It wasn't his fault when the fount of good fortune she had bathed in finally began to run dry. He had agreed not to meddle in his labyrinth's odd ways, and had no control over the way it now chose to playfully squeeze her in its talons. Sarah knew all this, yet blamed him anyway – she knew in her head that it was all his doing. Their last encounter had left her feeling more things than she would ever allow herself to admit, and the distraction was taking its toll. His love and his longing were heavy burdens to bear.

She also knew she should be more alert to this godforsaken maze's games, by now, but instead, she found she had wandered the same twisting paths over and over, without even noticing. When she finally recognised a low outcrop of crumbling wall as one she had seen at least three times before – and once the ensuing fit of red-faced cursing had passed – it was enough to finally break her thoughts apart, and return her to the momentous task at hand

It was only in the past half hour or so that she began to feel she was finally back on the right track. The path ahead was as straight and normal-looking as she could hope for, and she followed it religiously as it sloped from rough, near-mountainous terrain in places, to the milder, lusher turf of what seemed to be a forest. The pebbles that clicked and slid beneath her feet grew smoother and seemed to gleam with moisture, and strange, gorgeous flowers raised their heads from the surrounding greenery at more frequent intervals – brilliant oranges and pinks and shimmering golds. It was almost beautiful. She thought she must encounter water soon, and sure enough, the trill of a flowing stream began to wind its way through the trees that surrounded her.

The river she eventually came to was a shining silver thread beneath the sun, weaving its way through small, slick rocks, and vibrant green weeds. She hadn't even considered drink nor food for hours, but seeing such clear, wonderful water in her path caused her throat to itch as way of reminder. It would be deliciously cool as she knelt to scoop some in her palm – just a mouthful to soothe that itch, and wet her dry lips. Her body had actually begun to stoop down with the idea, but then the ghost of long-forgotten peaches seemed to rise up in her mouth, and she straightened in a hurry.

There would be no more of that whilst she remained here – she would rather her body dry and harden out into jerky with its thirst, than accept any more food or drink this realm had to offer her. Besides, she wasn't thirsty – not truly. The water was simply a temptation – as so many things here were – and she was able to resist. Listening to her body, she found no real trace of hunger or thirst, though it had been hours now since dinner. Surely, enough time had passed, that, under usual circumstances, would have her craving at least a snack, by now. She had eaten well, but not excessively, in the safety of her normal family home, and with no notion of the strange events ahead to spoil her appetite. She was struck by a sudden inkling now, though, and gazed down at her feet.

Her curious boots now painted a perfect picture of the river before them, reflecting the silvers and blues and greens of water turned to crystal in the sunlight. She wondered again at whatever magic possessed them, and if it was strong enough to keep the rest of her body as comfortable as it had kept her feet, for she had certainly wanted for nothing since pulling them on. It made her a little uneasy to think of any power but her own aiding her now, and there were already more forces than she could imagine at play in the Underground. She felt a mad urge to try clicking her heels together three times and wishing for home, but did not, fearing the only salvation it would bring would be him.

There was no obvious way past the stream, and with time slipping away, she was hesitant to go searching for one. The water was slow-moving and clear enough for her to see that it held no obvious dangers, laying only a foot or two deep. Still, she knew that any appearance here could be deceiving. She walked to the edge of the stream's bank after all, but instead of drinking, she carefully dipped her leg into the water, far enough to stir some of the slick rocks that made up its bed. The water was as cool as silk, as she had anticipated, and came barely halfway up to her knee, easily shallow enough to cross. She pulled her leg back as she considered. The bottom seemed sturdy enough to dig her heels into, and even if she did slip, she would face only a bruised ego, and a wet ass.

Thinking of how he would laugh, if she gave up or embarrassed herself now, made her all the more determined to succeed. It took no more than seven slow, careful steps. She kept her arms stretched out for balance, but in the end, there was really no need. The water flowed smoothly around her calves, doing no more than tug lazily at her steps as she splashed her way across. She reached the opposite bank without incident, wet only from the shins down. If anything, the water felt good on her bare skin.

She watched the droplets that still clung to her legs start to slide down, knowing that the sun would dry them – and her soaked boots – soon enough. The boots' shining silver hue had faded to a dull charcoal grey. The light within them seemed to have gone out, at least temporarily. Sarah flexed her toes, wincing a little at the feel of the damp material clinging to her skin, but otherwise pushing it from her mind. Wet shoes were, in the grand scale of things, the least of her worries right then.

What grew progressively more worrying, though, was how quickly her throat began to dry up as she resumed her walk. The sun that, only minutes ago, provided nothing more than a comforting warmth now seemed to stretch and wring dry every inch of skin it touched. Sarah lost count of how many times she licked at her lips; ran that swollen, seeking tongue around inside her mouth, searching for moisture. Remembering the river she had left behind.

She forced herself to go on though, resisting the urge to turn back. To turn back was to waste time, as there was precious little of that as it was. For a while, she comforted herself with the thought that, when she won, the first thing she would do would be to grab a bottle of soda – still running with condensation from the fridge – and down it in one. The thought grew rapidly less comforting as that thirst began to tear her throat in two. She grimaced, and coughed, and cleared it constantly, but there was no escape from that relentless longing for liquid. She had never wanted a drink so badly in her life.

At the utmost crest of that thirst, there came a wave of hunger, so sudden and so all-consuming that she cried out in consummate pain. Her last meal felt nothing shy of a lifetime ago, mocking her empty stomach with its memory. When the pain became too much to bear, she sank down to her knees, heedless of the way the uneven ground beneath her dug teeth into her skin, aware only of that terrible hollow feeling. In that agony, she would have eaten a thousand of his peaches, and gladly. The mere thought was enough to make her mouth water, and she groaned at the way her saliva relit the fire under her dry tongue.

Her throat and stomach were no more than dry, empty husks, boring a wide and horrible hole through the very core of her being. Yet, even as her body bemoaned the dead, dry heat of those most useless organs, the heat itself began to change, sinking deeper, lower inside her, kindling some other primitive need as it went.

"No," she moaned, as her very skin seemed to catch fire, smothering her with its feverish hold.

Had her dreams really been such a source of torment? She hardly thought so now – not when the entire outside world ceased to matter, in lieu of the fact that her whole body had shifted into some never-before reached state of overdrive. Without thinking, she slipped a hand between her legs, and yelped aloud as her fingers came into contact with her overly-sensitive sex. She could easily feel how wet she was; hot to touch, even through her underwear. Tracing the outline of her slit, even such a light, curious caress, was true torture, only making her feel more desperate. Trying to chase her own orgasm in this state would be skin to pouring gasoline over that fire blazing inside her. She needed … she needed …

"You don't need to pleasure yourself – not while I'm here, love."

Him. He would give her what her body burned for.

Gasping, Sarah pulled herself back to her feet, spinning her head left and right, and ignoring the dizzying waves the motion sent sweeping through her body. He was nowhere to be seen, but his voice had been as clear as a bell to her ears. He had to be here. She scanned her surroundings with rising panic, actually fearful, now, of the desire that had taken her its prisoner. She had to have something – someone.

"Jareth," she cried, "Jareth, please!"

Nothing around her but rocks and trees, but then, as she turned her head again: "-know exactly what you need."

Immediately, she whirled in the direction it had come from, but saw nothing. "Where are you?"

A low, seductive purr, from somewhere amongst the trees: "Right where you need me most – between your lovely thighs."

Sarah whimpered softly. Some increasingly vague part of her brain registered the words as a snippet from one of her dreams – something he had whispered to her in the dark and heat of the night – nothing more. As that desire squeezed her in its grasp, and that more rational part of her brain so, too, caught fire, she took off running after the voice, real or not.

Her boots went crashing through mud and grass and stony earth, stumbling over jutting tree roots and rocks. Her hands deflected the worst of the low branches that lunged and lashed at her face and arms but did nothing to slow her. She zigged and zagged and dodged, and through her mad journey, he called out to her from between the trees – taunted her, always just beyond her reach.

"-want me inside you."

"-behind, I think, and this time-"

"-oh, yes, just like that, lift your-"

"Come now, you can do better than that, precious. I said louder-"

"-when you feel my mouth on you-"

He was everywhere and nowhere at once, his heated words doubling and overlapping, as though his actual presence had managed to surround her. His deep, honeyed voice had her turning left and right and back again, but kept her pressing on forwards in her need to reach him. His tone grew huskier as his own longing evidently grew with hers, whispering dark promises and hushed, urgent demands. Finally, he began to moan.

"Oh, Sarah. My Sarah, yes. Soon, love, soon. Come for me …"

And she did. Through the tangle of his other taunts and wicked lures, she ignored all others, and ran for the voice that finally promised an end.

"Come for me, love, don't-"

(Sarah!)

"-stop now, come for me …"

(Sarah, no!)

At last, the mass of endless trees in her path broke apart; they disappeared into sky, leaving her to run into bright, blessed sunlight. There was still no trace of him, but she could not stop herself, not even as her leading foot found no earth under it, and dropped away beneath her. There was no sense of falling this time, only a firm arm closing around her waist, pulling her, stumbling, back from the brink. Another arm wrapped around her waist just as tightly, and she felt herself drawn backwards, back into the shade of the trees, and against the solid, secure presence of her saviour's body. His chin pressed hard against the top of her head, his chest a warm, heaving piston against her back, as the folds of his cape enveloped them. From the sound of the gasping breaths that tousled her hair, her king had been running, too.

"Gods, Sarah! What were you thinking?" His real voice, here, against her. She had heard him angry and she had heard him disheartened – never before had Sarah heard the Goblin King truly afraid.

She found she didn't care.

That need was all over her, coating her skin like creeping, stealing moss, and he wasn't the only one who was breathing hard. She turned roughly in his grip, fighting against him – as he plainly did not want to let her go – all so that she could press her mouth against his. Her lips were hot and dry, and his mouth was like soft rain against them. He did not respond, leaving her lips and teeth to scratch against his in her hunger. She felt starved – wild – her hands all but tearing at his chest as she desperately sought for him to return her fervour. Finally, she reached out for his cock, and mewled her frustration as once again he refused her. He took her by the shoulders, instead, and held her as far away from him as their close proximity allowed.

"Please!" She was begging now, wrestling for control as she tried to kiss him again. "I'll give you everything!"

His eyes flashed with the promise, but still, he held her firm. "What's said is said, and I have no doubt you will, in time. Now, though …"

With a strength that far exceeded her own, he spun them so that Sarah found her back pinned hard against the nearest tree. It was the only thing that held her upright, as the Goblin King then sank to his knees before her. Her mind reeled to have his head so close, she could feel his breath against her legs, and her gown made her so very accessible … clearly, he had every intent of giving her what she wanted, after all. She moaned deep in her throat, her knees parting for him by instinct as he bent to her feet. His gloved hand closed around her right calf, and lifted her leg clean off the ground, and even that small contact was enough to set her blood pumping faster.

It took her world a moment to stop spinning enough to realise that, with his other hand, he had wrenched her boot from her foot, tossing it aside and leaving her bare. Being free of the wet fabric was good, but it was nothing compared to the feel of him, touching her so easily – so intimately. The earth felt warm against her sole as he set her down again, only to repeat the action with her left foot.

Barefoot and willing before me, came her mind's greedy whisper.

She thought her gown would surely come next, but he surprised her, remaining on his knees to strip off his gloves. His bare hands were like blessings as they moved up the inside of each leg, stopping just beneath her knees to grip her there firmly. Sarah began to keen and roll her hips when it became clear he would go no further. He seemed more intent on holding her in place, than exploring her body, and it drove her insane.

"Please, just touch me," she moaned, and she could hear the lust painting her words darker.

"Hush, love," he murmured, holding her all the tighter.

All at once, she felt a deep pulling inside her, as though the lower half of her body was trying to rid itself of the top. She cried out, and gave a sharp twist of her hips, trying to escape that tearing feeling – for surely, he had to be the cause of it – but there was no reprieve from his hands. He held on, and through his perseverance, Sarah felt that terrible heat inside her finally begin to cool. The desperation that had driven her was slowly fading, and, unable to help it, she gave a sob of relief, her body sagging against the hard tree trunk and his wonderfully soft hands. By the time he finally saw fit to release her, it was gone entirely.

When it was done, he rocked back on his heels, and she could hear him panting.

He wasn't alone. "What … what happened to me?" she gasped.

"Your boots – not to mention your indecently lovely legs – fell prey to some higher magic. You remember the Bog, don't you, Sarah?" His voice was thick and hoarse with something she could not quite place. "It seems whatever charm kept you from its clutches during your last delightful visit has finally failed you."

"You mean the Bog of Eternal Stench? But … that little stream? It was so clear! And the smell …"

"Sometimes, dear one, the most dangerous things come in the most alluring packages. Besides," he rasped, "the things that we fear as children almost always give way to more adult fears. For example, what would trouble you more, nowadays: a lifetime of stench, or a lifetime of, say, incurable poor health for your family, or financial ruin, or perhaps even total rejection of yourself by all that you loved? In the face of such sizeable problems, a little stink pales into insignificance, does it not?"

Her tongue felt impossibly thick as she swallowed. First the thirst, then the hunger, then that near-crazed lust that had seized her … "What was it?" she asked. "What eternity would it have cursed me with?"

He had kept his face bent low towards the ground, but he looked up at her now, and his strange pupils had near evened themselves, his eyes almost black with the depths of their desire. "Longing," he growled. "For everything you could never hope to possess, no matter how hard you fought to obtain it. An eternity of exquisitely painful, insatiable, endless longing."

She watched, open-mouthed as he gained his feet once more, reeling a little as he went. She saw, with some embarrassment – and not a small amount of echoing lust – that he was fully erect, his cock straining against his trousers, aching for release. The responding tug between her own thighs was sudden – hot – but it was nothing of the blind, hysterical need that had consumed her, only moments ago.

"And you … you drew that out from me?"

Jareth gave a wry grin. "'No more than a parlour trick'. A trifle. A mere cherry on top of the thinnest sliver of cake for the great Goblin King, eh, Sarah? What would have soon poisoned your mortal mind with its madness can only hurt me a little. Mere poison wasn't enough to finish off the great Rasputin, after all." Though, from the way his body was trembling, it was obvious the effort had cost him dearly.

The way he stared at her was nothing short of frightening. It spoke volumes of how he longed to devour her, and perhaps, now, in more ways than one. "Just a tiny drop of poison," he insisted. "Still-" His hands flexed, seemingly involuntarily, and the next moment, he was holding her chin between his fingers. "Even a king has to admit, it does have such a bloody potent effect, particularly around his queen," he growled, and crushed his lips to hers.

Caught off guard, as his tongue forced itself against her lips, Sarah could only surrender, unable to keep up with his ardour – but only for a moment. As quickly as he had advanced upon her, the enraged Goblin King tore himself away. He turned his back on her at once, as though he had need to resist the temptation even the sight of her offered.

"Too blasted close. No. No more," he said, and Sarah had the feeling that it was as much to himself, as it was to her. He gave a bitter laugh, gesturing to the horizon before them. "Look out at my kingdom, Sarah, and see where you would have ended your second journey here! But be careful, mind – I fear I haven't the capacity at the present time to watch out for us both."

Sarah did as she was asked, slowly edging forward from her tree to see the land fall away. They stood not five feet from a mossy, overhanging crag of rock, giving way to a jagged cliff-face that towered at least a hundred feet above the rough ground below. She stared down with morbid fascination. Unlike the black, unknowing horror of the bottomless pit, this fall possessed a most definite end.

At the base of the drop, there were countless boulders and smaller stones that had crumbled and fallen from the cliff above. Had the real him not stopped her, the siren song of his voice would have tumbled her over the edge in the same way, to be dashed upon the rocks below. Between this, and the ordeal with the snakes, it was clear the labyrinth had latched onto her deepest fears, and intended to feed, even at the cost of her life. It was apparently a sobering thought for them both, as when she finally managed to tear her gaze away and step back into relative safety, he was staring back at her, with none of that brief frenzy that had claimed him.

"A dangerous place, Sarah – one even I cannot fully control. I did warn you."

"You saved me from it, though," she said, softly. "I have to thank you for that. And …" This part was harder, rousing shameful blushes when she thought of the way she had flung herself at him in heat. "Thank you, for not … for not accepting me at less than my best."

He snorted his derision. "How I must disappoint you, to continually refuse to play the monster you believe me to be."

"You're really not, you know. A monster, I mean." In the game they played, that almost passed for a compliment.

His smile was small, but it at least held a trace of humour. "'Behold, a deity stronger than I; who coming, shall rule over me.' Oh, how you do burn my heart, love, with such lofty praise as you give. Such fine words are enough to shame a man."

"Still an infuriating fuck, though." Smiling a little herself, now, at his relentless sarcasm.

"Mmm. So you keep telling me, precious. Although, in your current, most flawlessly untouched state, I do wonder what your basis for comparison really is."

How it grated her, to have every insulting word hurled back so effortlessly, to embarrass her instead. Her cheeks felt like they were in constant bloom around him … and wasn't there just a hint of that deeper warmth, too – of longing for that teasing, and for him? One that coaxed her into long, mutually-admiring glances, like the one that lingered between them now; into outright flirting with her adversary, when she should be clambering to defeat him?

Oh, she knew he had no intention of ever letting her go – not unscathed and unmarked by him, anyway – and a dark, deniable part of her embraced the idea – of having him lying so satisfyingly between her thighs, day and night; light and dark. How could she know he was bad for her, after all, without that all-important basis for comparison? That lust in her belly was rekindled, of its own free will – not that cursed, hopelessly insatiable longing that had torn at her insides – a warm, genuine curiosity – of wanting what she knew he could give her.

"Penny for them, love."

… none of which she could ever actually tell him. To admit she harboured such notions, now, would be to admit defeat. There would be no need of the rest of her designated time in his labyrinth, for he would claim a greater victory with that one significant admission – of his power.

Never.

"Wool-gathering, that's all," she made herself say.

"Hmm." He took a small step closer. "How curious, seeing as time is fleeting, and escapes from you readily even now. Perhaps the proffered prize for winning no longer holds such appeal?"

His words were too close for comfort, as was his body, given the all-too-vulnerable state of her emotions right then. Another hard kiss might just knock the smirk that had risen off his face, only she might be too tightly-wound in his bedsheets by that point even to care. "It appeals, all right," was all she said.

"Oh, it does? Tsk, tsk, Sarah. I would suggest you work on convincing yourself of that first, before you try me, sweet one." His mouth held such a sensual, such a smug smile, that it made her want to grab hold of his hair, just so she could pull it against her own. Thankfully, he did not give her long to weigh the consequences of such actions.

"Now, as we've agreed, that is the second occasion I've saved you," he said, his voice stroking and soothing at her frazzled nerves. "And, as you have already seen fit to gift me your kiss, I do wonder what you'll see fit to give me in return this time."

Surprisingly, it didn't take her long to find an answer for him. "Time," she heard herself say.

Amused, but clearly intrigued, Jareth gave her one of his most infuriating, tantalising smiles yet. "Precious, I have lived a hundred of your mortal lifetimes, and then again a hundred more. My kind are all but immortal, so, as you can see, I have nothing but time. How would you hope to tempt me with such an insignificant thing, hmm?"

Sarah forced herself into steady eye contact, in spite of the thrill of anticipation that fizzed and hopped in her belly; the deep, damning warning bells that clanged in vain in her ears. "Ten minutes. Outside of this game we're playing. No objections. Free rein. You can't enchant me, you can't use that time to trap me, or otherwise trick me into losing, and …" She wet her dry lips. "And I won't let you have me, but … you can have that taste of what you've always, always wanted."

It seemed the bottom of her stomach gave out in defeat, or perhaps elation, after she had made her offer – after all, what damage could he do that was half as devastating as the act of simply offering it to him? Free rein, her mind screamed, free rein! All the while watching him as her proposal took wing in his eyes; as he considered all of its delightful implications. It was the riskiest proposal she had ever breathed life to, and how her heart now raced with it!

"Ten minutes," he said, finally. "Outside of your time inside my labyrinth. You consent to whatever that time might bring – outside of outright trickery and manipulation – on condition that you will remain a virgin throughout. Am I correct in saying that these are the terms, as you've given them?"

"Yes."

Oh, and how his eyes danced. "Ten minutes," he said, again, his smile stretching wider. "Not a lot of time. Ten minutes is nothing – no time at all of that I would spend, exploring your many delights."

Straight-faced, showing nothing of how her insides were rapidly unfurling: "That's kinda what I'm counting on."

"An intriguing offer. It does, my dear, make me wonder why you struggle so hard to best me, only to then offer yourself so freely. I don't suppose I may ask for some explanation?"

"You suppose correctly."

"Hmm. Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," she agreed.

"Done."