Rites of Passage by Betty Bokor
Jareth/Sarah. When Sarah is called to save the King, her life takes a whole new course, again.
Spoilers: The movie, the book, and some of the Return series.
Disclaimer: The Labyrinth original characters belong to The Jim Henson Company and Lucasfilms Ltd. This was written strictly for the purpose of entertainment. No attempt at copyright infringement has been made.
A.N. Warnings about this getting a little more intimate, to say it somehow. If you do not like this kind of passage skip right over it, please.
Rites of Passage
Chapter 18
Sarah had closed her eyes as soon as she grabbed Jareth's hand. When she felt her shoes were no longer standing on her living-room carpet, she opened her eyes and discovered she was on a beach, facing a calm sea.
"Where are we? I thought we were going to your castle," she asked a smiling Jareth.
"I said we needed to go to the Underground. The Underground is a vast place. The castle has too many guests these days. I thought you'd prefer more privacy."
She smiled. "Yep; this is fine with me, though the sand doesn't seem like a very comfortable place-"
"Look around," he suggested.
She turned to look behind them and saw a thick forest along the coastline.
"Interesting combination," she said as she looked at the tall trees and the grass and bushes growing around them, just centimeters away from the sand.
"One of my favorite places… This land used to belong to my grandparents; now is mine."
"Can you get us a tent or something…? Maybe a blanket?" she asked, trying not to hurt his feelings.
He laughed happily. "We're not staying here. We're going into the house."
"What house?"
"The glass house." He grabbed her hand and walked towards the forest.
They had not walked more than a few steps, when she started noticing something like a disturbance in the air ahead of them. Soon it became the shape of a very simple building, like a rectangular glass box.
"It can only be seen by those who hold the key," he explained as they reached what she assumed was the front door.
Once the door opened and they walked inside, Sarah was astounded. It did not really look like a house to her, but like a luxurious oversized bedroom. It immediately reminded her of his bedroom in the castle.
The room was decorated in gold and red and included a king's size canopy bed with heavy linens. She smiled at the irony of the name, but worried about how many people had shared that space with him.
"This has been my personal hide-out for centuries," he explained with pride. "My grandparents built it for me when I was still very young and I have never brought anyone else here before," he finished.
Sarah had the bizarre feeling that he was reading her thoughts. "Thank you for allowing me to be here, then," she said with a small smile.
She looked around carefully. The front and the back walls were completely made of glass, allowing a perfect view of the seaside on one side and of the forest on the other. The side walls seemed to be covered in some kind of silk brocade with tapestries and paintings hanging in strategic places. A black grand piano stood to the right of the front door. Facing the bed, there was a sitting area, with a small table, comfortable-looking sofas and chairs, and a multitude of books on shelves that framed a fireplace with an ornate mirror above it. Close by, a small antique sideboard was covered with bowls filled with fruits, plates with pastries, and several bottles of unknown contents. By the glass wall to the forest, there was an inviting sunken bathtub with a strange golden umbrella-like structure in a corner.
Candles in all shapes and sizes, on every surface available, reminded Sarah that there was no electricity here either.
Giving one last look at the room before turning to him, she saw a small door by the far side of the bed and hoped it was a restroom, because she could not see anything else that could serve that function.
"It's a beautiful place," she commented with a shaky voice and did not dare add anything else because her own voice had surprised her. She sounded nervous. She realized that, now that they were there, alone, close to the huge bed, what she had been planning for weeks suddenly seemed too possible and she was not sure if she was ready for it. She did not know how to go about it and she had to acknowledge to herself how neglected that part of her life had been. She tried to calm down.
Jareth had no problem noticing her discomfort.
"Music?" he offered. Without waiting for a response, he sat at the piano and began playing.
She carefully approached him. This little interlude could give her time to compose herself.
His choice of music was unexpected; he played a slow and somewhat sad piece that seemed to match her new mood. He played it passionately, nonetheless, enjoying every note with his eyes closed.
All of a sudden, she felt the need to touch him, to communicate –somehow– the emotions she was feeling. She laid her hand on his shoulder and right away she felt more peaceful. The music was soothing, but, for a second, she thought he was the one calming her.
When the song ended, he opened his eyes and turned to look at her. "Feeling any better?"
She nodded with a small smile.
He stood and stretched his hand in an obvious invitation to dance.
Sarah looked around, waiting for music or any signal that there would be some.
"Trust me; just take my hand," he smiled.
As soon as she did so, the music began again. She was not sure where it came from this time, but it sounded as melancholic as what he had just played and she did not feel like asking about it; it was probably some kind of magic. She took his hand and let him guide her around the room.
At the beginning, he kept her at arms length, as he had done in previous occasions, but, soon, they were dancing far closer than they had ever done it before. Her heart started racing again; she had only been this close to him when he had kissed her at the castle and her whole body flushed in anticipation of a new kiss. She looked up at him and hoped lip gravity would take care of the rest.
The song ended and Jareth brought them softly to a stop. He then wove one of his hands in her hair while the other one held her by the waist and brought her even closer to him. Next, he slowly kissed his way down her face, starting by her hairline, her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks…
She was stunned by how much she enjoyed the feathery touch of his lips when what she had been expecting was a fiery, deep kiss, but he brought her out of her musings when he gently put a hand under her chin and lifted her face to look into her eyes.
"Do you have any idea of what a beautiful woman you've become, Sarah?" he whispered and his voice sent a jolt of desire down her spine.
She just smiled, unable to find a word to say.
Jareth carefully released her hair and slid the fingertips of his gloves delicately over her lips. That new touch –combined with the soft smell of the leather– made her shiver and he could not avoid smirking at her reaction. He leaned closer, held her head with his hand again and kissed the corner of her lips. She closed her eyes with a deep breath and he smiled. He ran the tip of his tongue over her mouth and she opened it slightly, but he did not take her invitation and just kissed her sweetly. For a second, she wondered if the flavor of her lipstick was too strong, but as his kiss became more passionate, she forgot.
His lips were soft, yielding, but she wanted more. She dared flick her tongue over his lips and then tried to coax them apart. He could not help but smile, but responded immediately. He truly liked that; he wanted her to take the initiative as much as he did.
For a while, they kissed slowly, languorously, getting to know each other, learning to share their preferences, but, gradually, their interaction became passionate and much more than just a dance of their tongues. One of his hands leisurely caressed her nape while the other kept her flush against him by the waist. She decided to give her own hands a more active role. She slid them down his back, bothered by the thickness of the leather and the velvet that kept her so far from his skin. She was on her way to picking up the edge of the top to slide her hands under it, when she realized the thin bracelet she was wearing had gotten caught somewhere on his clothes. She tried to free it, but his tongue in her mouth kept her from concentrating on the problem. On impulse, she forcefully pulled at it, but the bracelet broke and hurt her wrist as the links opened. She could not avoid a little exclamation of pain and Jareth immediately let her go.
"Are you alright?" he asked looking at her. He had felt the pull on his back and was wondering what had hurt her.
Sarah felt embarrassed; she did not want him to see her as an inexperienced teenager who could not even kiss someone without messing it up. She was a grownup woman and, though she had never had sex before, she had kissed and been kissed many times. She suddenly wished she had a little more experience.
"I'm fine," she said dejectedly as she rubbed her wrist. She signaled to his back and added, "My bracelet is still hanging there. It got entangled… I'm sorry. I just completely ruined the mood." She shook her head and sighed.
Jareth reached around his back and freed the bracelet. "Here," he gave it to her. "Let me see that wrist."
She grabbed the piece of jewelry with her uninjured hand and shook her head again. "It's nothing. It's just a little red."
"May I see?" he insisted.
She reluctantly extended the hand toward him. Her wrist had a thin red mark that ended in a little drop of blood.
He held her hand on his left one and gently slid his right index over the scratch. Then he swiftly clenched his fist and immediately opened it back, palm up, as if releasing something from it. "Gone," he declared with a self-satisfied smile.
"You healed it?" Sarah asked, stunned, as she touched the now flawless skin.
"Magic…" he replied, pleased.
Sarah looked at her hand again and then looked at him. She was a little upset. "I truly appreciate it, but you really have to stop using magic as your deus ex machina. Not everything here can be just a result of magic… You healed this; I'm a doctor and I've never seen anything like this before… or even heard about it. Unless it's an illusion and my hand is still hurt-"
"It's not; it's healed," he interrupted her. "I'm not trying to trick you. But you're right about something. It's more than magic. You see, all fae have abilities, different ones. Like your human talents… Do you understand the idea?"
Sarah nodded.
"Well, mine is healing. My father's the same, so I suppose they can be inherited, but it doesn't always happen that way. My brothers had other abilities… And nobody else in my family can create crystals to channel magic like I do." He smirked proudly and added, "In any case, lots of things here happen just because of magic, even if you don't realize it, or, why do you think you understand everything we say?"
She looked perplexed. "You're talking in English… You speak English, don't you?" she asked, suddenly alarmed.
"I do, but I could talk to you in my own language and you'd never notice the difference. Do you really think that my goblins –or Hoggle for that matter– have learned English somewhere? Or all the languages they need to communicate with the wished away?"
"I never thought about it," she replied pensively.
"We all have our own languages, but the magic of the Underground allows us to understand each other, no matter the language we speak. Even when we read."
Sarah looked down and nodded slowly. "I get it. I was able to read Keene's books when I was working with him. They surely weren't written in English, were they?"
"No."
"Okay." She sounded defeated, tired, hopeless. She took a deep breath and sighed. "Maybe you should send me home now. It looks like this is not happening. It's almost ten thirty, so-"
He remembered the anniversary day seemed to have some special significance to her. He was not going to let her down. They still had time.
"Why don't we sit down here for a while?" he suggested as he indicated a large sofa. "You've worked all day preparing the celebration and you must be tired."
It sounded tempting, but Sarah knew it was already pretty late and she worried that if she stayed and still did not accomplish her mission on time, she would feel worse. It had to be before midnight –she could feel it– or it would not work out. "I'm fine; I'm not tired," she tried.
Jareth took his jacket off, placed it over one armrest of the sofa, sat down, and crossed his legs. He looked at her, amused, for a few seconds, and then stretched his hand. "Come."
It was a command, she had no doubt about it, and she felt strangely compelled to obey him. She approached him carefully and he grabbed her hand to pull her down to his side.
"Sit here, with your back to me. I'll take care of everything. You need to relax; you're very tense," he whispered. He gently pushed her hair away from her back. "Just let me help you," he offered as he began to softly massage her shoulders and neck.
His gloved hands deftly slid up and down her back, working her muscles. His touch was firm and warm and Sarah closed her eyes to allow herself to take pleasure in the sensations he provoked in her. She slowly began to relax; the tension in her muscles melted away. The tightness disappeared.
He worked his way to her collarbone and she instinctively arched her back. He enjoyed her reaction as much as she enjoyed his confident touch.
He slid his hands down and up her arms and then moved them back to her shoulder plates, from where he made his way down, drawing small circles, to her lower back. When his hands reached the low neckline of her dress, he got close to her ear and asked very softly, "May I?"
She was sure she had lost her voice some time in the last few minutes, so she simple nodded.
He carefully unzipped the dress right down to her waist line and lowered his touch until that point.
Sarah sighed contentedly. She had never liked the idea of strange people touching her body, so she had never had a massage at the spa like many of her friends or coworkers had. The idea of spreading oil over her skin did not appeal to her either; she had never regretted missing the experience. But, now, she would not have stopped the soft, constant caress of the leather on her back for anything in the world.
She was feeling calm, relaxed, and she had mostly forgotten why she had come there that night, when a slightly wet, barely rough sensation running over her spine from her waist to her neck woke her up completely and put every nerve in her body in full alert.
She felt as if a pleasurable current had run through her; she desperately wanted it to happen again.
She turned to look at him; he was smiling slyly. "Did you just… lick my spine?" she finally whispered hoarsely, breathing fast.
He smirked proudly. He grabbed her by the waist and sat her with her back to his chest, straddling his leg. "I thought you were getting sleepy."
She felt flustered, but she looked at him defiantly. "No, I wasn't. I was just enjoying the massage; never had one before and-"
"So, you're having fun, precious…"
She did not have time to answer, because he pulled her face to his and kissed her breathless. Her brain tried to tell her she would have to start paying attention if she did not want to be caught by surprise so often, but the rest of her body told her it did not matter. She closed her eyes and kissed him back.
When they came apart, she opened her eyes and looked at him. He was smirking again.
"Oh, you're so proud of yourself!" she said with a big smile. "You think you're the best, eh? Well, I'm sure you've had more practice than me, but I'm not that easy to-"
He put his index finger on her lips. "Shhh… We can talk later. I believe you asked me to at least give you until midnight. We can negotiate more time after that," he said and the suggestion in his voice made her stomach flip.
