Chapter Seven
Sarah
I want to drink you sober
I want to feel you
- Bitter:Sweet, Drink You Sober
September 23rd, 2002. Day 6 of the quarantine
Sarah dug into her inbox, scanning the dozens of messages, desperate for any reply to her forum posts about freelance work. One person messaged her about developing a logo for an organic herbal cosmetic company, but when she replied with a price estimate, she heard nothing back from them. She drew several political cartoons and submitted them to local newspapers. They paid between two and eight hundred a pop. She'd gotten one in shortly after college. It hung framed on the wall behind her desk. It was the first of many.
The post office was still working, and Sarah could put the cartoons in the outgoing bin beside the row of gleaming brass mailboxes down in the lobby. The walk down to the maildrop was one of the more peaceful moments of her day. Otherwise, she was always aware of him.
Jareth had not spoken a word to her since yesterday's debacle on the beach, and this morning she had awoken to her living room set as usual, Jareth on the couch flipping through television channels with a disgusted look on his face. No coffee had been made, and when she got the morning paper and sat down to read it at her desk with her first cup, he did not greet her even as she walked through his line of sight.
He's pouting.
She busied herself with combing through the forums looking for work, responding to want ads which were becoming fewer and further between as the quarantine wore on.
Around noon, Jareth climbed out the window onto the fire escape and talked with Hector for an hour. She tuned out the conversation until a phrase made her head perk up.
"Insufferable woman." Sarah pivoted in her office chair, as Jareth continued. "Tell me what I'm doing wrong, Hector. I take her to exotic places. I shower her with gifts, affection, and time, yet she still rebuffs me."
Sarah caught his eye as he said the last, and he smirked. "Tell them you're into kidnapping children and see how much he wants to help you," she grumbled as Hector's returning voice sounded off from above. Sarah could only catch one word in five, but Jareth was nodding, and his expression turned thoughtful.
She scowled, ready to climb out there with him to defend herself when the phone rang.
Picking it up, she barely said, "Williams," before an excited, deep voice sounded at the other end of the crackling line. "Sarah! Sarah, it's me!"
She grinned and looked at the calendar on the wall. She had forgotten what day it was. "Hey, Toby. How's St. Petersburg?"
Jareth's head snapped over to Sarah when she said Toby's name, something raptor-like in his expression. Sarah stood and walked away from the window, though she was unsure how much distance she'd need before Jareth's excellent hearing would stop picking her up.
"Alexei and I went on a walk today with his dog, and we almost got arrested!"
"What?" Sarah exclaimed, stopping in her tracks.
"It was so cool," he laughed. "They were shouting and waving batons at us and everything."
"Toby, this isn't a joke. You could have gotten seriously hurt."
"Oh, chill out, sis. Alexei pretended to be a dumb American like me. You should have been there. It was hilarious. His accent is horrible."
Sarah ran her free hand over her face. "Please don't do that again, Toby. Stay inside. Don't antagonize the police. I've seen the news. I know kids aren't let out on their own."
There was a strangled huff on the other end of the line. "I'm almost eighteen!"
The phone was plucked from her hand before she could say more. She cried out and whirled, knocking straight into the Goblin King. Earth and ozone infused her breath, and she let out an involuntary, shuddering sigh. Momentarily stunned, she stood there as Jareth said, "Hello, Tobias. Remember me? From your dreams?"
Cold washed down her back, and all her muscles contracted with the urge to flee or freeze. To do something.
Toby was talking, but Sarah could barely hear his voice, nevertheless his words. Jareth grinned. "Yes, I'm quite real. Do you remember what I told you about Sarah, on your last birthday?"
Her paralysis snapped, and she lunged for the phone, but Jareth easily outmaneuvered her. Not only that, but he didn't lose his breath as she pursued him through the apartment, and he blocked her every strike with the grace of a dancer. She could admire him even over the roaring in her ears and the heat in her blood. He continued talking to Toby, answering the teenager's questions. She shook herself a bit and refocused on the phone, panting as she took a swipe for it, and he ducked. Sarah was ready with an upraised knee, but he rolled his body away in a motion that seemed to defy the laws of physics.
"Tobias, I need you to tell your sister what you told me that night in your dream." He stopped moving and thrust the phone at Sarah. She leaped back a few feet once she had it safely in hand and put the receiver to her ear.
"Toby? Toby, who do you think—"
"I've always known you wished me away," her brother whispered on the other end of the line. But the words may as well have been javelins for how they seemed to pierce through her skull. "I've known since I was five. I read your diary when you were away at college. The one you hid under the bed. I went under there one day playing hide and seek with mom, and I found it all covered in dust bunnies and with the lock broken. So I read it. I kept it in my room for two years, reading and re-reading everything in it. It was only half full, but I was only five. It was kind of how I learned to read in the first place. You taught me that, I guess." He let out a hollow laugh, and Sarah's face felt numb, her mouth open but no sound coming out.
Jareth moved away from her, entering the kitchen. From the sound of it, he was brewing a pot of coffee. Sarah glared at his back and turned down the hall and into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
"So when Jareth showed up in my dreams," Toby continued. "I knew who he was. He said that I had invited him in, because I knew of him from your diary. I knew him enough to use his name. And he's been cool. I mean, he dresses and talks funny, but he's alright." He paused. "Sarah? He told me on my last birthday that you had almost gone to the Underground with him once. But when I called, you told him you couldn't."
"Toby," Sarah's voice was strangled-sounding, as though she had not spoken in days. "I'm so sorry—"
"It's okay, sis. God damn it, I wish I were there."
"Language," Sarah said by rote, sinking onto the corner of her bed.
"Oh, lay off," he laughed, and warmth sparked in her chest for the first time since Jareth had taken the phone from her. He stopped after a moment, though, and his voice became serious and quiet once more. "If that was him, and I'm pretty sure it was because his voice is very distinct, then he asked me to tell you something."
"You don't need to tell me anything, Toby, you don't need to listen to him," she said in a rush. "Please."
"It's okay. I want to tell you." He sighed, the sound making the crackling line sound like television static. "I told him you wouldn't say no because of me, but you would say no because you were afraid. I told him—I said you have always been a little afraid."
Sarah blinked, surprised, and had a sudden plunging feeling in her stomach. "Afraid?"
"Yeah," Toby stammered. "You know, afraid of getting too close to people. Afraid of upsetting dad. You're still a badass, don't get me wrong, but you've taken the easy way out a lot."
"It's not so easy as that," she snapped, thinking of the acting she wanted to do once, and the set designing she landed on a little later. But they were paid so little unless they worked on the big Broadway productions, and even then, she would make more as a mid-level at her current job. It made no economic sense. "Adults have a lot of other things they need to take into consideration."
"Sarah," he groaned. "Don't get all high and mighty on me. You know as well as I do that you gave up."
"Hey!" She started, rising, but then stopped herself, catching sight of her figure in the dresser mirror. She wore yoga pants and a tank top with a crochet knit cardigan. There was a single, faint crease under each eye—signs of weariness that had grown deeper over the years.
"Sis, don't be mad," Toby whined on the other line. There was a commotion in the background and a sharp sound of static, and then he got back on. "Shit, I got to go. My alarm went off; this is all the international long distance I can afford. I love you!"
"I love you, too," she said, the words automatic, but the phone had gone dead.
Sarah clicked off the receiver and dropped the cordless on her bed, grabbing fistfuls of her hair.
Jareth has been in Toby's dreams for over ten years, she thought. Like he was in my dream night before last.
Jareth.
She looked to her closed bedroom door, and her blood rushed in her veins, much like it had when she was trying to get the phone back from the Goblin King. She strode over to the door, flung it open, and stomped into the living area.
Jareth was coming out of the kitchen, a mug of coffee in hand. Sarah noticed it had cream in it, as she liked. When Jareth drank coffee, he took it black. That small detail didn't stop her, however. She came within striking distance of the fae, meeting his laughing eyes and his smug smile, and slapped him across the face.
Utter silence descended. Jareth's head was cocked a little to the side from the force of her blow, and she stood near him, chest heaving, waiting with a thundering heart to see what would happen next.
He blinked, the movement slow, and set down the mug of coffee on the countertop by his side. Then his eyes leaped to hers, and he bared his teeth in a snarl.
Sarah yelped when gloved hands gripped her upper arms and pushed her back. Back, through the hallway, and then she was against the wall, shocked from the slight impact. She brought her fists up, intent on striking out, but he snapped up each of her wrists, one in each hand, pressing them to the grey wallpaper above her head. Sarah raised a knee, aiming for his crotch, but he sidestepped her quickly while not letting off an inch of pressure on her wrists. And as she overextended her leg trying to get to him, he used her misbalance to step between her legs, settling himself there, his entire body flush against hers.
After a quick gasp, Sarah went still, her only movement that of her chest as she breathed. She could smell him everywhere. Earth and ozone and something else she could not quite put her finger on. Something that reminded her of the Labyrinth itself—the actual moving, shifting structure—and it made her wonder how deep the bond went between the ruler and the land.
His hair tickled her face as he lowered his head, the tip of his nose brushing against the shell of her ear. "You struck me," he breathed.
She suppressed the urge to shiver. Goosebumps rose unbidden and erupted down her arms and shoulders. She caught his gaze shifting downward. Swallowing on a dry throat, tongue flicking out to lick her lips, Sarah said in a calm voice, "You've been in Toby's dreams. Like you were in mine. I didn't have to kiss you, did I? The bargain isn't binding in dreams?"
He laughed, and his whole body moved with it. "Clever, precious. No, the bargain is not binding in dreams, but I had to kiss you. You lied to me. I was owed."
Something throbbed against her inner thigh, and Sarah squirmed as she recognized it. This was exciting to him and, if she were honest with herself, it was exciting her as well. She wasn't sure if she was trying to get away or if she was trying to get that pressure closer to other parts of her. Hungry parts.
He hissed, and one hand dropped to her leg, hitching it up over his hip, and she gasped anew when that length was pressed just so. Her eyelids fluttered closed as he pinned her to the wall, a rumble coming from his chest. He was so warm it made her limbs feel like jelly.
"Jareth," she sighed. "Please—"
"Be careful what you say, precious," he said, his voice thick with lust and laced with warning. "Give me even the slightest ray of hope, and I—I want to magic our clothes away. I want to take you right here. I know you're ready for me, aren't you, Sarah?" His breath was back in her ear, and he sucked the lobe into his mouth, biting down on just this side of too much. She shuddered, and he continued, "I can smell you. Tell me you want me, and I'm yours."
She opened her mouth, but his fell to her collar, releasing her other wrist so that he could sweep aside the edge of the cardigan. She had to swallow her moan, body shaking with fury turned to sharp need.
"I'll allow this one strike," he continued, still running his lips between her collar bone and her ear, occasionally nipping a little at her skin. "For there is much history between us, and I know I did not always behave in a way you understood to be—well, in a way that befits a suitor. But let that be all, my Sarah. Bury this animosity you carry. Your brother understands. Forgives. There is no villain here."
Sarah gripped his shoulders, fingers balling the fabric of his billowy shirt. "Jareth, I—"
His mouth skimmed down to the top of her right breast, and he bit down hard, causing her to moan and arch her back. He made a satisfied little rumbling sound and started to move still lower.
"Jareth!" Sarah cried as his mouth closed over the thin fabric of her shirt and lace of her bra, taking her nipple into his mouth. "Please, I can't have sex with you."
He pulled away, the movement screaming his reluctance, and caught her gaze in his mismatched one. Expression dark, he brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. "What would you have of me, Sarah?"
She licked her lips but stayed silent.
His thumb traced the seam of her mouth, the fine linen of the gloves soft against the thin skin there. "Are you refusing to answer?" He whispered.
She remained silent.
"I want you to come after me for this one." He stood, head lifted, several inches taller than her. Sarah huffed and tightened her grip on the Goblin King's hip, then bracing herself on his shoulders before pushing off with her other foot, lifting herself enough that she was level with his face and held by her three points of contact. Jareth looked amused. Again. Sarah frowned at him. "What's so funny?"
"I heard no protest," he said.
Sarah paused for half a heartbeat, then scowled. "Why, when we know how this will go?"
"Oh? Do elaborate."
She huffed, arms shaking a little as she shifted her weight again.
"Here," he said, gripping her bottom. "Put your weight on me."
She did, and Jareth did not bat an eye, his fingers tracing patterns near the apex of her thighs. Sarah wriggled, and he chuckled. "You give all the signs of wanting me, Sarah, I can see your need. Why deny yourself this way?"
She bit her bottom lip, trying to stay still, but his ever-moving fingers made her want to rock against him, to lower down a little, so she could feel the hard press of him through her thin yoga pants. She wanted to keep begging him, a 'please' dying on her lips before it could be uttered. What's wrong with me? It's not like it's been forever—it's only been a few months!
Yet there was something about the Goblin King in particular that made her this way. She had felt a flare of this all those years ago when she had almost gone with him, when they had kissed for the first time. She had wanted nothing more at that moment than to be joined with him. To feel him move within her, to ride him.
She still had to kiss him, and even had to answer him. Answer, or grant him a second kiss. The thought, tantalizing, was soon set aside. "Because I don't want to go to the Underground," she said. "I don't want to be your queen. I don't want all those people relying on me."
His eyes, hooded, regarded her. "Relying on you?"
"Yes," she stifled a small moan as his fingers stopped their gentle explorations and patterns. "And I won't be seen as some conquest. You conquered the one who conquered the Labyrinth. Something like that."
He scoffed. "You know so little."
"Then teach me," she challenged, raising her chin. "You're always eluding to things I do not know or do not understand. We're stuck together. Tell me."
The Goblin King still did not appear strained or winded even though he supported the bulk of her weight. "I will," he said, his voice soft. "If you will listen, I will tell you everything."
"Good." She leaned forward and caught his lips with hers. She softened and slowed the kiss, drawing it out as she licked the seam of his lips, darting in to taste him as soon as he opened for her. His tongue met hers, and they both took in a deep lungful of breath as they stroked at one another.
One of Jareth's hands left her bottom, skimming up her ribs before cupping her breast, rolling one peaked nipple between two fingers. Sarah moaned into the kiss, unashamed, and broke it only when Jareth lifted her cardigan and tank off, and then she was back at it, breathing him in like he was the sweetest oxygen after minutes underwater. He popped the clasp on the front of her bra, and then the heated gloves were on her bare flesh. She was whimpering into his mouth, her hands laced behind his head, gripping him, pulling him closer still.
"Say yes," he was saying, the voice like a rasp between devouring kisses. "Say yes, you precious thing."
Sarah chased his lips, trying to swallow his words, but he pulled back.
"Let me touch you," he breathed.
Heart hammering, Sarah felt his words catch up to her. You precious thing. Cold flash-froze her skin, and her eyes widened as she came back into herself. Came back to find herself naked from the waist up, a bra dangling from her shoulders, the Goblin King's hands upon her rear and her breast, his lips swollen with her kisses.
Twenty seconds ago, none of that mattered, but now? Now, she remembered every predatory look. Every stalking footstep and dark gaze. Precious thing.
Thing.
She unclamped her hands from around his neck and wriggled out of his grasp, sliding down the wall and sidestepping his outstretched hand. "You think I belong to you," she said, for the second day in a row. She redid the clasp of her bra. "God damn it, Jareth, I—it wouldn't be so hard if you realized that I wasn't yours."
"You can't deny the pull." He murmured.
"I can't. I won't. I want—I know I'm attracted to you. Hell, spending quarantine rolling around in the sack sounds like a lot of fun, but you would take it too far. You think you're going to possess me, but you never will, don't you see? You don't have that kind of power over me."
He flinched, and his gaze turned hard. He took a step toward her and raised his left hand, peeling off the glove. "Yet, you're allowed to have power over me?" He snarled. "You would take, but never give? That is what you would have of me?"
"W-what—" she started, and her gaze landed on his hand. "Is that a tattoo?"
On Jareth's left hand, across the back, was a circular impression of a labyrinth. Not the Labyrinth, but a facsimile. She had seen it representing the Labyrinth on some older texts she was able to get her hands on when researching what the fae were. But the path leading out of it drew toward and looped around his middle finger. Like a ring.
"The Labyrinth chose you," he growled. "And because I'm bonded to it, that made you my choice as well. Yet I am a fae, and you are mortal. I do not have decades or centuries to woo you. I only have this short mortal lifetime. And you deny me at every turn."
"I deny your ownership!" Sarah said. "I deny your possession. I am not something for you to win." Jareth seemed to deflate a little, and Sarah did not hesitate in her sudden desire to place a hand on his chest, near where his medallion rested. "But—I could be with someone, so long as they understood I was not their plaything. Not their toy. That I belong only to myself."
"Is that the way to your heart?" He asked slowly, then, "Don't answer. I know you won't."
"Yes."
Jareth's eyes snapped to her, and she saw the shock in them. "What?"
"Yes, that's the way. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I—Jareth, I want to trust you. Now, that mark on your hand means what? Speak plainly."
He flexed his fingers, and Sarah gazed at them. They were longer than what she expected but still decidedly masculine. She shivered when she thought about what the feel of that skin would be like against her own. "It's a mating bond," he said, voice soft. "The fae and some other Underground species are inflicted with these. You've heard of Cupid?"
Sarah scoffed.
"That's essentially what this is. The fates have chosen that you are the one for me. None other will bear my children or satisfy me ever again. It is only you." He met her eyes again. "Choice has been stripped from me, Sarah, precious. Now, do you see?"
She hissed in a breath and moved a little closer to him, still with her hand on his chest. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Would you have believed me?" He accused. "You were always so quick to see the darkness. You wanted your world simple, your villain evil to your pure. Though that's not the way of things now, is it, precious?"
"Stop calling me that," she whispered.
He grinned and stepped away, moving with a sweeping bow toward the living area. "Your coffee is getting cold."
Sarah moved toward him, wanting to say more, not ready for this conversation to end, but Jareth strode through the living room, and as he did, it rippled and changed. Another aisling taking over. This was also the sea, but instead of the peaceful cobalt waves, it was a crashing, stormy gray and rocky shore. Jareth tore off his shirt and magicked away his boots, never breaking stride until he dove below a crashing wave, not surfacing for a full twenty feet out.
She shivered as the cold breeze pricked her bare skin, and turned back into the hallway, picking up her clothes as she went before shutting the door of her bedroom behind her, shutting out all but the softest sounds of the pounding surf.
She could feel the ghost of his hands upon her, and she wanted to turn back, to wait for him at the shore, and demand he finish what he started. He would do it. She knew he would.
And then what? She asked herself, picturing Jareth the day after, crowing over his conquest. It was how she always imagined it.
Except for this time, there was another image fighting for dominance in her mind. One in which he woke her with sweet kisses, and they lazed about, discovering each other's bodies, and only stopping to rest or replenish. She could imagine a drowsy few days with him, at least, and then—then, there could be something more. There was the barest hint of it like the edge of a sharp blade.
He's getting to me, she thought. Not his kisses or his words so much as his actions. Unlike so many of the men she had been with, he was invigorating. Every time she spoke with him, it excited her on one level or another. The need to swim to get away from her, as though she had burned him up so much that only the ice-cold waters of the Slavic sea could return him to normal. She had done that to him. Her, and only her. And that power was an intoxicant.
It hit her like a brick to the chest. I want him.
She wanted him so much it hurt, standing by her bed with her discarded clothes in her hand. She couldn't bear to put them on or to find a replacement. Not yet. She still wanted to trace the edges of her bra and the places where his hands had been, so warm they were like brands.
She wondered what it would be like without the gloves.
Author's Note: I know this is late. A thousand apologies. I have no excuse except that it's hot and I'm a whiny little baby who is used to her air conditioning. It's throwing me off. The good news is that I'm getting an A/C for my bedroom/office. The bad news is that I have no idea how soon that will be, and here in the central valley it is starting to get HOT.
I hope you enjoyed.
xoxo,
CrimsonSympathy