The dress she wears that day is a pale blue one, and quite lovely – soft velvet with dagged sleeves and white silk flowers covering the bodice. A delicate circlet sits on her brow, made from silver so fine it could also be spun from silk, scattered with droplets of pearls as bright and perfect as dew. It is, at that moment, her only jewellery – the ring will come soon enough. She is already as skittish as any bride on the morning of her wedding, prepared not by family and friends, but by an army of stylists, intent on making her perfection incarnate for her big day.
Fascinated, she watches in the dressing-room's wide mirror as she is transformed, her hair laid out in soft waves. It's threaded with real flowers – a blue almost dark enough to be purple; what she thinks might be irises. Her make-up is elegant yet understated, doing just enough to bring out her cheekbones and compliment the dark tones of her hair and eyes. It leaves her looking fresh and as natural as they will allow for, enhancing, rather than concealing her face. She is herself, but she's somehow more, far from the pale young woman she normally looks at in the mirror. There's a striking quality to that face she has never seen before – one that no amount of make-up can account for.
She can only put it down to her new-found confidence these past few weeks – the sense of control over her life that she has never before felt, and the glow that has graced her skin along with it.
She's been growing; learning.
Choosing to heed her director's commands, she follows his guidance both on set and in his bed, but there's a freedom to her actions that she hasn't felt in a long time. Instead of simply working for a pay check, she finds she's doing it for the enjoyment it gives her; the rush she feels when she sees she has satisfied him as well. She will never be the world's finest actress, but she finds that if she channels the girl she once was – the one who once brought a king almost to his knees – she's better than she would ever have dreamed. She commands with ease the fire he has demanded of her performance; she wields it with pride.
She delivers her lines with a passion that her performance has always lacked until now, giving commands to characters and co-stars both, and all with poise and dignity. At times, it hardly feels like she is acting at all. She's no mere starlet, not any more.
She has become a queen.
The thought is both a powerful and considerably daunting one.
No detail has been left untended that day, it seems – for the first time, the discriminating taste of her employer has extended to even the underwear she must wear for the scene. She knows the white silks and satins hidden beneath her dress are intended only for a groom's eyes; the lacy garter made for a husband's hands to peel off his lovely new wife. The move could be deemed one of method acting, another of his techniques, meant only to put her in the true mindset of a nervous young bride. Somehow, she knows better. On paper, there's at least another month of filming scheduled, but she knows, regardless, that today will be the last.
Today, the princess becomes the queen she was always destined to be.
The script for the day is, by their director's standards, noticeably vague, telling them only that today the grand wedding ceremony between princess and king will occur. The preparations have been under-way for hours, now, but only she has any real idea of what that means. She hovers around the set with a sense of both fear and excitement, and something deeper – a growing sense of something she eventually names for what it is: finality.
She's been hovering like an unruly pixie around the set from the moment her hair was done, and she still can't figure out exactly what the crew are seeing while they go about their work. A castle's great stone hall stands open before her, and she can't help but think that the 'Elven King's throne room looks an awful lot like one she has seen before – and hasn't she known all along that it would? There's no sign of his goblins, nor of the other strange creatures that she met in her journey through his labyrinth, but there's no denying what's before her own eyes. She knows just how fitting it is.
None of the crew seem to see it – none of them can see it, untouched by magic as they are – and it makes her want to scream at their ignorance. This is no elaborate set, though she has no doubt his crew will be charmed into remembering building it themselves, should anyone ask them. It shimmers with hidden magic, almost like a mirage. This is his castle – his real domain. He has opened the portal between their worlds, and when she crosses the threshold, she'll be agreeing to finally close that link that has laid open between them all this time. This is where she once denied his power over her, and now, it is to be the place where she finally accepts it. She has no doubt that the marriage she is marching into will be a real one.
There's no sign of him on set that morning – highly unusual, for someone as punctual and keen to perfection as he. The crew make their meaningless preparations anyway, concerning themselves with sound levels and lighting, while she stands perfectly still, forced to remind herself how to breathe. There's a restless energy in the air, and she can tell she's not the only one feeling a little spooked. Already, there's been an accident with the equipment, nervous hands the cause of shattered glass, the rig dropping like a bomb in the relative quiet, to low curses and harsh, angry words.
Her own curses remain silent.
There's an excitement, too, amidst the general disquiet of the crew. From them, she's heard rumours of virtually every big name actor under the sun being on set today – even some of the greats who have long since retired. Talent is eternal, after all, and it's amazing what can be done with prosthetics and computers these days – plus, their director could charm the birds down from the trees, if his vision so demanded it. No actor would be beyond his reach – he is, after all, a man well known for getting exactly what he wants. Though Sarah ignores the silly rumours, she can't help but agree with them on his tenacity.
Today, after all these years of wanting, he's getting her.
Of course, she has long since guessed his secret, as he must have intended all along. She knows, from the way he has coached and inspired her that the one she goes to marry will be him. It has always been him – could never be anyone else. Just as the role of the princess had been written around her, only her real king – the true king – could ever be worthy of playing opposite. The movie set is nothing to him – he has been making his own preparations all this time. The role he intends to give her is the greatest he has to offer – a lifetime at his side.
The anticipation is killing her.
The tension is mounting as more time passes and Jared/Jareth does not appear, that strange energy in the air thickening all the while. She wrings her hands; chews off most, if not all of the pale swatch of colour that has been applied to her lips. She hardly thinks it matters. Make-up is nothing but a mask - like the one he wears in this realm – and she knows she has already proven herself to be everything he has asked for.
When she thinks she can bear the wait no longer, she finally hears his deep and unmistakable voice within her mind.
"Sarah."
When she turns her gaze back to the castle's great hall, the very last piece falls into place. She's too captivated by what she sees to care to look at the mortals around her, but somehow, she knows it is a sight meant only for her eyes. An otherworldly light casts its glow over the stone floors; a pale mist washes over the room, unnoticed by anyone but her. Beyond it, he is waiting for her, waiting for her to join him.
Now, at last, the Goblin King has come to claim his queen.
Even after the many weeks they've spent together, the countless times she has found gasping and shuddering bliss in his arms, she finds him almost too beautiful to behold. It is his true self at last – one that has haunted and tempted her for years. His hair is spun gold, worn long over his shoulders, as it always should be, and his strange and piercing eyes are framed by the curious markings of his kind, dark onyx and opulent pearl. He is dressed all in white: boots, leggings, shirt and suit coat – the palest jewel she will ever lay eyes on.
All the air in her lungs seems to leave her in a single rush of breath, her knees threatening to give out beneath her. Fierce longing pulls on her from two very different directions at once, calling on her to look away from such a sight at once; to go on looking forever. He is exquisite, elysian; he is, at last, hers to have, if she so wants him. She knows that she does. He has stricken her incapable of speech, but she knows he will soon need the words from her, as he stands to face the girl who once bested him. There will be no resisting him this time, though. Only now is she ready to embrace such power that he wields. At last, she's ready to yield. Somehow, she coaxes her body into walking.
He smiles as she approaches; extends a pale, long-fingered hand across the barrier between their worlds. "It's time, love," he says.
There is no hesitation as she finally takes what he offers.
She feels a deep spark of power that sends heat pulsing through her every vein; a dizzying sense of time doubling, folding in on itself as she crosses over. Through his hand, she feels the tingle of some incredible energy flowing through her whole body, thrilling – electrifying – almost too much for a simple mortal to withstand, and yet she stands it anyway. Her lips part in sudden, blinding ecstasy, and she cries out, overcome, as his magic fills her to her very soul.
It's a near-orgasmic sensation, her every sense magnified, and the taste of power made palpable, sweet upon her tongue. Her body all but crumples with the strength of it, but then he's there, drawing her tightly into his embrace, shielding her from the world and deep magic around them. He holds her until she calms, his fingers playing over her hair, stirring fragrant notes from the flowers woven into it.
"You're ready," he says, at last, and she knows it isn't a question. She nods anyway, and he releases her, taking a small step back to absorb her, his eyes moving over her face and form. "You're breathtaking," he says simply, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. "Everything I imagined. Everything I ever wanted you to be."
Looking back at him, she has to agree.
When she can bear to pull her gaze from him, she sees that they are in the pale and blank slate that lies between worlds, with only the vaguest hints at shape or colour surrounding them. She recognises it as the place where she once denied him. He's waiting for her, even now, waiting to take her home at last so that he may sweep her off her feet. A hundred true fairytales end in morals and dire warnings, the Grimm realities glossed over for the sake of making kid-friendly cartoons. There's no guarantee that hers will end any better, but she follows him into it regardless, hand in hand as they take the final steps together.
She meets a lot of new faces that day, the long-awaited day of the Goblin King and Queen's wedding. Only lords and ladies of the highest esteem are permitted to bear witness to their union, every last one of them stunningly beautiful, but it's his face her eyes return to most often, amazed, and aroused, and enamoured. He catches her eye just as often, and smiles only for her, and she doesn't have to pinch herself to know that it's all finally real.
The ring he places on her finger is lighter than air itself, some strange and gorgeously bright metal that lays against her skin as softly as a kiss. With due reverence, he hangs a silver amulet around her neck, the twin of his own, and an emblem only the Goblin Queen is deemed worthy to bear. It's a powerful gesture, but the words of devotion spoken in his low voice bind her far more effectively. She has not rehearsed her own, but the vows come easily enough to her as she looks into the eyes of the man who has won her heart at last. She will love, and serve, and bow before the king that has sworn to her the same and more. They kiss, as though for the first time, and though such a public display of obvious desire would usually embarrass her, here, it seems not only expected, but appreciated.
His lips lay claim to her for all to see, his arms drawing her body to his own. Encouraged, impassioned, she kisses him back just as thoroughly, and there can be no question of their devotion. There is no shame, nor doubt in their love.
The ceremony appears to be over after that, the room giving them their deepest bows and the thundering applause deserving of their king and his new queen. They receive it together, standing hip to hip, his arm wrapped around her waist, her fingers pressed to the small of his back beneath his jacket. Her heart flutters with excitement, hardly able to believe the fact that she's actually married – that they are married.
She thinks there will be feasting, perhaps dancing, then, and she is right. The fae folk will celebrate their marriage with many toasts, rich courses without number, and songs and merry steps to welcome in their monarchs' new reign. Jareth bows his head close, to murmur the rest in her ear. The king and his queen will join the revellers only later, when their marriage has been consummated, the devotion from their vows shown in the flesh.
Sarah has to smile at that, despite the new blush it raises. Now, she at least knows that his near-insatiable appetite is the norm here. She embraces the heat his kiss and his closeness have raised within her, secretly thrilled by the idea of all that now lays before them. She laughs as he lifts her briefly in his arms, letting her own slip around his neck as he carries her. When he sets her down again, they are alone, and she sees the welcome sight of the bed they will share.
Free at last to fully explore his flushed and aroused bride, her eager groom wastes no time in doing just that. His tongue lays claim to her mouth, and it's just as deep a kiss as he took from her earlier, but now there's no one else to share in their passion for one another, nor hear the way the new bride cannot help but moan into it. Her pale gown is shed like corn-silk to pool around her ankles, and he helps her to step out of it, urging her towards the bed, kissing her neck and stroking her through those carefully chosen underthings all the while.
He releases the clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts and burying his face between them. He teases both nipples with his tongue until they're aching for him, her hands fisted in his hair, keening softly as he pleasures her. It's exquisite, but she misses the heat of his mouth against her own, and after a time she pulls at his hair, urging him up, urging him to kiss her again as he takes her to bed. When he finally relinquishes her breast, though, it is for his own purposes.
She catches a hint of that devilish smile she has come to desire so well, and then her king slowly sinks to his knees before her. His hands skim lightly across her ribs to her hips, letting his lips graze her bare stomach all the way down to her navel. With no more than a soft caress of his hands, he urges her legs to part for him; leans in and draws the silk and lace of her garter down and off completely with his sharp teeth. The graze of those teeth against her sensitive flesh is enough to make her gasp, but by then he's already turning his attention towards making her moan instead, turning his hands towards removing her panties.
He peels the already-damp satin from her body with ease, stroking along the inside of both of her legs, all the way down to her ankles. She steps out of the underwear, and then his hands retrace the path they have made, moving upwards this time, now free to chart the newly-exposed curves of her ass. He gropes and squeezes, urging her body closer, rubbing his cheeks and the corners of his lips against her inner thighs all the while.
She moans as he presses his warm mouth to her slick lower lips, dragging his tongue in a hot line all along her slit. Bucking her hips to urge him on does nothing – he only wants to taste, to tease – as then he's rising to his feet again, his eyes dark with lust. With a low groan, he crushes his lips to hers; pulling her hips into his so that she can feel from his erection just how much he wants her.
Granted the luxury of his kiss again, she greets it with passion, meeting every hot stroke of his tongue. Her hands are wild in his long hair, her body pressed flush to his. The silk of his shirt is a delicious barrier between them, gliding like cool water over her taut nipples, and she wants to bury herself in the fabric as much as she longs to tear it from his shoulders. Only he can make her wild this way.
"I need you," she manages, between their kisses.
"You've got me, love. Always." With one hand tangled in her hair, he slips the other between her thighs, doing just as much to support her body as it melts for him as it does to disarm her further. "Often," he adds, grinning as his middle finger buries itself deep inside her. He captures her new moans with his keen mouth.
She's putty in his hands, and he moulds her so well, stoking that heat between her legs, readying her to take all of him. They stumble the remaining few steps to the bed, eager hands leaving a tangled trail of his clothing behind them. It's a dance they both know well, bodies moving to compliment the other, exploring every new inch of flesh that is bared. Naked at last, he urges her down against the pillows, kissing her all the while as he sinks down on top of her. The hard heat of him presses urgently against her thigh, and she needs it, arching her hips, coaxing him to take her for the first time as his wife.
When she can stand it no longer, he reverses their arrangement, so that his own back is against the bed, rolling her onto his chest. There, he takes hold of her hips and urges her into the one position where he has yet to take her – seated on top of him. There's fire in his eyes as he draws her down over his stiff cock, both of them savouring the sensation as her willing body accepts every last inch of him.
Her ascension to greatness, the perfection he has always demanded of her, it has all been for this. He has not tamed the fire within her, but urged it to burn higher, brighter, with more passion than ever before. She is, at last, a woman who knows exactly what she wants, and is unafraid to simply take it, just as she now takes him inside of her.
She starts to move atop him, taking him deeper than he has ever been in her, then raising up, only to sink down on him again. Though they've never done this before, there's confidence in her movements, her hips shifting to accept him, setting a firm pace that he's quick to match. His hands tighten about her hips, pulling her down harder, driving himself upwards into her tight and dripping cunt.
"Ahh, Sarah." It's the first time he's ever uttered her name during their sex, and it sets her insides cramping with all kinds of new pleasure. He must see the effect it has upon her, because he says it again, lower this time, each syllable a moan. "Sarah."
She can feel the lust pouring from his gaze; feel his cock filling her, throbbing inside her as she starts to move faster. His strange and gorgeous eyes take in all of her as she rides him long and hard, his gaze heavy on her breasts as they move along with her efforts. He looses her hips to caress each peaked nipple instead, letting her move at her own pace as his eyes reclaim her face.
"Take what you need, my love, my queen," he urges, his hands cupping the weight of her breasts, squeezing, pressing them together as she moves atop him. "Ride me – fuck me. Show me just what you want."
There's a fierceness in his eyes as she does ride him – a blistering heat that might cause any lesser woman's skin to crack and peel. She is no lesser woman, though. She owns that stare, possesses it the same way he has laid claim of her, taking her king as deep as she wills, and savouring his moans of pleasure. She has agreed to give him everything, and in return he is her most willing slave. He groans her name again, with a reverence she never knew him capable of.
"Jareth … Jareth ..." Her own cries are loud and unashamed. The sensation of his cock filling her so deeply, spreading her open, is almost too much to bear. She can feel her climax building, but she will not tip her head back to the ceiling when her pleasure breaks. She will look upon her husband as she comes for him, allow for him to see the bliss only he can give her, and capture his own.
He has long been a part of her past, this man, this king – the dream made real; the driving pleasure of her present, filling her senses, consuming her. Yet, as they reach ecstasy in each other's arms, as he yields to the heat of her body and fills her with his essence, and as his name leaves her lips in a helpless, blissful cry, she knows that he is her future, too. Beyond the pleasure, there will be a lifetime of this, of him; of them.
She has found her king, and he his queen, and there's no one to call 'cut' on whatever ending they choose to forge together. She's home – his, and he is hers.