing glances. Some of them even had the brazenness to snicker. Second period break she deposited it again at her locker only to find another set against the grey metal, and the first still where she had left it. Three roses and the fourth likely at home. If Jareth was trying to embarrass her . . .he sure had her number. Second period and another on her desk, another at her locker. Another and another and another. Between dodging curious observers and collecting roses she contented herself with making plans for the Labyrinth's illustrious King.
Staring at the pile of roses in her locker, beautiful, unnerving, mostly silver but not all. She felt tears rising, not of any pain, but because life was just too complicated sometimes. "Take this rose," she mouthed silently, tossing it atop the others. It was crimson. The colour of love, but red was also the colour of rage. It came from her enemy, her conquest, her pursuer, and supposedly her 'King'.
"Hey."
Sarah slammed the door so hard that many of those around her jumped, including Jeremy. She smiled at him, didn't want him to see all the roses. But word got around worse than influenza so she was pretty certain he already knew all about them. He wouldn't ask.
"Hey yourself," she leaned against her locker. "How'd your test go?"
He shrugged, "Okay. What about you? How are you doing?"
"Just great," she chirped falsely.
"Hmm, well," he stared down at his shoes then up at her. It was obvious that he and his next words were fighting, neither seemed the victor. "Ashley told me about Jareth."
Sarah remained utterly still, she didn't think Jeremy would ever have to say the Goblin King's name. It threw her off her guard a moment, but she recovered. "Did she now. And what did she say?" She hadn't meant it as it came out, defensive and bitter. Jeremy had known her long enough not to be put off by her tones.
"That he was nobody. She said," his rich eyes flicked to the locker then back to her, he appeared to be waiting for some sign. "You weren't interested in him."
Obviously Ashley knows and understands all. Wish I could have that certainty . . . Oh no . . .Jeremy was going on, but Sarah had come to a stop, like a wall in her mind. It had almost slipped between the cracks, the change in her thought patterns. The horrible revelation was that she WAS interested, she knew that now. Desire, as he said. A cruel, cruel beast!
"You know what," she hissed suddenly, cutting further words from Jeremy off. "I've had about as much school as I can stand today." She quickly opened her locker and shoved her books in, mindful of the roses. "I say we skip next period and go see the new auditorium." Auditorium---read theatre. The school had started construction on it over the summer and it was just about complete. Of course, it was off limits, but Sarah was in the mood to be on stage. It had been too long. It didn't take much to convince Jeremy to join her in her truancy, in fact he seemed eager enough. Though he didn't share her enthusiasm for the performing arts, he did understand her passion. Or maybe he didn't judge her because of it, she couldn't tell the difference anymore. So when she stood in the centre of the darkened stage and cast her gaze over the empty seats, he didn't say anything. He lingered about the edge and let her have her moment of silent reflection. She then let the small smile come.
"Do you believe in magic?"
"What?"
"Magic, do you believe in it? In Kings and faeries and . . .and gardens in the sky?"
"No. I mean, there might be, but I don't know."
"I'm trying to figure out if I'm the lucky one."
"The lucky one?"
That's right. Is ignorance really bliss? It sure didn't feel like it . . .She threw her arms out and began to spin, slow at first, remembering all those times as a child that she had twirled about until the world looked different. Until all her frustrations unraveled and she felt as if the earth had fallen away from reality.
She spun faster.
She was spinning so hard that Jeremy was only a mass of colours against darker shadows. White and black and blue. But this isn't bliss either. Amongst the melding colours came a flash of gold where there had been none before. Sarah, whose mind had lost its grip on thought, reacted too quickly for even her. She lost her balance and met the floor rather hard, her head still spinning though she appeared to be stationary. Jeremy was at her side, asking her if she was hurt, but she was too busy looking for what she knew she wouldn't find. The bruises meant nothing.
"I'm . . .I'm fine." Just my imagination, that's all. Just let it be my imagination. She glanced up and met Jeremy's eyes, eyes like rich Sangria. He seemed so concerned, genuine. So full of thoughts and worries of her. Oh no, she was staring. And one didn't stare unless---
Jeremy kissed her. It was a nice kiss. No, it was a great kiss. So it didn't make her feel as if every nerve was stripped bare, and it didn't make her heart beat so erratically that she feared it would flop out of her breast like some fish out of water. It was nice, just the same. She felt his hands smoothing along her shoulders, massaging reassuringly. The ends of his dark hair brushed her jaw; he was moving her toward the floor, following her down.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" she gasped, fighting to push herself back up. It was all happening too quickly. He eased back, eyes curious on her but not angry.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Panic was rising within Sarah, dancing and spreading to the very tips of her fingers. It choked her of breath and made all words fall stillborn. Jareth had hurtled through her head, thoughts of him. She knew she had done nothing wrong, but she also knew that he wouldn't see it that way. His arrogance was so great---she shivered in its shadow. Perhaps, a calmer voice reasoned, perhaps he doesn't know. Perhaps.
"It's okay," she heard the edge to her voice that said the exact opposite, but prayed that Jeremy wouldn't catch it. Jareth would have. "I need to go." And she did, without explanation. Without further thought or stray look tossed to him. It was a miracle she didn't get caught pounding down the deserted halls, but once outside the door---nothing short of death was going to stop her. Jareth had never frightened her nearly as much as her speculations of him, on his delusions of betrayal.
Her house was empty. With her father and Karen at work and Toby at daycare she was free to act as effected as she felt. I'm fleeing from an idea, not even sure if there is any truth to it. She stopped before her door and the very air about her seemed to deaden and cool. There doesn't have to be any truth to it, Jareth just has to believe it. And what do I care what he believes. She didn't think anymore on that and pushed the door in. What more needed to be said? She knew. She knew she did care.
Sarah was numb to the sight of the rose, lying so brightly across her pillow. Though her mind did hum over its detail, the fact that it was yellow while all the others had been sterling, orange, red, and even white. But mostly sterling. And even though there was an assortment of colour, the yellow seemed significant. Perhaps it was because of where she found it, and when . . .she sighed and picked it up gingerly between her fingers. As careful as she was she still had not been able to avoid the thorns, blood welled up. Come to think of it---none of the others had thorns.
Night came and Sarah fought going to sleep. She fought it as fiercely as she would any villain. Even as futile as she considered it, knowing that at some point she would have to face him. And she had no doubts that he knew. It was just a flutter of cold apprehension that told her this, but it was enough. When sleep did come, it came like the blooming of a flower---she didn't see it, it just was. She stared up at the canopy of his bed while the terror crawled into her skin. She turned eyes that might have been just a little wide.
Candlelight cut over his features in harsh lines and nearly solid shadows. He was sitting opposite her, back against the post and one knee drawn up casually. He tapped the yellow rose absently against his knee. He seemed so deep in thought that he did not recognize her, though his glare was just a little too narrow to be friendly. She sat up. It slipped past her notice that she was only a few degrees off of mirroring him.
"Did you know there is a language to roses?" he said without any luster to his striking voice. His expression did not change, even in some small way.
Sarah shook her head. The terror was evaporating, but only because everything about him was unfamiliar. He seemed upset, but he seemed so calm. Which was true, she couldn't tell.
"I gave you a rose for every hour you spent in my Labyrinth, and one for every hour I cheated you out of. Blue roses," and the pale lavender/grey blooms appeared at her feet. "For royalty and enchantment---Seven for the time you ran. Coral," and they too appeared, four in number. "Desire, for the hours I wasted on petty indignation. Red for our dance. And white for the hour you defeated me." Her eyes skipped over the roses as she tried to digest what he was saying. Indeed there were thirteen, one more than a declaration of love, but the yellow made fourteen. He caught her eyes on it, twirled it slowly between his gloved fingers and paid no heed to the thorns. They were useless against the leather.
"Yellow," he smiled mildly, "For jealousy, deceit, and" he tossed it at her before she had time to react, it exploding into a rain of gold glitter. "Infidelity."
Sarah ignored the honey-glitter as it fell. "I have done nothing wrong. When your week is up my answer will still be the same. Why can't you understand that?"
"You love me," he said simply.
Sarah blinked stupidly a moment. "Love is trust, Jareth. I don't trust you." How could I? You lie as easily as you speak. And you don't feel any regret.
"And I suppose you trust that boy?" Resentment danced under the melody of his voice. It made his accent bolder.
"Yes."
He didn't bother to look at her as he removed his gloves, finger by finger. It was such an innocent act. It worried her "But you don't love him."
She hesitated, didn't know why she had to explain anything to him, but could not stop. "No, but I like him---"
"And you desire me," he sat back with a contented smile. "Trust or not, you still want me, Sarah."
"It isn't enough. You know that!"
"It can be."
"I hate you!" They were automatic, useless words, but she was near to tears. Not so obviously, but she felt them trying to climb out of her throat. She didn't want to be having this conversation anymore. But Jareth's head cocked to the side and he seemed nowhere near the end of his words. She wished she could force him to an end and be done with it.
"Hate?" he replied curiously. He didn't smile but he didn't seem surprised by her exclamation either. Rather he became more attentive and involved than moments before. "Let me show you something." He spun a crystal out of the very air, silver-bright and curved in beauty. Colour sparked in its depths---an image began to form.
It was Jareth. And her. In the garden in the sky. Her face flushed red at the image of his hands slipping under her shirt, of her moaning helplessly into his mouth. She shoved the crystal away, but the memory was harder to dispel. It wove along her skin like the flush of beating wings. He *would* show me that.
"Is this your definition of hate?" He gazed steadily into the past among the roses, his face betraying none of the embarrassment that hers had. The crystal burst and his eyes raised to her intently, the candlelight made them shine oddly. No, no. That's just him.
"I don't know why you insist with this game. We both know how it will end," she said finally.
"Is that so?" In that instant she didn't want to know what was going through his head, she didn't even want to guess. He watched her expectantly for a few breaths then shrugged, relaxed elegantly against the post. A study in stylish nonchalance. "Your resistance wanes, Sarah, and your desire waxes. You are in no position to be predicting the future."
"May be, but I know myself."
He laughed at that, as she glared.
"Listen! I've already made up my mind!"
"I suppose you're going to," he made some obscure motion with his hand, "run off with Jeremy?"
"This isn't about Jeremy!"
"No, it's about us." He smiled pleasantly, a smile she was learning to dread. It seemed that Jareth only smiled at the expense of someone else. "In fact, if I wished it Jeremy could disappear into the very air---"
"Don't you dare!" She was going to hyperventilate. The thought of harm coming to Jeremy, and because of her, was trying to push its way through spaces that were just too small. Maybe not –her- directly, but she couldn't see it that way. She believed it of him, that Jareth could do it and not be phased. He was capable of so much.
"And you are going to stop me how?"
If she had thought about it she might have remembered the wild behind his eyes, the danger that could be had in his hands. But, of course, she didn't think---she acted. Her veins filled with the boiling rage, edged by shadows of fears. They filled till it seemed all there was and had been. She shrieked wordlessly, a banshee's cry, and launched herself at him. She hadn't thought about what she would do once she got a hold of him either, that would come second. "YOU!!!"
"Me," he laughed, intercepting her hands effortlessly as they flew at him with wounding intent. He wrestled her clawing fingers away from the seemingly frail silk-lace of his blouse. "Don't play rough with me, Sarah," he said, "because I can play HARDER," and with that he forced her back and down, pinned her against the bed.
Not again, not again! STRIKE BACK! "Jeremy would never treat me like this!" she hissed. To her horror he didn't even hesitate, gazed down at her with the sweetest smile she had ever seen. It was so wrong. She could not see how all the cruel and beautiful lines of his face would ever form anything so sweet. His fingers caressed against her struggling wrists, but did not loosen. He gave the impression of caging a butterfly within his hands.
"And now we have solved the mystery of why you desire me so much and him so little."
"Fuck you," she twisted with all the strength she could call upon, but it still didn't seem enough. And that's when she realized part of her was enjoying his dominance. There were three voices in her being and all were contradicting each other. The first was in outrage, the second was in fear, and the third was relishing every brush of his body against hers.
"Funny," he leaned down until she could feel his weight pressing her into the mattress. His hair caressed her face as he laid his cheek cool against hers. His lips moved close to her ear and the mere suggestion of it made her gasp. "I was thinking the exact same."
She would have said more and worse things. Would have honed the nervousness suddenly apparent into all the most horrible curses she could imagine. Would have---would have, but couldn't. The very ability to piece together coherent words flitted away as he managed to force one of his knees between her legs. Even through the jeans it was an unheralded shock. She froze and the feeling stretched into all her thoughts. She had played and petted with a couple boys throughout the course of her life. Some exploration, some affection, but she had never allowed any of them this particular intrusion. She kept telling herself that it was reserved for more 'serious affairs'. He didn't move. Not at first. He was still and yielding above her---just as she was paralyzed with trying to describe the very essence of that touch, and all that accompanied it. He wasn't triumphant or amused when he finally did look down at her, his eyes filled hers with the knowledge that he wasn't playing anymore. That maybe he hadn't intended on this so early in their game, but he was in no ways sorry. He was no longer so casual, his breath was deepening and a fine line of moisture glistened over his upper-lip. She had a sinking suspicion that it had nothing to do with her struggles and everything to do with that sheer tint of darkness to his eyes.
Here was the most dangerous thing to ever come between them.
His knee shifted, enticing a startled whimper from her throat. The heat that spread from that one movement broke through her paralysis and gave her the freedom to think again. As little and jagged as the thoughts were. But struggling only pushed him deeper against her, writhing made the feeling drive harder. Tears squeezed out of her eyes as she fought giving in to the appetites of her body. Once given, she knew this was something that couldn't be taken back.
"Please stop," the huskiness of her own voice filled her ears. Desire was what he chose to call it. She called it a beast, one that wished to consume her whole and leave her broken in the aftermath. One that she was very nearly baring her throat for. He didn't stop. She knew that he wouldn't. The futility of protesting almost sank in, but she shoved it away. If she came to believe that then maybe she wouldn't have struggled anymore. Maybe she would have folded against him and let him have his way. Maybe. Maybe. That third voice was praying in the language of maybes.
"Sarah," he breathed, and the tremor that wove through it almost undid her. He wasn't gloating or taunting, he was drowning in his own actions and her reactions. She could feel how very much she excited him, but it was almost too foreign to be real. His left hand moved down her body, over her breast and hip. She didn't even realize that one of her hands was free until he had unfastened her jeans. She grasped his wrist in a dazed panic, but was not strong enough. In fact, she didn't even seem to have a third of the strength that she knew was there. His cool touch slid over bare flesh and with expert pressure he began stroking her.
"No-no-no-no." The words passed her lips, strangled and thoughtless. Her panting and the twisting of her head from side to side nearly breathed them in. And soon they, too, stopped as she could hold back no longer. She let her mind float away into the movements of her body against his. Her free hand wound and pulled at the wisps of his hair as he kissed her throat. His fingers loosened until they were gone completely, she wrapped her other arm around his neck and realized with a sudden jerk to her stomach that he was all smooth flesh. She didn't know how or when, but his blouse and jacket were gone. He had somehow magiced them away, but she was too caught up to focus on it for long. She tucked the observation away to be added to her list of 'all things Jareth' later. At that point he had finally found her mouth and was attacking it with a fever that was all drowning sensation. Indeed, when he did manage to pull back she was shaking---and it wasn't just because of that hand moving between her legs. He pushed up enough to work on the buttons of her blouse, slow and one-handed. He didn't rip at them. He didn't stop with his administrations. Instead they deepened, quickened. If he had paused she might have gained enough sense back to turn them onto another path, she might have fled all paths completely. She might have.
No, he didn't even slow down until she was nearing the first true climax of her life, until she was frantic with it. Writhing, panting, fingers curling and uncurling as her hips drove up to meet his hand. And with a final cry she collapsed back into the coverlets, both content and sorrowed by the fact that it was finally over. Now she could think back on how wrong it was. Now she could . . .she could . . .He was tugging on her jeans insistently. She grasped the waist just as they started to slide over her hips, but one swift jerk pulled them free. She kicked out only to have him grasp her leg and wedge himself between them yet again.
"St-stop!"
He acknowledged her demand with a glance, tossing her jeans aside. She watched as he raised glistening-wet fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, eyes insistent that she understand what he would not say. Her heart was beating so fast that she could hear its dull pump in her ears. He lifted her away from the bed and pulled on the blouse, fumbled with her bra until he finally managed to coax her limbs through the straps. With that he leaned over her, pressing into her already hypersensitive skin, and traced the lines of her face, her jaw, leaving cool moist trails over her flesh.
"You are beautiful." It had been so long since she had heard his voice---it was something of a shock. Especially with its deep richness and the vibration of his breast against hers. A finger moved lightly over her bottom lip, from edge to edge, then he slipped it inside her mouth. "Let it be, Sarah. Stop seeing everything as a game," he took a shuddering breath, nuzzled her cheek and awakened a beast she had thought was finally satisfied. "I stopped playing long ago---when will you?"
She said nothing. To that question there were no answers. Game or not she never played with him. He was too deadly to not take seriously. And yet here she was, with the taste of their first passion together and a steadily growing thirst for more. She was beginning to lose all thoughts of resistance and caution. Maybe if her fight had been with him alone, but he had somehow managed to turn her own senses against her. They wanted what he was offering . . .and she did too. So she didn't struggle when he kissed a path from her throat down between her breasts, or when his tongue flicked out to taste the contours of her naval. His fingers slipped down over her flesh, felt along the inside of her thighs. A few tears gathered against her lashes as he probed her, pressing as deep as possible, spreading and enticing another alarmed whimper.
"Forgive me," he whispered, stroking his free hand through her hair and lightly against her cheek. Her mind was dancing over a thousand thoughts and none at all. She couldn't think of what he was apologizing for. The pain? She wasn't quite as ignorant as he obviously thought she was. She knew the pain, she knew it was temporary. In fact, in some ways she welcomed it---it was a touch of reality twined through what should have been a deep dream. It was a rose with thorns.
She welcomed that pain when he finally did enter her, lessened as it was, but not gone completely. A pleasure in its own strange way. She wrapped as much of herself around him as she could, took his warmth, gave back her own. She fell and fell and fell and fell . . .