DISCLAIMER: Alas, I do not own anything related to Labyrinth, David Bowie or Jim Henson and Co.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The stars vanish from the sky.
Endless falling…
Fear…
He had ridden the animal nearly to death in his pursuit of abeyance. His rage drove him onward, pushing the animal to breakneck speed for hours on end, his own muscles straining from the exertion, screaming for release. He ignored the burning in his sinew, the cramping of his legs and the ferocious pounding behind his eyes.
The effort had done little good; his mind had not eased, nor his ire soothed. Circumstances far beyond the impressive reach of his control, negated his meticulous planning, leaving him to stand alone in the murky puddle of his defeat. Growling, he pulled the reins, bringing the beast to an abrupt halt, dragging himself violently from the saddle.
The moment he dismounted— sprinting up the steps and into the grand lodge with an aggravated lightness of foot— the dangerous thrumming returned to his veins with cruel force. It was the same, wicked sensation that had driven him to the back of his mount, desperate to clear his volcanic thoughts. His muddied boots printed his stride along the red-checkered floor as he thrust the heavy, damp overcoat from his person, tossing it carelessly behind him before marching into the parlor. Gingerly he poured himself a drink, tossing it back so quickly he could not recall the faintest taste of the liquor, before he did the same with another. Then another.
His fourth glass was to be savored— sipped slowly until his mind became too fogged to remember his own name. It would take all night, but he was determined to forget before he began the brickwork for yet another sedulous plan. Stalking to stand before the fire which had been lit moments before his arrival by the unseen hands of his ghost-like servants, he stared blankly into the orange-white flames. Slamming his drink with near-breaking force into the wood of the mantel, he thrust his hands forward, bracing his palms against the well-polished surface growling low and long. How had this happened?
"Sir?"
The delicate voice pulled him from his bitter stewing, drawing his eyes from the twirling flames dancing within the hearth. Grunting an uncommitted response, he inclined his head toward the small, curious woman. Her arrival was not altogether unexpected; however, her presence in the parlor was a peculiarity— she was to be waiting in his private chambers. The muscle in his jaw twitched as his nostrils flared but he remained silent nonetheless, his piercing gaze slicing through her.
"Sir?" she repeated, remaining fixed at the door frame. Again he said nothing and merely dug his muscles into the mantel until his knuckles turned white. It was an awkward, unfriendly quiet that pulled the hairs at her neck to attention. Shaking the fear from her nerves, she offered a pouted lip and batted lashes.
Demurely, her hand lifted with practiced grace to the brass clasp resting at the base of her throat, her fingers toying with the smooth metal as she darted her tongue to moisten her rosy lips. Taking a step closer, she took an exaggerated breath, the sharp movement lifting her ample chest to part the emerald velvet cloak draped about her shoulders. "You seem troubled," she purred, daring to continue her pursuit until she was not but a hair from his scowling form, her long neck angled nearer still.
With tentative determination, she placed a hand against his straining bicep, her breath catching deep in her lungs as she awaited his response. When he did nothing to shun nor encourage her advances, she loosed the nettled sigh as quietly as possible, replacing her frown with a seductive smile. Shifting, she moved to stand behind him, running her hands up the tense expanse of his frock-covered back to settle at the base of his neck. Pressing her luck, the woman worked her fingers over the expensive fabric, digging skillfully into the thick knots tied under his taut muscles.
Her touch was unwanted yet welcomed nonetheless. The tension melted, dissipating into a fine mist far easier to ignore than the relentless thrumming that beat against skull only minutes before. His anger still lingered, lying in wait for his mind to call it to the forefront of his conscious. Groaning as her fingers shattered the clump of tension at the base of his neck, he closed his eyes, savoring the unexpected relief.
That was a mistake.
The instant his eyes shut, the darkened void flashed images of his rage against his psyche, each more enraging than the last. Echoing voices sang roundabout one another in a maddening chorus that further fueled his rancorous vehemence reminding him all the more of his egregious failure. Grinding his teeth, he rolled his neck, the hollow popping of his bones the only sound above the crackling fire, but the delicate fingers never ceased in their ministrations. Rather the pressure increased, the small digits sinking deeper into his flesh with slow, deliberate operose.
He moaned, low and dark. Succumbing to the myriad of sensation her hands offered, his stance grew lax and casual, his mouth parting the barest amount as he sighed heavily. His paid companion offered no complaint of tired fingers nor boredom— though with the hefty sum promised for discrete, and lengthy services was far beyond her usual clientele— and she played her role accordingly.
Eventually, the massage ended, but her hands remained lightly atop his form, sliding along the length of his arms, still perched on the mantel. Here and there her hands squeezed the flesh encased in a dark brocade as she rubbed gently across the luxurious satin. Rising to her toes, her chest pressed firmly against the broad expanse of his back; her fingers sneaked beneath his frock, signaling her desire for its absence. He obliged. Dropping his arms to his sides, he acquiesced, allowing her to slide the offending article from his person. Her fingers deftly untied the smart knot of his cravat, tugging the pressed linen from his neck, unfastening the buttons along his sternum.
"Allow me to ease your mind," she hummed against his ear, her teeth nipping lightly at his lobe. She turned his head, forcing him to change his stance so that he could fully face her. "I have been told I am rather distracting." Pushing away, she stood back, locking her wanton gaze with his. Slowly her hands lifted to her gaping cloak, the tips of her fingers gliding along the smooth mounds of her breasts before pulling the fabric away from her shoulders until it puddled on the floor.
He raked his eyes over her luscious figure, encased in elaborate stays and whisper-thin shift. She was a feast to behold, and he greedily looked his fill. He growled darkly, his body responding to her bared beauty. She truly was stunning, round doe brown eyes framed by soft flaxen locks that begged to be wrapped around his hand in a daring grip. Her breasts, straining over the top of the embroidered fabric, threatening to spill over and gift him with their visage, enticed him, beckoned him to slake his lust between their weighty globes. His body responded to the sight of her.
His mind did not.
He wanted another but in an altogether different capacity. The things he could do— would do— to the object of his desire. What he wouldn't do. An idea caught in the web of his mind, thrusting against the sticky silk like a fly. His spider-thoughts snatched at the offered feast, devouring it in one swallow. All was not lost— this was an opportunity so long as he played his hand perfectly, and he intended to do just that. His thin lips curled into a vicious smile, his brows falling into a heavy frown as his thoughts darkened. Snapping his attention to the blonde, his voice was cruel and full of mockery. "Oh, yes, you will be a perfect distraction." Unblinking, he stared, his eyes narrowing as he stepped forward. His smile morphed into a wicked, toothy sneer laced with licentious malice.
He rushed her. She gasped, taking a troubled step back, suddenly afraid. His hand gripped her bicep with bruising force, before spinning her violently away from him, exposing the laces of her corset, and the long locks of her mane. Wrapping an arm about her waist, he pulled her roughly against him, leaning close. "I am often forced to share," he purred, licking the shell of her ear, "but tonight, you are mine and mine alone. I intend to savor this." His grip on her hair grew fierce, painful— cruel. His hand slid up her arm, the bruises from his vice blossomed as his large paw encircled her throat. He squeezed lightly, testing the feel of her muscles, before choking her fully.
A beautiful violet tinged the edges of her lips and around the reddened rim of her eyes; the sight was almost too much, and he released his hold before he lost the entirety of his control. The whore sputtered, spittle dripping from her mouth as the rosy color returned. Her gaze was murderous, even through the wash of tears pouring down her face, trickling onto her breasts. "I am going to enjoy this—" he hummed, pulling back a fraction, a snarl trapped in the back of his throat as he pressed his head against hers, inhaling the scent of lavender and sweat as he pressed her against him harder. "You will not." His teeth bared down on her ear, hard. Blood seeped through the wound as she screamed, fighting against his hold.
He laughed, blood trailing from his lips onto her shoulder. Her weeping spurred his lust, fanning the flames of his desire. Running his free hand through her tresses, he curled his fingers in the mass closing his fist in an iron grip. Jerking her head back with painful, snapping force, her wide tear-filled eyes looked up to his pleading his release. Crashing his mouth to hers, he suckled and licked at her unresponsive lips, sunning his tongue along the trembling seam. Her distressed whimpers stirred his groin like a harlots feigned climatic moans, and the grip on her hair tightened, tilting her head to an agonizing angle.
A sharp, stabbing pain pierced his lips as her teeth sunk into the tender flesh. Pulling her head viciously away, he stared down at her, his pupils dilated and wide. The muscles along his bloodied lips twitched, as her crying began anew. A manic smile parted his lips, revealing the red stained teeth, and puncture wound along his mouth. "You are perfect…"
A/N: *Puts hands up* Please don't shoot! I know the chapter is short… but I am only the messenger! I hope you all like it. I know the story is getting dark but I have a plan. I promise I do not believe in darkness for the sake of darkness There is a purpose here— a plan— you all have to trust me! Please! Thanks for the reviews, honestly they mean the world to me! See you VERY soon!