AN: Getting some ACTION on in this chapter, LOL... Anyway, a huge, huge thank you to
EVERYONE who has reviewed and emailed. Every word of encouragement, or critique, means SO
much to me!
~Lian Leviathan: a friendly reminder to check for arm rests before reading on...
~Ivy Adrena: I'd definitely buy a Jareth plushie! :)
~Hooded Crow: I did tell you that Heroes is totally rocking my world right?
~Emerald Lady Destiny: thankies for being so "twisted" and letting me use "you" as part of
the evil trio
~Gwenevire: yes, I like cake very much thank you, LOL
~Liz: *whispers* I never liked the ball room dress much either
*waves to everyone else* Sometimes I'm weird but you guys probably know that by now
huh? How sad. :)
Me NO ownie! No ownie!
PS: Its another shortie but look, long author notes, that counts for something right?
Honestly, it just seemed like a good stopping place. Don't be TOO mad. =)
********************* Lights, Camera, Action! Chapter Twelve ********************
Okay, both Jareth and I have explosive personalities. And now with these sparks between
us...
Well, that's the only lame excuse I can come up for the reason of why I'm straddling his lap
sucking his face in the back of the limo. I mean, there's this little rational part of my
mind that's telling me I should bitch slap him and his little arrogant smirk but the majority
of my common sense is numb from the fact that his tongue has just slipped into my mouth.
Oh. My. God, Buddha, whatever.
The Goblin King's tongue is in my mouth. And oh what a nice tongue it is.
Woah, hello Mr. Gloved Hand on my thigh. Its nice to meet you too.
We'll not speak of the fact that I moan and bury my hands through his thick silken hair at
this point. Nope, there will be no embarrassing talk of that.
"We," kiss, "still," kiss, "hate," kiss, "each," kiss, "other," kiss, "right?" Jareth pants
between breathless gropes.
I break away long enough to suck in a mouthful of air. "Of course," I manage to answer
before my lips are taken captive once again. We have a hostage situation! A very HAPPY
hostage situation but, never mind...
"Good," he murmurs, breath warm and all mingly with mine. Man, I'm making up words again.
Mingly. Tingly. Jareth is making me feel tingly. I know I NEVER wished for that. Not
that I'm complaining right at this moment. Cause I'm thinking all tingly is a good look
for me. Sex kitten too. Its getting good results. Great results. Goblin King's tongue
in my mouth results.
I denied this man how? I was a very stupid child. Very stupid.
I love hormones.
And before we can answer the universal question of 'what does the Goblin King wear for
underwear' the limo grinds to a halt outside the premier. "We should probably head out since
everyone is most likely waiting for us and all..." I whisper hoarsely.
Jareth smirks and no, we are not going to speak of how much that manages to turn me on. I
think I really need to get laid. A little bit of heavy petting should NOT be affecting me
this much. "Only if we get to do this on the way home..."
I bite my bottom lip and watch, fascinated, as Jareth hungrily stares at my teeth and full
lower lip. My hands bravely trace a path up from his waist to his shoulder blades where they
rest.
Oh, NICE shoulders. Nice broad and muscled shoulders. Jareth wears long sleeves why? This
man should be walking around in muscle shirts, screw the whole 'ruler of the Underground'
mystique. I tilt my head down until we're brow to brow, staring in each other's eyes.
"Only if you're good."
Its my turn to watch in fascination as his strange, hypnotizing gave darkens and fills with
that familiar blend of amusement and danger. His hands rest comfortably on my hips. "What,"
he asks huskily, "if I'm very, very bad?"
Woah.
I swallow convulsively. Hello, I'm a Jareth addict. Not only did I wish my little brother
away to him, I also let him feel me up in the back of a limousine and am thinking about
letting him do it again.
Then this silly streak of bravery I seem to have raises its head and digs me in a proverbial
hole. "Then I think I might have to count that as very, very good."
I'm in WAY over my head. Can we say playing with fire? Aren't you supposed to be MORE
cautious after being burned with fire once? I'm about to throw myself in the damn volcano as
an offering to the mighty fire gods.
Anyway, after THAT little sexual innuendo, I slide reluctantly off his lap and we manage to
make ourselves somewhat presentable and less, well, pawed. The reporters are gonna have a
field day with us coming together. We don't need to add fuel to the fires. Ouch... fire...
I wince.
The door opens and we're blinded by a barrage of a hundred flashing lights and cameras and
microphones all shoved in our general direction. The tingly feeling only intensifies as
Jareth steps out onto the red carpet behind me and takes my hand tightly with his.
I glance back, surprised and a little apprehensive, and he smirks, that toe curling smirk that
could make grandmothers faint in appreciation. All righty then, apparently we are fueling the
gossip mills.
Hell, why not. I'm already officially crazy, might as well add shacking up my costar to the
list. We slowly make our way down the gauntlet, answering questions vaguely and posing for a
million pictures.
Its funny, normally this is the kind of stuff that I love most about acting. About doing
what I do. It's the movies and the premieres and signing autographs that makes having a
hellish, screwed up life worthwhile. But lately its just not enough.
Ever since Jareth's showed up in all his obnoxious glory I've started to remember the girl I
use to be, Sarah Williams, not Sarah Elliott. I remember playing make believe and thinking,
believing that the world held so much magic and potential. I'm not sure how happy I am
with the woman I've become.
I like that I'm independent and wealthy and successful but I hate feeling so jaded, so broken.
I hate that I don't feel like I have anyone who loves me for me except for a married and very
taken masseuse and my toy poodle Princess. And my frying pan.
My frying pan loves me.
And then my twisted little mind starts toying with the fact that Jareth DOES know the real
me, and the old me, and that he seems mighty interested in any present and future versions
of me and...
And the red carpet doesn't seem so grand anymore and all the gold and glitz of Hollywood is
just cheap and gaudy. And I don't really care if I slip up on an interview question or
that my latest movie is about to premiere.
All I seem to manage to concentrate on is the fact that Jareth's gloved hand is holding my
protectively and that as soon as we make it back in the damn car I'm going to have the make
out session of my life.
And answer some very important questions like: what DOES the King of the Underground wear
for underwear? I mean really, who else has wondered, boxers, briefs, or commando? I mean,
with those tights there's not a WHOLE lot left to the imagination...
EVERYONE who has reviewed and emailed. Every word of encouragement, or critique, means SO
much to me!
~Lian Leviathan: a friendly reminder to check for arm rests before reading on...
~Ivy Adrena: I'd definitely buy a Jareth plushie! :)
~Hooded Crow: I did tell you that Heroes is totally rocking my world right?
~Emerald Lady Destiny: thankies for being so "twisted" and letting me use "you" as part of
the evil trio
~Gwenevire: yes, I like cake very much thank you, LOL
~Liz: *whispers* I never liked the ball room dress much either
*waves to everyone else* Sometimes I'm weird but you guys probably know that by now
huh? How sad. :)
Me NO ownie! No ownie!
PS: Its another shortie but look, long author notes, that counts for something right?
Honestly, it just seemed like a good stopping place. Don't be TOO mad. =)
********************* Lights, Camera, Action! Chapter Twelve ********************
Okay, both Jareth and I have explosive personalities. And now with these sparks between
us...
Well, that's the only lame excuse I can come up for the reason of why I'm straddling his lap
sucking his face in the back of the limo. I mean, there's this little rational part of my
mind that's telling me I should bitch slap him and his little arrogant smirk but the majority
of my common sense is numb from the fact that his tongue has just slipped into my mouth.
Oh. My. God, Buddha, whatever.
The Goblin King's tongue is in my mouth. And oh what a nice tongue it is.
Woah, hello Mr. Gloved Hand on my thigh. Its nice to meet you too.
We'll not speak of the fact that I moan and bury my hands through his thick silken hair at
this point. Nope, there will be no embarrassing talk of that.
"We," kiss, "still," kiss, "hate," kiss, "each," kiss, "other," kiss, "right?" Jareth pants
between breathless gropes.
I break away long enough to suck in a mouthful of air. "Of course," I manage to answer
before my lips are taken captive once again. We have a hostage situation! A very HAPPY
hostage situation but, never mind...
"Good," he murmurs, breath warm and all mingly with mine. Man, I'm making up words again.
Mingly. Tingly. Jareth is making me feel tingly. I know I NEVER wished for that. Not
that I'm complaining right at this moment. Cause I'm thinking all tingly is a good look
for me. Sex kitten too. Its getting good results. Great results. Goblin King's tongue
in my mouth results.
I denied this man how? I was a very stupid child. Very stupid.
I love hormones.
And before we can answer the universal question of 'what does the Goblin King wear for
underwear' the limo grinds to a halt outside the premier. "We should probably head out since
everyone is most likely waiting for us and all..." I whisper hoarsely.
Jareth smirks and no, we are not going to speak of how much that manages to turn me on. I
think I really need to get laid. A little bit of heavy petting should NOT be affecting me
this much. "Only if we get to do this on the way home..."
I bite my bottom lip and watch, fascinated, as Jareth hungrily stares at my teeth and full
lower lip. My hands bravely trace a path up from his waist to his shoulder blades where they
rest.
Oh, NICE shoulders. Nice broad and muscled shoulders. Jareth wears long sleeves why? This
man should be walking around in muscle shirts, screw the whole 'ruler of the Underground'
mystique. I tilt my head down until we're brow to brow, staring in each other's eyes.
"Only if you're good."
Its my turn to watch in fascination as his strange, hypnotizing gave darkens and fills with
that familiar blend of amusement and danger. His hands rest comfortably on my hips. "What,"
he asks huskily, "if I'm very, very bad?"
Woah.
I swallow convulsively. Hello, I'm a Jareth addict. Not only did I wish my little brother
away to him, I also let him feel me up in the back of a limousine and am thinking about
letting him do it again.
Then this silly streak of bravery I seem to have raises its head and digs me in a proverbial
hole. "Then I think I might have to count that as very, very good."
I'm in WAY over my head. Can we say playing with fire? Aren't you supposed to be MORE
cautious after being burned with fire once? I'm about to throw myself in the damn volcano as
an offering to the mighty fire gods.
Anyway, after THAT little sexual innuendo, I slide reluctantly off his lap and we manage to
make ourselves somewhat presentable and less, well, pawed. The reporters are gonna have a
field day with us coming together. We don't need to add fuel to the fires. Ouch... fire...
I wince.
The door opens and we're blinded by a barrage of a hundred flashing lights and cameras and
microphones all shoved in our general direction. The tingly feeling only intensifies as
Jareth steps out onto the red carpet behind me and takes my hand tightly with his.
I glance back, surprised and a little apprehensive, and he smirks, that toe curling smirk that
could make grandmothers faint in appreciation. All righty then, apparently we are fueling the
gossip mills.
Hell, why not. I'm already officially crazy, might as well add shacking up my costar to the
list. We slowly make our way down the gauntlet, answering questions vaguely and posing for a
million pictures.
Its funny, normally this is the kind of stuff that I love most about acting. About doing
what I do. It's the movies and the premieres and signing autographs that makes having a
hellish, screwed up life worthwhile. But lately its just not enough.
Ever since Jareth's showed up in all his obnoxious glory I've started to remember the girl I
use to be, Sarah Williams, not Sarah Elliott. I remember playing make believe and thinking,
believing that the world held so much magic and potential. I'm not sure how happy I am
with the woman I've become.
I like that I'm independent and wealthy and successful but I hate feeling so jaded, so broken.
I hate that I don't feel like I have anyone who loves me for me except for a married and very
taken masseuse and my toy poodle Princess. And my frying pan.
My frying pan loves me.
And then my twisted little mind starts toying with the fact that Jareth DOES know the real
me, and the old me, and that he seems mighty interested in any present and future versions
of me and...
And the red carpet doesn't seem so grand anymore and all the gold and glitz of Hollywood is
just cheap and gaudy. And I don't really care if I slip up on an interview question or
that my latest movie is about to premiere.
All I seem to manage to concentrate on is the fact that Jareth's gloved hand is holding my
protectively and that as soon as we make it back in the damn car I'm going to have the make
out session of my life.
And answer some very important questions like: what DOES the King of the Underground wear
for underwear? I mean really, who else has wondered, boxers, briefs, or commando? I mean,
with those tights there's not a WHOLE lot left to the imagination...