It has been a lifetime since she has come to him, perhaps even several, by now. An eternity; a hundred mortal lifetimes sketched out within his lover's eyes. The Goblin King has been too occupied to bother keeping count. Time is, after all, for him, a face on the water, and since the glorious day his queen finally came to him, that face seems not even to blink. After years of longing, she is finally his. If there was excitement in the chase, then the true thrill lies in the discovery, not just of her, but of how well the two of them work together.
She's still young and bright and full of ideas, filling him with new hope and energy, but she isn't too proud to learn from him. There's a special sort of satisfaction in seeing her bloom under his tutelage. She is worthy of everything, and it honours him to see the eagerness in her eyes as she absorbs all he has to offer. Hungry to learn, she talks to him of magic and history and culture, wanting to take in as much of his realm as she can. It's invigorating, how passionate she is, and he does indulge her, but sometimes, smiling, he has to remind her to slow down – though she can still hardly dream it, time is no longer the enemy. She has already lived far beyond her mortal years, and the life and vitality in her is still far from even beginning to fade.
Still, her human side is a reminder that some true treasures have come to light this past century, books and films and music from her past home all nourishing to his senses. He devours them as eagerly as he does her, taking all they have to give and relishing in their goodness, the delicate complexities that make both the mortal realm, and indeed her, exactly what they are; exactly what he loves.
She grows wiser, but not exactly older – not in face, nor form, at least – and manages to surprise him near enough every day. After all their time spent together, she remains as much of an obsession to him as ever. The love he feels for her is unimaginable, something he never could have thought himself capable of possessing, even in his long life. He knows her, body and soul, perhaps better than he knows himself, but the urge to rediscover her is a constant and powerful one, and he submits to it daily. He spends minutes, hours, mapping her face and body, and that delectable mind. There is no need for him to move the stars when she turns his world the way she does, when every single day, he finds heaven in her eyes.
The sight of her wearing his royal sigil never fails to make him smile. Of course, in first donning the jewellery, his lovely wife had her say, as she does in all things; of course, a normal necklace would never be enough for his Champion. At her request, beneath the symbol of the queen at her throat, a silver owl's claw hangs suspended, and clutched in its talons is the very moonstone he first gifted to her. She had been so loath to give it up entirely, it being the first physical symbol of their love, and as always, he could not and cannot deny her. It's somewhat satisfying to see that extra piece of himself adorning her skin, knowing it is always with her, aglow with magic, even when he himself is not.
He makes it his mission never to be far from her side for long, naturally, but now and then, some matters of business inevitably call him away for a while. Her handling of magic is a slow process, as it is for any human-born, but she's learned enough by now to at last master her crystals, sending him delightful, and sometimes debauched visions, whenever they're apart. Still, nothing compares to the warmth of her embrace, the tenderness of her kiss, nor the love in her eyes before she falls asleep beside him. The pleasure that greets him upon his return makes any trip worthwhile.
She has surpassed him, this queen of his, as he has always known she would.
She has taken to his people, and they, her, his mortal wallflower now blossomed into something far more exotic than he can lay name to. He feels no need to prune her – rather, relishes the untamed way in which she continues to grow, beautiful beyond all others, and yielding to no one but he. The human woman with the strength enough to best their king not once, but twice – as he insists often – is a formidable force indeed.
In one of her fairytales, he might have gifted her with a library, or perhaps even a special, secret piece of garden that she might call her own, where the flowers bloom only at her will. Whilst she indeed devours his books, and there are enough blossoms surrounding her to weave a carpet wherever her feet may tread, he is, after all, a physical creature, and delights in giving her gifts that are far more tangible to both their senses. He has never truly spoiled a woman, and he enjoys being able to do so now very much. She deserves everything.
In addition to her necklace, he bestows her with more jewels than she could ever hope to wear, though none of them seem to shine as brightly as she. For his queen to have anything less than perfection – or else him – clothing her body seems a sin, and so he gives her a wardrobe beyond all imagining. His most skilled craftsmen provide for her the finest both their worlds have to offer, from tightly tailored boots and leggings, to exquisite ballroom gowns, to an elegant cloak as thin and fine as mist, silvery dewdrops held together by whispers of magic.
She wears his offerings with delight, and never sees fit to question his choices – though she makes several of her own. The nightgown she wore when she first became his remains a great influence on them both; the many silks, and satins, and velvets she wears are often varying tones of green. She shows him true beauty, though the body beneath such fine clothes is all he ever really needs.
She grows sexually, and is a delicious tart – one that tempts and teases daily at his senses. It makes him hard as steel sometimes, just thinking of how that teasing first began.
On a whim one morning, he had brought her to near-completion, her body glistening with sweat and arching beneath him, beautiful and alluring, her cries wild and needy, and yet something had made him stop, denying them both their release. He had given her no reason for his sudden withdrawal, and had buried his own urges, so that no matter how much she moaned and demanded and finally even swore at him, he would not give in to her. He had left her sulking in bed as he dressed himself, and her final angry words to him had been to tell him that she was in charge of her own orgasm; once again, she dared to speak the words, to tell him that he had no power over her …
Given his queen's most atrocious behaviour that evening, the Goblin King is almost inclined to believe it.
She intends to make him jealous.
It isn't the first time she has flaunted her power before him. If they disagree, the gods know she has no fear in standing up to him during their council meetings – a fact that has, on more than one occasion, made him painfully hard to see the passion raging in her eyes. It is, however, the first time she has ever flaunted her body.
After their encounter that morning, she has avoided him all day, leaving him to make the last preparations for that night's masquerade ball alone, and only joining him when they must make an appearance before their guests. Despite his most charming efforts, she refuses to speak to him.
She is angry.
She is rather … exquisite.
The curves of her hips and breasts flow beneath the cool, deep blue silk of her gown, sending hot, liquid lust pooling at his groin. She lets him revel for only a moment in the contrasting heat of her; a light touch to the small of her back as he guides her – cool; a slightly firmer squeeze of her wrist, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips and sending his swelling cock throbbing in unison – hot. It's an effort to focus on anything beyond her, but somehow he manages to address their guests in a short, distracted welcome. She disengages from him the moment he is done, and without a single glance backward, leaves him watching, wanting her.
She leaves him alone under the pretence of mingling with the guests, but he can't help noticing that every single one she speaks to is a young and handsome male. Her attention appears to be fixed entirely on the men she flocks to, but Jareth can't help but suspect that the small, secret smile she flashes now and then is for his benefit, and his alone. She knows exactly what she's doing to him, and the little wench loves it.
He can only watch her as she struts around their ballroom, wearing a sapphire-dotted domino mask and dressed in that thin blue whisper of matching, glistening silk that could almost be called a dress, basking in the attention such sinful attire brings her. Fae creatures are enticed far too easily by the joys of the flesh, and his queen takes full advantage, temptation incarnate as she walks among their subjects, the amount of creamy skin on display looking as smooth as her silks beneath the ethereal candlelight.
The lordling she's currently speaking to is a green one, still in his first centuries, drunk on mead and the excitement of what is perhaps his first time attending one of the king and queen's costumed balls. The lad's face is flushed a deeper crimson than his Venetian mask, and he has no idea of any real danger as he chats eagerly to the receptive and resplendent queen. To Jareth's eyes, the grinning lordling seems ignorant of all else but the beautiful creature before him. He has no clue that his king is watching the encounter with his wife with great interest.
Fortunately, that king knows very well that his Sarah can feel him, watching her from the outskirts of the party, watching that little smile as it winks for him often. Outwardly at least, her attention lies only on the impudent whelp before her. Her laugher rings out as clear as a bell as she lays a hand upon the lad's arm, squeezing him with casual affection through his suit-coat.
Jareth smiles. Silly creature. Gorgeous creature. She knows better than to tease him in public, and yet she insists on goading him where everyone can so plainly see it, determined to try to give insult to him. He reminds himself to tell her that some of the old kings and queens happened to be rather fond of sharing their partners, and indeed themselves with their enamoured subjects. Still, he lets her go on thinking she's being daring, for now. She peddles her wares as well as any street-walking strumpet – a crude thought, but one that excites him considerably in his current state of heightened awareness, and almost painful arousal.
He knows he could very well match her game, sliding an arm around the waist of any of the all-too-willing ladies that watch him from the alcoves; he could soon have his queen frothing with jealousy as he dances body to body with another, the way he has so far reserved only for her. It would be sweet enough to watch her expression change from smug satisfaction, to shock, to anger. What a joy it would be to have her come slinking back across the room, seething as she subtly reclaims her husband from whatever insolent wench dares touch him. Hushed words and apologies in a private corner would be enough to put both their minds at rest.
Tempting, indeed, but whimsy forces his hand in a different direction. After all, his lovely wife is the one who insisted on making this such a public affair; it would be rude not to repay her in kind.
He's still smiling as he crosses the room, approaching from directly behind, where his queen cannot see him coming. He says not a word, to her companion nor her, but his hand is unquestionable in its purpose as it closes around her upper arm. He hears a soft cry of surprise, perhaps even protest, but he pays it no mind as he gently leads her away.
By the time he's gotten her halfway across the room, she's trying to shrug off his hold as subtly as she can, and failing. She smiles as politely as she can manage through clenched teeth at the people they pass, ever the gracious hostess. Under her breath though, she hisses things at him that are even worse than the ones from this morning – curses that would no doubt make a nun blush.
Still, he goes on smiling as they reach the very centre of the room, charming as ever as he sweeps his queen into a dance. She goes along with the motion, more for the many eyes watching them than for his benefit, he's sure, but the look in her green eyes is one of fury, lightning sparking behind her dark pupils, seeming to reflect their angry glow off the jewels of her mask.
"You didn't have to come over," she dares to say.
"Oh, but I did, love – how could I not?" he replies. "You were putting on such a fine show, after all, and both of us know it was entirely for my benefit." His queen turns her face away, then, mumbling something about conceit, and perhaps even darker things. Little hellion. He tips her chin back towards him, so that he may look into those stormy eyes once more. "What was that, precious? I didn't quite catch it."
How that gaze burns him! How very white and sharp her teeth, his wild hellcat, as she hisses her reply. "I said that maybe if Your Highness deigned to actually let me come this morning, there wouldn't be any need for such a show."
Such venom is potent, and he cannot help but be aroused by it. He allows the hand at her back to dip lower, cupping her lovely arse and drawing her lower body against his. "I'm not in the habit of denying you, dear heart – all you needed do was ask me nicely. There's no need to pout, and sulk, and throw yourself at every man in sight, just to get a reaction from me. It's quite unseemly."
"Oh, so it's fine to have me bow to every little sordid request inside our bedroom, but not to act the slut in public, is that it?"
He tuts his disapproval close by her ear, and is gratified to feel the way she shivers bodily against him. "You know how I dislike that word. And here I thought you'd outgrown that terribly human habit of shaming your women-folk for their … urges."
Her voice is pleasantly unsteady. "So you're saying you don't have a word for a woman who's … who's-"
"Flirting with everyone with a cock, in a desperate yet quite, quite futile attempt to make her lord king and husband jealous?" He smiles. "I'd call her a bit of a tart, perhaps."
Her scowl is positively precious. "If I'm such a 'tart', Your Highness, then feel free to bite me."
His little strumpet has to know just how that makes him throb within his breeches, given their proximity, and he presses a little harder against her to make certain of it. "I thought you'd never ask, love."
He starts with her left earlobe, taking it between his teeth and applying gentle pressure, and is pleased with the way she gasps. Smiling, he moves on, just grazing the sensitive flesh that lies directly beneath her ear, his tongue flashing out to heat her skin. She gives a soft moan of encouragement, and it emboldens him even further.
He wraps her sweet, soft hair around his fist and tugs on it just enough to make her head tip back for him. With a low growl, he leans in to nip at her bared throat, his mouth and his words burning hot against her skin. "Precisely how hard do you wish for me to bite you, love?" he asks, knowing how difficult she will find it to reply.
"I … I …"
With a low and rather devious chuckle, he runs his tongue along her neck. Oh, she likes that, her body melting into his arms. Bliss. "Don't worry, precious. I'll give you just what you need." True to his word, he presses his teeth into the pale line of her throat, biting her just as she wanted, sucking her creamy-white flesh into his mouth. He applies just enough pressure to leave a mark, before moving on, biting and sucking again, this time a little further along her sweet neck.
He follows the line of her necklace, leaving the darkening red imprints of his teeth all along the top of the chain. By the time he reaches the middle of her throat, she's moaning, every sound causing her throat to vibrate most enticingly against his smiling lips. What a delectable little treat she is, head bowed back like this in clear offering to him. The bite he applies to the very centre of her throat is the hardest yet, suckling at her just above her quickening pulse, and the shape of her silver emblem. There's no doubt that it will bruise – a delicious reminder he knows seeing will make his cock twitch for days, long after this night is through. She truly is remarkable.
At first, he had rather thought she would object to such display in front of their guests – that it would shame her into begging him to stop. Instead, it's plain the little harlot loves the attention. The other people in the room matter not. Her eyes shine like twin dark emeralds, wide and overflowing with lust for him. She sighs softly as he continues to ravage her neck, her hands clutching to his shoulders with the desperation of a woman who's drowning, but her body … oh, her body is limp in his arms, melting with her desire, melting just for him. She cares for nothing but the feel of him at her tender throat, willing to let him do whatever he wants, right there in the middle of all their guests.
She is unquestionably, totally his.
There's no question of who owns her now, her creamy flesh darkened red, claimed before his entire court for all to see. The sense of satisfaction this gives him is a deeply primitive one, and oh, it's heady, filling his now aching cock with fire and blood for her. If he were a lesser man, he would insist on having her right here, her firm body pressed against the mirrors, her dress hiked high to expose her to his lust.
There's no denying that the thought of filling her – making her body come apart for him with a hundred eyes upon them – excites him. He wouldn't be the only one – several couples are already canoodling in the darkest corners of the party. Decadence and lust are good friends here; the people here are good friends too, but she is worth more than all of the guests put together. Only he is worthy of the privilege, the sheer beauty of seeing his queen as she comes undone.
He pulls her into his tight embrace again, giving her only chaste kisses against her hair. It's not enough to calm her completely, but it gives her enough clarity to remember where they are, and speak freely without fear of moaning.
His beautiful queen presses her face to his cheek, her full lips brushing enticingly against his ear, but she doesn't try to seduce, or demand. Instead, she whispers: "Please. Please, Jareth, my love, I need you. Please … take us back to our rooms. We can do anything … anything you want, only please …"
He smiles, almost deciding to grant his sweet queen her request, but he presses further. "And …power-?"
"Is always ours, my darling," she finishes for him. "But tonight, I want you to have it all."
How can he possibly deny her, with such sweet surrender as she gives?
Soon, she's on her back, stripped of all but her mask. Her body is even more of a delight now that it's shed of her dress, the tight, wet heat that surrounds him even smoother than her silks. She's a delight, any man's wet dream, and she's his, all his, but he has to push her just that little bit further. He stares deep into her eyes as he makes his thrusts.
"How far were you willing to go, Sarah?" he asks her. "Would you have let that insolent little whelp have you like this, hmm? Would you have allowed him this deep inside you?"
Her deep moans are music to him."Oh, gods – never!"
She pleases him with that immediate, outright denial, and he rewards her with a wicked grin, and an especially deep thrust. "Only for me, eh, love? Only I can make you feel this way." She is exquisitely tight around him, wet and warm to welcome him, and as her walls finally constrict around him, bringing him over the edge and milking him of all he has to offer, he knows it is true.
His release is all the sweeter for having her submit to him in such a way, and later, sated at last in his arms, she tells him she feels the same. Power is something to be shared, to be respected between the two of them, but that urged, encouraged surrender of it is one hell of an aphrodisiac.
They tease one another often after that, surviving on naught but promise and anticipation. On occasion, she has been known to be the one to instigate it, keeping him waiting days, sometimes even weeks to have her, until she finally grants him release – a jesting throwback to those long ago years of wanting. He's learned to be a patient man; he could wait another lifetime for her to come to him, satisfy him, but he's come to love the way her eyes darken with lust when he gives in. So, to please them both, he pleads ever so sweetly for his queen to grant him her kiss.
When he is the one to refuse her, stringing her along with vague promises of satisfaction, he is always pleased – both by how strong, yet so very weak her resistance proves in the end. He tempts her with every weapon in his arsenal, using every delicate gesture of his hands and curve of his mouth to show her exactly what she's missing. Finally, she begs, and it elates him to hear the raw need in her words. He has been known to spend hours, sometimes even days proving to her, time and time again, that it was all worth the wait, revelling in the way her body responds to his every caress. He remains willing to give her everything she could ever dream of, and her pleasure gives him the utmost satisfaction.
Sexually, their appetites run as deep and ever-changing as the sea. She jokes, sometimes, that he has stolen her away, like some wicked pirate king. He is more than happy to play the part, watching her moan and buck against the silk scarves and ropes that hold her down. More often than not, these sessions of bondage are also a race to see who will make the other surrender first, tempting one another with everything they have to offer. She wins often – no small feat for his beloved, when her wrists and ankles are tied. She brings him constant excitement.
Somehow, he teaches her to appreciate the taste of peaches again. He offers her the fruit from his own lips, sweeps slices of the pale, orange flesh along her milky-white skin, and drinks its juice from her body as if it were the finest nectar. When she returns the favour, the contrast of the cool fruit and her hot mouth is enough to bring him to his knees. They bring to each other an ecstasy they have never before known. Despite this new appreciation for fruit, their passionate unions that result after remain fruitless, and he would have it no other way. They have no desire to share one another just yet.
She will give him children, one day, when they both want it, but for now, the only scurry of tiny feet is that of his goblins – they who serve him, and, at the behest of his most assertive queen, are treated far better than such creatures might deserve. She has not needed to teach him kindness, per se – only to direct it, to his occasional embarrassment, at others beside her. It matters not. The contented feeling in his belly is more than enough for him to spare some. She gifts him with a happiness beyond compare, and an acceptance he has never before known.
One day, he takes her to the place where his parents and all their ancestors rest, and there, among the shining crystal monoliths, she weeps in his arms, every tear turned to a small and glistening jewel in that peaceful and unearthly light. It is the release from her mortal burdens that she has needed all this time, at last unleashing any lingering grief she has borne ever since she left her world behind. He has given so much to her, and yet he cannot give back to her the life she once knew. He weeps with her, and the pain is one they share, for everything and everyone they have lost through the years. Through it, they bring one another comfort.
Eventually, they find solace in that shimmering garden together, remembering fondly the memories they have that will never die. Their talk is soft, at times such as these – whispered words of love and joy, as the kings and queens of old whisper around them in kind. The resting place serves as both a reminder, and a promise – the reassurance that neither of them will ever be alone. Together, they find peace.
He is her lord king and humblest of servants, her ruler and her slave, devoted husband and friend, and most passionate of lovers; he is every last one of her dreams made real – but to him … to him, he thinks, she is everything.
The Goblin Queen sighs softly in her sleep – the sound of truest happiness as she lies in bed beside him – and the Goblin King goes willingly to join her in her dreams.
A/N: Chapter title borrowed from Amazing (Tin Machine) by Tin Machine. Thanks for reading!