I had such wonderful reviews from my first post of this story (I never thought I would get any, I love you all) and many of them requested I continue it. Well it just so happens I had been playing with a continuation in my head for a bit now. So here it is.
Chapter 1 is the original one shot story, while all following chapters are new.
I didn't want to post the second part on its own for two reasons: first I really want this to be seen as a continuation; and second I like the title a lot. I think it works well for both parts of the story in different ways and I didn't want to cheapen it by calling the story "Crazy Maze 2".
I don't know exactly where this story is going, so please review–the readers are my inspiration for this.
What Can I say? They aren't mine, that's for damn sure! Oh, this does get a bit racy, as is the nature of my cough sickness. So ye youngins be warned.
Alright I'm done ranting! Read on!
Crazy Maze
--Des'ree
Money don't make my world go round
I'm reaching out to a higher ground
To a warm and peaceful place
I can rest my weary face.
Life's answers we try to find
Battling inside our minds
Where do I go from here?
Will all my friends be there?
Cause we're living, we're living in a crazy maze
And we're fighting, we're fighting to rise above the haze
Light's at the end of the tunnel
Sometimes the journey's long
There are many theories
Who's right and who's wrong?
The pressure's on, I have to choose
I have nothing to lose
I close my eyes I take a chance
Now I dance a different dance.
What's the key to a happy life?
A healthy mind and lots of spice
Running barefoot through the trees
That's my idea of free
Cause we're living, we're living in a crazy maze
And we're fighting, we're fighting to rise above the haze
Light's at the end of the tunnel
The journey may be long
There are many theories
Who's right and who's wrong?
I pack my bags I'm on my way
Don't know where I'm gonna stay
I'm on the train bound destiny
I can set my spirit free
Cause we're living, we're living in a
Crazy Maze
A gentle hum of voices fills the room almost overwhelming the piano solo spilling from several speakers, as an ocean of elegantly dressed people mingle haphazardly about. The ladies in their modest solids: blue, green, black, but not red, stand gossiping and gasping, throwing lightly jeweled hands over their faces in response to every trite anecdote and woeful tale; while their men, swathed in neutral suits and white shirts buttoned to the throat, chuckle deeply, patting each other on the back as they mime their latest golf glory or two. The robust and uncomfortable sons gather nearby, eager to participate in the friendly masculine banter, while the young women tittering amongst their tight circles about make-up and men, coquettishly glance about as they smooth their tidy, upswept hair.
More than one of their excited, not so discrete looks is bestowed upon the tall Stranger sipping a glass of champagne, unmoving amidst tides of people that seem to break around him like clouds skirting a granite peak.
But his eyes are fixated on the slender brunette standing in conversation with an eagerly grinning young man.
The Stranger takes her in greedily, eyes sliding over the simple green gown that falls over her form somewhat loosely, but not so loose as to completely hide her sumptuous curves. The sleeveless dress attaches behind her neck, leaving her ivory silk shawl to tastefully cover her bare back and arms, and her rich brown hair is without ornamentation save the dark bobby pins locking it in a tight twist.
Jareth stares at her, knowing full well he shouldn't be here, but once again curiosity has gotten the better of him, and once again he is paying the price.
He had spent most of the evening soaring high in the sky, loosing himself to wind and thought when suddenly he felt her presence, just as he could feel every being to have been touched by his realm. It was a tingle in the air, a breath of his own magic calling out to him. She calls him.
Much time has passed since their last meeting, more for her than him--a lovely child, now an achingly beautiful woman.
Jareth hasn't missed the many secret glances she receives from men at all corners of the room.
'At least the mortals are not completely hopeless.' Jareth smirks to himself, but the motion fails to reach his eyes.
Very beautiful, indeed. But empty.
He studies her gentle, lax face as she nods in well feigned interest to every passing comment; a polite, plastic smile on her obedient mouth, and lack-luster eyes staring glassily through the man in front of her as he waggles his head to the sound of his own voice.
Her appearance mirrors that of every other lady in the room: well-bred, level headed--a prize of a wife to these men, no doubt.
The King of the Goblins feels a tug in his chest watching this woman, recalling the vibrant fireball of a girl who defeated him. The girl she once was.
He has thought of her over the years. She'd had the most glorious imagination he'd ever encountered--eyes bright with dreams and determination, so different from the hordes of mortals populating this world.
Jareth winces as the sound of her artificial laughter passes through the croud like cotton-candy, stinging his ears.
Yes, he has considered her often in his musings, pondering what she may have done with her life, hoping against hope her enchanting soul had not faded with time.
Standing across the room watching her china doll expression, Jareth silently berates himself. Really what did he expect. The aboveworld shuns magic, eventually wringing every drop from its mundane children--why should Sarah be any different?
But he had hoped, and, damn him, there was his mistake. He had dared to hope that she would be strong enough to resist--to hold on to the belief in her heart.
That is what he had wanted, but instead found her just as he expected to.
Sarah turns her head suddenly, and their eyes meet.
His pulse quickens. Something passes between them; but she shouldn't remember, even if she hadn't lost her dreams she shouldn't remember. The Labyrinth's own magic smothers the memories of any who leave--self-preservation. And yet, that something flickers in her eyes.
The Goblin King grins wickedly, watching her full, crimson lips part and a mild blush creep into her cheeks.
Oh yes, she is definitely beautiful.
Sarah groans inwardly for the hundredth time that evening at the mousy man in front of her--'Bruce, no wait! Brian...Ba--Barnard?'
She sighs. 'Must be set to inherit a bundle by the way Karen threw me at him.' Sarah swallows a hard lump of bitterness in the back of her throat, and tries once again to concentrate on what he is saying. 'No sense in making an enemy.'
But her focus begins to drift.
Suddenly, a feeling like cobwebs and ice water running down her spine makes her shiver. 'Is there a window open or something?' Shaking it off, she notices her conversationalist has stopped talking and is looking at her expectantly 'Oh, no. Either he just asked a question, or he told a joke.'
Seeing as how he hadn't bothered to ask her a single thing since they were introduced earlier this evening, she swallows a bit of bile, a glassy titter thrust from her mouth.
Sarah grimaces, but the pleased look on his face assures her that her companion hasn't detected any falsity.
Grinning languidly, he begins a new tale about 'The last time I was staying in the vacation house in Cancun...', and Sarah peeks around for a means of escape.
To her left is the potluck snack table laden with cheese and crackers, radish rosettes, little flaky pastries, and even a huge bowl of ripe, pitted cherries--A big, sticky tribute to her stepmother's over-zealous standing on eating healthy foods, and maybe she has a point.
Sarah had been cornered by Karen and the long winded man while trying to wrap a few messy pastries in a napkin to abscond with to the patio. The cherries would have been a hell of a lot faster to make off with.
'And this can't be healthy.'
She looks back to the man in front of her who remains blissfully unaware of her internal monologue. 'But that doesn't help my current situation. Unless...'
Picturing his expression with cherries and juice running down his face, staining his white tie, his pink hair matted and sticking to his forehead, Sarah almost bursts out laughing.
To escape her own delightful mental image, she glances off to her right,
and freezes as her eyes are captured in a haunting, mismatched gaze.
Her heart begins to pound. She knows she's staring, but cannot even begin to pull her eyes away.
Peripherally, she is aware of an elegantly lithe body decked in a black tuxedo which somehow seems far to casual for him. Muted. Like a sunset viewed in black and white. Skin as fair as woven moonlight is stretched across his sharp features, further bleaching the few feathery strands of hair loose from the tie at the nape of his long neck.
And the eyes--oh god, his dark, dark eyes!
A vortex of suspension, they whisper of things too warm for comfort and too cool to be pleasing, of things cried out to midnight and tucked carefully away in daylight.
Sarah finds herself caught, held aloft by unspoken dangers and gently stroking wisps of darkness. So much darkness. But not the empty, permeating sort of darkness that flows into and out of every pore, every vessel, leaving behind a trembling shell and chilled fingers; no, this is the darkness that breathes deeply through clenched razor teeth as things stalk and scurry to the throb and silence of a single accelerating pulse. Things. Monsters.
'Goblins.'
Sarah's hands begin to tremble. 'So familiar. I know those eyes.' His sharp grin makes her breath catch, and she nearly screams when a hand closes around her wrist.
"Sarah, love, are you all right? You were shaking, nearly spilled your wine." Still breathing erratically, she gives what's-his-name a small, apologetic smile.
"Yes, I'm fine. I...I just had a little chill." Then seeing his eyes light with intention, "But it's passed now. Thank you."
His face falls a bit, but the incident is soon forgotten as she entreats him to continue with his "fascinating" narrative. Whatever it is.
Her partner safely occupied, Sarah steels herself and glances over, but the Stranger is gone. Something inside of her droops knowing he is no longer in the room--and the space feels all the emptier for its lack.
'Maybe He was never really there at all. Or maybe He was always there and it was I who moved past.'
Sarah's struck and fevered mind convulses with memories of moments before--or an eternity ago, she isn't quite sure.
A scorching phoenix crumbled to dust begins to breathe again.
Sipping her chardonnay, a frown creases her forehead. 'No, this won't do. Red. I need something red.'
The Goblin King stands outside the house, the warm solstice wind carrying hidden melodies in varying lyrical tongues to his ears from the nearby woods. So many are out tonight.
This is one of the rare times, the times of transition, when magic can leak between the worlds, allowing his less powerful kin access to this place of heritage. Smiling, he listens to the willowy, uninhibited songs twining about the trees, his own body yearning to join the dance. He should be there already, not mourning a silly child, grown up.
He hisses at his own choice of words. 'but there are none more appropriate,' his mind retaliates, 'without her dreams, she is dead to me, to us' There is a slight hitch to his breathing, unnoticeable to any casual observer, but appallingly apparent and shocking to the monarch.
Clenching his jaw, Jareth begins the incantation to transport himself into the woodland revelry, when the footsteps of someone rushing onto the porch force him to take a step back into the shadows. He growls. The goblin king is in no mood to wait for some mortal to grow tired of the night air and retire back inside--perhaps a little persuasive reasoning is in order.
He prepares to release a nasty little spell that would result in a pungent, and quite unsavory, aroma rather like that of the Bog of Stench, but without the lasting side effects, when a dark haired woman flies into his line of sight.
Both hand and breathing pause mid-action as he observes the shaky rise and fall of Sarah's chest.
One of her hands grips the polished wood railing, knuckles white and straining, while in her other a half full glass of merlot is in danger of being crushed to pieces.
In the stillness of the evening, Jareth watches as all the tension slowly drains from her body, making it seem as though her hand on the railing is the only thing keeping her from collapsing on the wooden deck.
Sarah silently looks up to the full moon, and Jareth frowns at the faint shimmering of unshed tears in her wide hazel eyes.
They stay like that for a long while: her watching the moon, him watching her from the safety of the shadows.
Finally, a soft sigh escapes her as she raises her glass to the pale orb, an even softer smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Transient moonlight filters through her wine, throwing a crimson stain across her slender neck and down her chest.
Jareth is focussed on her eyes; no more tears, her eyes seem glazed with stardust they shine so brightly--sparkling with desire and awe and...
'Perhaps my Sarah hasn't perished after all.'
A delighted grin threatens the Goblin King's cold countenance as he watches the one dreamer he mourns toast the solstice moon.
Sarah takes a small sip of wine before placing the glass on the railing. Eyes never leaving her shining companion, she takes a few slow, measured steps off the porch, allowing her shawl to slip unnoticed from her shoulders as she leaves the perimeter of artificial light oozing from the house.
Her smile deepens as she stands bathed in moonglow.
But a voice breaks the silent courtship. Grimacing as she registers Karen calling for her, Sarah begins to move with quickened strides into the old woods, being followed silently on owl's wings.
Walking.
Jogging.
Moving faster and faster until she finds herself running blindly through the jumbled trees, hopping logs and skirting bushes. Her shoes lost far behind, needley branches grabing and tangling her long gown until, with an absent-minded "humph", she yanks the skirt up over her knees and continues running.
Only once she miscalculates a leap over a fallen tree and lands face first in the plush undergrowth. Laughing hysterically, she begins moving again even before making it back on to two legs.
Meanwhile the white barn owl startingto swoop down as she tumbles cocks his head at the rolling bubbles of laughter pouring from the madly galloping woman, and continues on, following a little closer than before.
Sarah suddenly bursts out of the deeply shadowed forest into an emerald clearing carpeted in soft grasses and moss littered with delicate, multi-hued blossoms.
She gasps in delight.
The old, gnarled oak trees encircling the clearing grow so close together they are nearly a solid impermeable structure. Sarah marvels at her luck that she managed to stumble through what seems to be the only opening.
Releasing a new wave of delighted giggles, she bounds to the center of the beautiful circle, and begins to spin; slowly at first, then growing more wild and erratic.
Throwing her arms to the sky, she laughs until her sides ache.
Jareth gazes at Sarah in her uninhibited display. Her deep brown hair has loosed itself of bobby pins, and cascades out and about her as she twirls, reflecting the moonlight like still water at midnight.
Hundreds of fascinated, hungry eyes follow the carefree girl from every tree and crevice--large and tiny, beautiful and gruesome, winged and horned, all feel pulled to envelop the mortal in their dance.
A few even begin to advance towards her, but all movement ceases as Jareth steps into the edge of the glade.
His brooding eyes linger on the obliviously frolicking woman for a few moments, then pointedly cast a burning cold glare around the circle.
Most humble themselves and scamper quickly away; even the most audacious hesitate only fleetingly before stepping back and disappearing into the shadows--the magic folk may be reputed for pert petulance, but there are none alive foolish enough to dispute the Goblin King on matters of power and possession.
All Sarah knows is a dome of swirling stars, phosphorescent tails bleeding into halos of eggshell light while master moon sits at the apex, admiring his pirouetting attendants.
Each one dancing with her, reaching out for her.
She imagines she can feel the gentle pressure of their arms wrapping around her waist and chest.
'Warm.' The giddy thought flies through her mind, 'I would have thought them to be chilly.'
Another wave of joy washes over her, sweeping away any lingering rationale. Sarah feels so light, as though the earth no longer holds her, and she is free to float away on a currant of warm air. At that moment, her world is the celestial cover, her liberation, and an occasional feather soft tickle along her face and neck. She giggles at the sensation.
And is answered by a deep, rumbling chuckle from behind.
Reflex snaps Sarah's head around, almost making her collide with an ethereally pale, lightly smirking face. Panic shoots through her.
"Who are you! What do you want?" The Stranger merely raises one dark, sweeping brow, obvious amusement glinting in his uneven eyes.
Trying to jump away, she finds herself locked against his slight, but frightfully powerful body, and gasps.
"Let me go!" her voice is an octave or two higher than normal.
His answer is the lifting of his other brow to meet the first, and a widening grin.
Sarah herself would be the first to admit that she was never one to handle frightening situations overly rationally or discreetly, so the trickle of rage she feels welling up inside her at his arrogant amusement is not suprising.
"And just what is so god damned funny?" she growls, but instead of being intimidated by the madly gnashing woman in his arms as she had hoped, her audacity only seems to increase his delight.
"I said LET ME GO!"
Flashing her a brilliant smile of slightly pointed teeth, he glances down.
Following the motion of his eyes, Sarah shrieks, grabbing fistfuls of the lapels of his studded, velvet jacket as she sees the ground twenty feet below her.
If she had been in her right mind, she would have kicked herself for showing such fear in front of this man, but calm rationality tends to dissipate in the presence of the physically impossible, just as it flees Sarah floating two stories in the air.
So she is blissfully content with burying her face against the Stranger's soft shoulder.
He simply holds the trembling and sobbing woman, smoothing her long, now tangled, hair until her stark terror has run its course, and she collapses limply against him.
She sobs weakly, "What's going on?" and his hand pauses mid stroke.
"Why Sarah, I thought that would be obvious." Her head shoots up at the sound of his darkly honeyed voice, wide eyes revealing her shock at at still finding herself in his arms, but she doesn't flinch as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear, "We are floating."
He laughs languidly as her expression fluxes between shock and severe irritation.
"Who are you?" She sputters, and his smile fades. Sudden insight flashes across her face, "You're the man from the party!"
"Somewhat." His eyes burn into her own, but she refuses to look away.
"What the hell does that mean? Who ARE you?" Sarah demands fiercely.
Jareth's eyes harden as he spins her around, pulling her tightly against his chest, her now labored breathing reminding Sarah of her precarious situation.
Grinning, he runs a hand across her neck.
His hands.
Sarah's blood turns to ice as she sees his gloved hands. 'And no one knows I'm out here!'
"Please don't hurt me." She blurts, vision flickering between his dual eyes.
Jareth pauses, observing her curiously.
When he speaks, his voice is velvet soft. "Why do you think I would hurt you?" She struggles to swallow, but remains silent. "Sarah." This time his voice is sharp, laced with command.
"Your gloves!" She gasps; he looks at his hand, then back to the girl, brows knotting in confusion. "No fingerprints." Sarah tries to bite back on the tears she feels rising.
He continues to study her a moment longer, then in a light voice, "Ah, is that it then."
Keeping one arm snugly around her waist, he uses his teeth to remove his left glove, letting it fall to the ground with a plop. His bare fingers wipe away the tears that have spilled from her eyes before cradling her face in his palm.
He almost smiles as she unconsciously shifts toward the warmth of his hand, eyes fluttering closed with the stroke of his thumb along her cheek.
"So soft," his voice is a whisper, "You have grown so beautifully."
"How..." Her question is lost to his searing mouth.
Strong, demanding lips dance over her own, slowly memorizing her taste and texture. He nips her bottom lip, slipping his tongue inside her mouth as she moans, wondering how a kiss can be so brutal and so gentle at the same time.
Leaving her trembling lips, Jareth places soft, burning kisses down her neck, and her hands shake with the ferocity of her grip on his jacket. Flicking his tongue out, he sucks against the hollow of her throat as he unclasps her dress.
Gasps punctuate her erratic breathing as he nuzzles and suckles her bare shoulders.
"Who are you?" The staccato whisper barely makes it past her swollen lips.
Lifting his head, his eyes are almost painful in their intensity. "The man of your dreams." And then his mouth is again harshly probing her own as she struggles to reciprocate the actions of his wildly insisting lips.
Sarah dimly registers the silky fabric flowing from her body, and the cool, dewy grass tickling her bare back; any chill is burned away as his gloveless hands travel up her thighs and over her stomach, cupping her breasts as feverish shadows of his movements shoot up and down the length of her body.
Covering her nakedness with his own, Jareth hisses at the heat of contact compared to the cool evening air. He takes one peaked nipple in his teeth and tugs while Sarah writhes beneath him, fingers digging into the earth.
He eases his lips over her breastbone and down the slight concave of her stomach, pausing a moment to savor the scent of her arousal before lowering his mouth.
Sarah's back arches violently as she cries out, tears clinging to her eyelashes.
Jareth is still placing wet kisses along her abdomen when she shifts her body, reaching out to grasp him. In a flash, he has her hands pinned above her head, grinning darkly as he slides his body lightly over hers, stroking her.
"Please," she shudders, "Please let me touch you."
"As you wish it, My Sarah."
Sarah wraps her arms around him as he plunges deeply into her.
Both are still for one breathless moment. Two. And then Jareth begins rocking his hips slightly, staying buried in her warmth. They groan together.
Running his fingers through her mass of hair, he leans down as if to kiss her, but abruptly tightens his fists around her locks, forcing her head back. His sharp teeth trace the wildly throbbing pulse in her neck, and he begins to thrust in tempo.
He buries his face by her ear, whispering.
No, singing. Singing in a lilting, weaving language like smoke on water.
Sarah thinks it sounds like a lullaby.
Then she is swallowed by a crashing implosion of pleasure ricocheting through her body, her screams falling from her lips as strangled gasps at the force of it. Distantly, she hears her lover cry her name in a raspy voice, warmth inside of her while she squeezes his trembling body closer to her own.
Head nestled on his shoulder, Sarah swims in the golden afterglow, giggling as he brushes long fingers up and down her side. Their breathing has long since returned to normal, and a hocketing chorus of crickets carries far through the still air.
Sarah yawns.
"Tired, my dear?" Jareth smirks, sliding his thumb over the side of her breast.
Grinning back, Sarah lightly pinches his nose. "Absolutely exhausted." His eyes sparkle even as he frowns at her pinch. When she begins laughing at the contradictory expression on his face, his brows farther knot into a scowl but the corners of his mouth quiver.
Her laughter is enveloped by another deep yawn.
"Perhaps it is time for you to sleep." Jareth suggests, eyes dulling fractionally.
"What? I can't just go to sleep out here!" Her words are slightly muddled.
"Why not?" His are soft and distinct.
Sarah screws her face up in a comical effort of concentration. "Because. You know...I, uh..." Her glassy eyes squint at the sky. "Because the moon is too damn bright!"
Bursting into hearty laughter as much at her hastily contrived answer as the look of self satisfaction splayed across her features at having come up with one, he flicks his wrist, producing a length of ivory fabric.
"My shawl." Sarah states flatly, "Where did you get it?"
"You dropped it near the house."
"Oh." Sarah frowns as he folds the bolt of silk three times, placing it over her eyes.
"There. No more moon." Smoothing back her hair, his tone is so airy she has to wonder if she just imagined that slight catch in his voice.
"But..."
"Shhh, sleep now." There is a thistledown command in his words, and Sarah feels herself quickly falling from consciousness.
"...I don't even know your name."
A resounding crash smacks her awake and, shawl fluttering to the floor, she sits bolt upright on the bed, eyes whipping around in confusion. Recognition relaxes her features. The guestroom, she is in her parents' guestroom--along with her little brother, sheepishly grinning over a pile of rubble.
"Toby," Sarah croaks, "What are you doing?"
"Mom sent me to get some more printer paper, see?" Watching him hold up a stack of white sheets, sarah nods. Unfortunately, the paper had been buried beneath several textbooks and her make-up case, none of which he had bothered to move before hauling the bundle out.
Karen pokes her head in the room cheerfully, "Oh good, Sarah, you're finally awake!" The corners of her mouth turn down with disapproval as she eyes Sarah's rumpled dress. "Good lord! Did you sleep in that gown? It wasn't cheap you know! Most women would be thrilled with such a tasteful and thoughtful present..."
'What happened last night?' Sarah's mind wanders to the previous evening. She doesn't remember coming home from the party. In fact the last thing she can recall is...
A ruby flush spreads across her face. But then how did she get back home and dressed without being aware of it? She notices her shawl crumpled on the floor.
'Maybe I had more to drink last night than I thought.' There is a surprising sinking feeling in her stomach as she admits that it all must have been a very realistic, very erotic dream brought on by liquor and frustration.
Karen haults her tirade, huffing at Sarah's glassy stare. "Toby, your lunch is getting cold. Now go on, scoot!"
"Kay mom!" Sarah smiles, watching his dirty blonde curls bounce out the door before turning back to her glaring stepmother.
"I just came up to tell you that we are meeting the Copenhagen's for dinner at six. I noticed you chatting with their son for quite a while last night..." Pausing, she turns away when she doesn't receive a response. "Well you seem to have made quite an impression on him, anyway. So dress sharply and be on your best behavior--they are a very important family, you know!"
Clenching her jaw hard enough to ache, Sarah nods.
After the door clicks shut, she releases the stale air from her screaming lungs, and falls back onto her pillow, smacking her head against something.
Biting back her expletive knowing Toby is most likely within earshot, she reaches under the pillow, pulling out a flawless, palm-sized sphere.
Her eyebrows shoot up. 'what is it?' she wonders.
"It's a crystal, nothing more..."
A frown creases her forehead at the silky, and eerily familiar voice.
"...This is not a gift for an ordinary girl..."
Blurry images flash behind her eyes, followed by a crystal smooth echo of words. Words she knows. What are they?
Damn, why can she never remember that line?
Line?
"...but if you turn it this way..."
Dark, dark eyes framed in frost.
"Wait, look what I'm offering you..."
Sarah stands up and gasps, almost stumbling, as a burning ache between her legs makes itself known.
"...but if you turn it this way and look into it..."
Who are you?" she hisses to the empty room.
"The man of your dreams."
Tears in her eyes, Sarah grips the crystal with both hands as she tries to calm her ragged breathing.
She stays like that for a long time; eyes distant, cradling the sphere to her chest. Slowly, she begins to roll the crystal between her hands, watching the inverted shapes spin across its warmed surface, and a smile creeps over her rosy lips.
"Jareth."
please let me know what you think, all comments welcome...pleasant or un. ;)