Warnings: dub-con, non-consensual voyeurism.
Chapter 2
"Are you all right, Sarah?"
Maybe it was because the breath-stealing orgasm he'd given her was still making her brain fuzzy, but Sarah dissolved into giggles again. "You're kidding, right?"
She felt him smiling against her bare shoulder, and she only just managed not to jump when she felt him kiss it.
"No, it was a serious question." He heaved a forlorn sign that played through her hair, and his voice became somber again. "I truly apologize for the circumstances, Sarah. Ordinarily, I would have courted you first… and chosen a different location than a dungeon, naturally."
She laughed at the word 'courted' but when he sent her a serious look she mirrored it. "Believe me, Jareth, I enjoyed it."
Sarah noticed his nostrils flare and his breath hitch at the sound of his name again. She wasn't sure where this kink had come from, but then she realized she had never once called him by his name—it had always been 'Goblin King'.
She opened her mouth to comment on it, but what came out instead was, "Ugh," when she shifted in his lap and felt a rush of warm, sticky liquid trailing down her thighs.
"Ah," said Jareth, when he noticed. "Hold on."
Gently setting her back down on the floor, he reached far over to the side and snatched up the remaining pieces from his destroyed shirt. With a handful of cloth, he carefully cleaned her up; Sarah watched him while chewing on her lip, wondering if this was the part where they would start getting awkward around each other. She had just freely (and wantonly, if she was being frank) given her virginity to a person who, up until a few hours ago, she had assumed probably hated her guts, and he was being an incredible gentleman about it too. It was a bit disconcerting, to be honest—she'd always assumed (fantasized) the Goblin King would be as controlling in bed as he'd appeared during her time in the Labyrinth, all fierce growls and taking her when he wanted against the nearest surface, horizontal or otherwise. She shivered at the thought.
"Cold?"
"A bit," she said, although it wasn't the reason she'd shivered.
"We should dress. There should be people returning with dinner."
Her face burned at the idea of being caught naked with the Goblin King—from Eggplant's comment, they already found her people to 'lack modesty'—so she nodded and arched herself so she could pull up her panties and jeans. She spotted him staring at her breasts, pants halfway up his legs, and she couldn't help but grin a little at his evident approval. Sarah wasn't sure where her previous shyness had fled to; maybe there was something liberating about watching a gorgeous man struggle not to fall to pieces above her.
"Can you pass me my bra?" she asked, and then laughed when he snatched it up and handed it over with a grudging look at the offending fabric. A sudden question occurred to her. "How are you feeling?"
"Hm?" He looked up, an amused expression on his face. "Surely you are not asking if I enjoyed it?"
"No," said Sarah, and they grinned like idiots at each other for a moment. "I meant your bruises and stuff. You could barely move before."
"Your arrival in the cell had woken me from sleep, Sarah," Jareth told her. "Injuries always feel worse after rest."
"You get stiff because you aren't moving," Sarah finished for him, nodding as she pulled on her blouse. At the mention of the Council's punishment, she hesitantly pressed into uncomfortable territory again. "What chance do I have of getting pregnant when it's, y'know, time?"
The amusement left his face, and she wished she hadn't brought it up.
"About eight percent."
"What, that's it?" exclaimed Sarah incredulously.
"Whatever do you mean, 'that's it'?" Jareth frowned. "That is a significant chance Sarah—a Fae woman's chance is less than three percent, and infertility is not a women-only issue."
"I just mean… well, an average human has about a twenty to thirty percent chance." At Jareth's stunned look, she noted, "I guess that does seem pretty crazy from your side. Although a lot of people have trouble sustaining pregnancies, let alone getting pregnant," she added, remembering a neighbor of hers who'd had seven miscarriages before giving birth to a premature son.
"We are lucky in that regard," said Jareth. "There are very rarely complications."
Sarah was about to comment, but an imposing knock sounded on the metal door and nearly made her hit the ceiling.
"That would be dinner," Jareth assured her, and sure enough the door swung open to reveal Feylan and another servant came in carrying trays. "Set them there."
Sarah watched as the two set the trays on the ground as far away from her as possible in the cell—that was probably on purpose, judging from the look of death Jareth was sending Feylan's way.
The two servants bowed. "Your Majesty."
"Get out," he snapped.
They bowed and left, Feylan remained stony-faced but the other servant looked a bit shocked, and ordinarily Sarah would feel sorry for them if she didn't remember they'd probably be watching her and Jareth fuck to get pregnant later on. To get her own jab in, she glared daggers at Eggplant's back and flipped him off, much to Jareth's amusement.
"I don't think Feylan would understand that particular gesture, had he seen it," Jareth commented with a smirk, before gesturing her over to the trays. "Come and eat, Sarah; surely it's been a while."
It actually had, now that she thought about it. She obediently made her way over to the trays and plopped down next to him, staring in amazement at what the servants had delivered: a bowl of unfamiliar fruits, glazed rolls and a tureen of some kind of yellow soup, with two bowls and spoons set aside for them.
"This is… fancier than I expected," Sarah said.
"Hm?" Jareth answered, busy ladling soup into one of the bowls. "What do you mean?"
"Well we're prisoners," she pointed out. "I mean, I was kind of expecting the whole bread and water treatment."
Jareth snorted, handing her the bowl of soup. "I am still technically a king, Sarah, not a common thief. Bread and water would be unacceptable even if I had bludgeoned the High King to death."
She smirked at his joke, but it abruptly dropped off when she realized that yes, he still technically was a king. I slept with a king, she thought, stifling a giggle. Wait 'til the girls hear about this.
He quirked an eyebrow at her expression, so she turned her attention to the soup he'd given her.
"What is this, anyway? Chicken?"
"No, it is elk," Jareth said. "If we prepared chickens for meals, the goblins would surely revolt."
"What?" said Sarah with a frown, as she tasted her soup. Not bad. "Why?"
"Well to make a comparison, it would be the same as preparing dogs in the Aboveground."
"Okay, yuck," Sarah grimaced into her soup. "So chickens are pets. Noted."
"Not so much pets as things to poke with sticks or shoot peas at," Jareth corrected, a strange cross between amusement and exasperation on his face.
Sarah snorted, as she dipped a roll in her soup.
"When I was a kid, I used to tie up Merlin's fur with my hair ribbons. It's the same principle."
The two grinned at the antics of eleven-year-old Sarah, and she set her empty soup bowl down and leaned over to explore the fruits.
"What is this, a grape?" Sarah asked, picking up a red-skinned fruit a little too round to be a grape.
"An Underground offshoot of one, yes," Jareth replied, setting his own bowl down to watch her.
She tentatively tried it, jumping when it made something of a high-pitched squeak when she bit into it.
"What the heck?" Sarah swatted at his arm when Jareth laughed like she'd just done something hilarious. "It isn't funny. What was that?"
She almost wished he wouldn't answer—his laugh was gorgeous and so was his expression.
"It's merely a chemical reaction, Sarah."
"Karen would freak if something like this was served at the dinner table," she said with a grin, as she bit into another one and heard it squeal too.
He laughed again and replied, "This is not something served while dining in polite company. Who wants to have conversation interrupted every ten seconds with a fruit's protests?"
"That's true," Sarah giggled, before picking out another fruit. "Hey, I know this one—it's a 'peasant peach', right?"
Hoggle, Ludo and Didymus had brought the tiny apricot-looking fruits over years ago, back when she'd still been living with her parents. Didymus had told her that these were the lesser cousins of peaches, which were an Underground delicacy and only served to the upper class.
"Yes it is," Jareth said, sounding confused. "How did you know that?"
She paused for a moment, realizing her mistake.
"Um…" She really didn't want to lie to him, not after everything he'd done for her. "Sir Didymus brought me some," she said finally. "He and the others visit me Aboveground. And… well, sometimes a stray goblin. Although they don't seem to need the mirror like the others do—I keep finding them stealing my potatoes."
"I know, Sarah," Jareth told her quietly, shocking her out of her ramblings. "Do not worry."
"You know?" He nodded, and she relaxed, smiling warmly at him. "Oh good. How are they?"
"Just fine," he assured her. "Don't you know?"
"No, it's been a while," Sarah shrugged, playing with the peasant's peach. "I moved to the city when I started school and couldn't take the mirror with me—it didn't fit in my apartment. I only see them when I visit my parents."
"How often is that?"
She wrinkled her nose as she pondered.
"Once every two or three weeks, I guess."
He hummed thoughtfully in response, and Sarah, a bit forlorn with the topic, turned her attention back to exploring the Underground fruits, not noticing that Jareth's eyes never left her face the entire time.
"Under no circumstances are you to wake her, Feylan," Sarah heard Jareth snap.
She grimaced, still in the in-between place of sleep and wake, and lifted her head groggily to tell Jareth to shut up, she was sleeping. Instead, a large hand seized her arm and pulled it up at an awkward angle, causing her to cry out in pain. She yanked it back, instantly alert.
"What the hell?" she demanded, glaring hard at a scowling Feylan hovering above her. "What's your problem, Eggplant?"
"I am Feylan," he told her in his weird, soft voice, though he still looked angry. "I need to test you."
"You could try asking, instead of pulling me all over the goddamn place," Sarah snapped.
"Give me your hand," he said instead.
"I didn't hear a question mark at the end of that sentence, but it's a start," she grumbled, holding out her hand.
Her grumpiness evaporated immediately when Feylan pressed the crystal to her palm and, inside the globe, a vibrant violet color blossomed in lieu of the dark blue from before. Oh God, please let that mean something else—
"You are ready," Feylan said tersely, and the ground fell away. He bent down and undid the shackle around her leg. "You will come with me to prepare for the ceremony."
"I don't want to come with you," Sarah gasped, her heart nearly flying out of her mouth in fear. He grabbed ahold of her wrist and started pulling—again with the pulling—but she yanked right back, eyes desperately seeking out a devastated-looking Goblin King, already unshackled. "Jareth!"
Jareth snapped into action at once, shoving Feylan's hand away as easily as swatting at a fly.
"We will go, but you will not manhandle her," he commended, and Sarah was sure if looks could kill, they would already be attending Eggplant's funeral.
Feylan inclined his head and beckoned them to follow him through the open door. Jareth, somber-faced and apologies in his eyes, placed a hand on the small of her back to lead her out. Sarah wished she could stay in the comfort of her cell, but Feylan glanced behind him to make sure they were following and frowned when he saw her frozen in the doorway. Inhaling, Sarah summoned up the bullheaded courage her child self used to have—she hadn't strolled into a giant magical maze without it—and followed Feylan.
So focused was she on trying to appear calm, she nearly jumped into the ceiling when Jareth leaned down and murmured in her ear, "Listen carefully; they will be separating us soon so I wish to inform you of what is ahead." Sarah swallowed hard—they were going to be separated? "They are going to offer you a potion. Be sure to accept it. It will make things… easier for you."
"What kind of a potion?" she whispered back.
Jareth paused, and Sarah turned to look at him. It was at this moment that she was able to get a good look at him, split lip already healed without a trace to suggest it had ever been there, bruises already yellowed or gone entirely. He wasn't kidding when he'd said he healed quickly, she thought to herself.
From the look on his face, though, he was clearly holding back some key information, unwilling to divulge it in case she got upset, just like he had many times back in the cell. It was infuriating, she thought with a glare in his direction. They didn't have time for contemplative pauses.
"It is a strong aphrodisiac, Sarah," he said finally, and Sarah's mouth dropped open in shock. "It is normally given to the two Fae participating in the ceremony."
"You want me to take an aphrodisiac?" she hissed at him. "Are you out of your mind?"
"It will help," he insisted. "You will be very… focused. It will make it far easier to forget that we have an audience."
"Are you gonna take it?" Jareth's half-cross half-stunned expression gave it away. "You're not gonna take it, but you want me to?"
"If I took it, I would likely hurt you. It will help," Jareth repeated.
"I'm not taking it," Sarah told him flatly.
"Why not?"
There were a dozen reasons Sarah could think of—the fact that she didn't want a crowd of people watching her lose her mind and behave like a harlot because of some hocus pocus mixture of chemicals, and the fact that it would cheapen this thing further than having an audience already had (although she could see the irony in that). However before she could hiss all that at him, Feylan led them around the corner into a hallway, where two men stood to one side and two women stood on the other side.
As Feylan addressed them, Sarah instead chose to lean in as close as she could to Jareth's ear, and breathed into it, "I didn't need an aphrodisiac in the cell, did I?"
When she pulled away, Jareth had now-familiar fire in his eyes again, and the kind of expression that said 'I want to fuck you against the nearest wall'. Her eyes, which were probably alight with their own heat judging from the twinge in her womb, were only torn away from his when she felt two pairs of hands on her—those of the women.
"Come," said one of them, nudging her to an open door, gathering behind her so she had no choice but to walk.
It didn't stop her from craning her head as far as it could go, watching Jareth, his gaze intense and painfully gorgeous, until they were both led out of each other's lines of vision. Sarah morosely turned her head back, anxiety returning with the force of a crashing plane now that she was by herself with unfamiliar people who wanted to do her harm. She flinched when two sets of hands grabbed parts of her clothing—the waist of her jeans, the hem of her blouse—and she shoved them away.
The women frowned, and the shortest of them, hair a bright autumn color, told her firmly, "We need to bathe you."
"I can undress on my own, thanks," she said, trying to appear just as firm but just sounding meek.
The women glanced at each other, before the short one nodded. "Very well."
"Are you gonna watch?" she snapped, when they didn't show any indication of leaving.
"We are going to see you anyway," said the taller one. "We need to bathe you."
Sarah huffed and muttered, "Of course you do, 'cause creepy ritual stuff," and, glad that she hadn't gotten the two men to attend to her instead, pulled her blouse over her head.
They seemed surprised with her bra, but didn't comment. Once she was done undressing, hands crisscrossed over her breasts in an attempt to preserve some modesty, they led her into an adjoining bathroom. A gold-lined tub was filled with steaming water, and the tall one pinned up her hair with a thin clip and pushed her towards the tub so vehemently that Sarah stumbled getting in.
She huddled into the warm water as much as she could, letting them scrub and soap and rinse with little to no complaint. She allowed herself the barest, most secret of smiles when she noticed a set of finger-shaped bruises on her hips; she covered them with her palms as best she could, unwilling to share it with the other women. When she was done, they patted her dry with a towel and the auburn-haired one handed her a mass of sprig green silk cloth.
"What is this?" Sarah said, frowning.
"You will change into that." When Sarah continued to frown at it, thinking it looked more like a tent than an outfit, the woman asked, "Do you need help dressing?"
She wanted to snap 'no' and toss them out on their butts; instead she nodded, knowing she could never figure out how to put on the pile of silk. They hopped to it immediately, straightening it this way and that before pulling it over her head. It fluttered down and settled over her body, and Sarah found it to be some sort of dress a bit like a toga. There were slits down the sides where the fabric crisscrossed, just peeking at the skin of her waist, and the hem of it lengthened in the back like a sort of train. And it was very loose—Sarah was afraid that if she shifted too far to one side, her breasts would show through the side-slits.
"Here, drink this," said the short one, tearing her attention away from the dress.
She scowled at the bottle the girl was offering her and asked, although she already knew the answer, "What is that?"
"It will help you through the ceremony."
"That's the aphrodisiac, right?" Sarah snorted at their shocked expressions. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
With that, she snatched the bottle out of the woman's hand and poured its contents into the still-full bathtub, eyes never leaving the women as if daring them to stop her.
The shorter one sighed. "Very well, if that is how you wish to proceed."
Sarah was led out of the bathroom, and she heard the tall woman whisper to her companion, "Humans are so peculiar."
With no other words spoken, Sarah was directed back out into the hallway, where the women bowed and departed. She was left alone with Feylan, who was still looking like he'd rather be dead than here.
"Through there," Feylan said, directing her to the door behind him.
When all this is over, I'm asking Jareth to fire you, Sarah snarled at him in her mind. In reality, she simply scowled and stalked into the room.
Her courage vanished like a breath on the wind. The room was something like a bedroom, with the bed (four-poster, also draped in green silk) sitting in the very center like an altar. On either side of the room nearest to the high ceiling were two opera-like balconies, seating what had to be half a dozen people in each one. Their eyes all swiveled down to stare at her. She stared back, too nervous to run, feeling like a rat in a lab experiment. It wasn't the Roman gladiator-type arena she'd been imagining, but it was a small relief.
"Sarah," came Jareth's voice from the other side of the room.
She snapped her head down to see him, also wearing one of those bizarre green outfits (though his showed a lot more chest and less leg). Still mindful of the Council watching, she resisted the urge to toss herself into his arms and instead power-walked to meet him. He was the one to take the initiative, drawing her in close and humming when she hugged him as tight as she could.
"You didn't take the potion," he said, with mild disapproval and a whole lot more pride.
"Neither did you," Sarah guessed, and his sigh confirmed it.
Her cheek pressed against his warm chest and she could hear his heartbeat. It sounded almost musical. They spent a minute just holding each other and swaying, until a sharp voice barked out in the echoing chamber, causing Sarah to jump.
"You will begin."
She shivered a little under the weight of dozens of stares, and kept her head down despite being tempted to seek out the source of the voice. Looking for courage, she tilted her head up to look at Jareth and found it in the soft stare of his unequal eyes and the shadowed panes of his precisely cut face. He was impossibly beautiful. Unbidden, her mind went back to seeing this stunning face contort in ecstasy, and her breath hitched as a throb started up in her gut. Maybe she would be able to do this.
"Sarah," he murmured, and she heard an apology underneath her name.
She unashamedly tilted her head up to kiss him, because she wanted to. Jareth's somewhat defeated sigh played across her lips as he surrendered to it. He was almost passive in his reciprocation, making no move to deepen the kiss or move it anywhere past a sweet meeting of lips. Painfully aware they'd need to speed things up, lest the Council grow impatient and just make things worse, Sarah blindly sought out his hand. Jareth's fingers curled around hers in a semi-tight grip, like he was grasping something fragile but worthy of worship, and Sarah took the slight distraction from their horrifying situation as an opportunity. Pulling her mouth away slowly, as if daring him to chase after her, Sarah met his hooded gaze with her own and used their clasped hands to back him towards the bed. He followed her without resistance but looked like his mind was elsewhere, eyes searching her face like he was trying to memorize it. Sarah nervously bit her lip, and his eyes dropped down to stare at it.
Thinking on her feet, Sarah schooled her gaze into a (hopefully) come-hither expression, pressed her mouth to his ear and murmured, "I'm here, Jareth."
He sighed again, allowing her to coax him onto the bed. He pulled her on top of him as he laid back on the pillows, his wispy gold hair a vibrant contrast to the grass-green silk. Sarah was relieved to find the bed's canopy allowed them the smallest bit of privacy—not enough to conceal their bodies but at least their heads—but she suppressed any signs of relief, unwilling to break the spell. It was much easier to believe they were alone now, unable to see the dozens of eyes on her. She slid on top of him in what she hoped was a seductive fashion, doing an accidental on purpose little grind as she seated herself in his lap, being careful of his bruises. Jareth watched her with his unwavering gaze, eyes half-closed and mouth open.
"Sarah," he whispered, bringing her hand up to his mouth to kiss their entwined fingers.
Her breath hitched and her eyes stung, and she immediately knew which parts of her adventure in the Labyrinth hadn't been fake. She crushed their mouths together, desperate to distract herself before she burst into tears. Jareth answered with a fervor of his own, tongue sliding across hers just like it had in the dungeon. She made a noise as the thought of what they'd done in the dungeon caused another throb between her thighs, pressing herself down in his lap a little. They could do this, she thought to herself.
Their little bubble of sweet seclusion was popped by the sound of one of the Council members absently clearing their throat. They both froze; Sarah was instantly aware again of their audience, watching her writhe like a harlot in the lap of one of their kings, waiting for them to… She swallowed hard, her throat closing and her ears ringing with the deafening ambience of the room, her skin suddenly too hot.
Sarah blinked, and found the Goblin King staring at her with a gaze as hard as stone, his bruised jaw locked in a grimace. Under her palm, she could feel his pulse beating wildly—he was just as horrified by this as she was. The realization grounded her somehow. Never mind her anxiety—Jareth had to actually… perform. She inhaled deeply, trying to gather herself back together.
"Remember the dungeon," she said, because that's what was helping her.
She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
"The dungeon?" he whispered, so quietly she barely heard it.
Sarah nodded. "It's just like the dungeon. It's just us, like it was before."
Her words sounded hollow to her own ears, so to make it more real she lifted herself up on her knees and gripped the hem of her outfit. Nobody was here but them, she repeated in her mind as she arched to pull the green silk over her head. It didn't matter if she was naked—nobody was here, so it was all for him. It was easier to believe when Jareth had trouble keeping his eyes off her jutting breasts, reminding her of his fight to remove her bra, the way his long fingers squeezed and played with her nipples. From the slack look on his face, Jareth was thinking of something similar. She subtly breathed a sigh of relief when she felt him slowly hardening against her thigh.
Confident now that she'd gotten them into a better mindset, Sarah mimicked her earlier actions in the dungeon and slipped her hand up his thigh under the silk, boldly grasping his naked cock. His hips jerked and his eyes slammed shut as Sarah explored with inexperienced fingers, loosely gripping around his width, palming the base and trailing her fingertips around the head.
"Fuck, Sarah," he grunted, hand shooting down to cover hers again.
He closed his fingers around hers to tighten her grip, guiding her into a gentle glide up and down his length. Sarah never thought she'd get this turned on from just touching someone, but Jareth's face was contorted into that fucking gorgeous expression again and it made her skin hot for a whole new reason. The thought of bending down and taking him in her mouth burst into her mind, but despite desperately wishing to see what kind of face he'd make if she did it, that was going to be for a time when she truly had him all to herself.
Jareth let go of her hand and allowed her to set the pace, reaching out to touch her in return. One of his hands curled over her bottom and guided her down to his level so he could catch her bottom lip between his, the other hand roughly gripping her breast in the way he knew would drive her wild. She gave a little moan just for him, tightening her grip on his cock and rocking her hips against his thigh.
He pulled away from their hard kiss to ask, "Are you sore at all?"
"A little," she panted, licking his taste off her lips. "I'm fine."
Another cough sounded from above them, but before it could jar either of them back to reality again, Sarah let go of his cock to grab Jareth's hand off her ass, guiding his fingers between her legs. If the cool feeling on her thighs and Jareth's razor-sharp stare were any indication, she was just as wet as when he'd had his tongue inside her. She breathed out another moan at the memory, and then did it again when he easily slipped a finger inside her, the soreness barely a shadow compared to the pleasure.
More noises from their audience made Jareth close his eyes like he was trying to ground himself again, hand still inside her.
"We're not here," Sarah murmured soothingly, grinding herself on his hand.
His eyes opened again and the side of his mouth lifted, moving his fingers in a slow thrust. He looked at her in awe, basking in the sight of her seated on top of him.
"Where are we?"
Sarah thought back to one of her teenage fantasies, one she had dreamed on a humid summer night that had been so outrageously naughty she'd woken up sweaty and aching, and got herself off in minutes. She bit her lip, wondering if she'd be crossing some kind of boundary between them if she bared herself to him like that. She almost laughed—there were no boundaries with them anymore, not now.
"On your throne," she finally said.
"On my throne," he repeated on a breathy chuckle. Her face burned with embarrassment, but Jareth was grinning like the thought was more intoxicating than amusing. "And how would we go about that?"
She paused like she was thinking, but it was mostly for show—the vivid images from that dream were burned into her eyes.
"You're under me," she began, "and I'm sitting in your lap, just like this." She punctuated her words with a little grind on his hand, gasping when her own movement made his knuckle slip over her clit. "Ah—your hands are tied to the armrests."
"You're riding me," Jareth guessed, his voice low and full of wonder. "Like a queen." Her stomach swooped at his words, but he pressed on. "Can I still touch you?"
"No, you can't touch me," she half-snapped, reveling in his fascinated stare. She had no idea where this newfound boldness or this talent for dirty talk was coming from, but now that she'd started she found herself unable to stop the words from spilling out. "I know you want to, but you're not allowed. All you get to do is watch me. You like watching me fuck you, watching my tits bounce. You want to touch them so bad but you know you can't. That makes you hot, doesn't it Jareth?"
"Fuck, Sarah."
They shared a moan when he seized her hips and pulled her closer, his cock sliding between her damp folds. She instinctively angled herself so his tip rested at her entrance, and with a press of her hips she sank down on him, both of them letting out startled groans. Sarah winced when he pushed past her sore entrance and she took a pause, thighs trembling as she rested above him. She squeezed around him, trying to get used to the still-new feeling of having him inside her. Jareth grunted, his hands pushing at her hips again, trying to coax her into moving. She wriggled experimentally, encouraging another sound from the Goblin King's mouth, and pushed herself up with her hands splayed on his chest. With a sigh of relief, Jareth's hands slipped down to her bottom again, guiding her into a slow rhythm.
Just like in the dungeon, he locked her gaze with his own, imprisoning her in a world where only his eyes and body existed. Her mouth dropped open, just as amazed by the pleasure as she was the first time, reveling in the slick glide and the burning looks. His hand slipped up the damp skin of her back and circled around to play with her breast again, rolling her nipple under his thumb. She breathed out a little moan, wishing she could kiss him, but her rocking motions prevented a kiss from being sustainable.
As though he'd read her mind, Jareth turned his head and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her wrist, groaning as he darted his tongue out to taste her. From his searing hot stare and the deliberate movements of his tongue, Sarah could tell he was remembering the time he had his mouth buried in her folds, her clit caught between his lips, and she moaned loud enough for the sound to echo a little in the cavernous room.
"I loved feeling your tongue inside me," she breathed with no shame, crying out at the sharp upward thrust her words spurred from him, amazed at her own audacity.
"Sarah," Jareth hissed in warning, but as his fingers slipped over her clit he growled back, "And I loved watching you come."
Her mouth dropped open as his words sparked her into quickening the pace. Her thighs and arms burned with the effort but she ignored it, breath coming out in sharp pants. When she came it was a surprise, pleasure suddenly crashing over her, every muscle in her body seizing up at the sheer intensity of it. Head tossed back and mouth agape, she barely registered it when Jareth seized her hips in a vice-like grip and swept her underneath him. She moaned as she collapsed onto the pillows, and held onto his shoulders for dear life as he began pounding into her, chasing his own release now.
"Oh Jareth," she breathed out as she calmed, and that was what did it for him. He gripped her hips hard enough to hurt, pressing his face into her neck to muffle his groans.
And then all was still.
They both panted from exertion, Jareth still draped over her body, but suddenly the room was ice cold and pitch dark. Sarah could hear the shuffling and quiet murmurs of people leaving the room, every footfall or swish of clothing now deafening. Jareth's warm body suddenly lifted off her, leaving her alone. Her throat closed and she couldn't breathe.
"Sarah," she heard Jareth's voice coming from somewhere in the darkness, imposing and a little bit scared. "Look at me, love. You're so brave. Just breathe. No, get away."
A hand too large and rough to be Jareth's seized her upper arm and yanked her off the bed. Her ankle twisted on the cold stone and she cried out in pain, feeling the crumpled silk of her dress being roughly wrapped around her body like a blanket. Realizing she was being taken, Sarah sucked in a breath and her vision returned, just in time to see Jareth being pulled through the door he'd entered through by Feylan and another person.
"No," she whimpered, trying to reach for him, but the faceless person dragging her out of the room grabbed her other arm and locked her wrists together in one inhumanly strong hand. "Jareth!"
She fought like hell the whole way down the hall, to absolutely no avail. She shouted for Jareth the whole way, only silenced when her captor shoved her into a featureless room and slammed the door shut behind her, leaving her to suffocate in total darkness.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Next chap in 2 weeks. Special thanks to jackswoman, Jetredgirl, Chat Bouboule, tadah2, Serera, Rocky181, indigocarr and a Guest.