Well, it's been expected for a while now, since the run began, actually. So yes, we're going a bit smutty here for this chapter. But if you've read our word before, we don't do PWP. You can chose to skip this one if you like; that said, there are a few important bits of information throughout. For those that enjoy the chocolate truffles, read on. And yes, the mouth being shut is referring to both of them. ;)
Also, we're heading for an out-of-town vacation this week, so there going to be a little break between chapters. We'll meet you guys back here on the 22nd!
Turning to follow her gaze, Jareth realized that his parents leaving might be for the best. Sarah stalked up the road, goblins fleeing after one glance at her. She carried her own storm of power, a shimmering golden haze of fury that briefly gilded each building she passed. And the Key to the kingdom, where he'd tucked it into his sleeve, was growing hot.
Jareth wisely tossed the Key into the air, giving it a touch of magic so it flew straight to his Champion while she was still out of reach. She caught it, and strung it around her neck without missing a stride, every footfall bespeaking her wrath.
Taking the Key had probably not been his best decision.
"Welcome back, Queen Sarai," he called, and would not back down before her. In fact, he strolled toward her, calling up his own power in a storm of dark iridescence.
"You obnoxious sneaky bastard," Sarah snarled. "I knew Amelia was gonna have to face you alone, you dick, you didn't have to lock me out! And taking the Key, don't you ever pull that shit again or I'll be a widow before we're even–"
He'd reached her then, or she'd reached him, and he caught the nape of her neck, yanking her close. Sarah's eyes flew wide, her power swirling around them both; the heat of her wrath was intoxicating. His magic and hers met, twining together, not in violence but certainly in competition. And competition between them had a certain form of resolution, lately. Jareth seized her in a kiss, feeding off her fury.
She bit his lip, and when he pulled back from that he tasted blood. Sarah punched him hard in the chest, still growling, but the mingling of power and anger and lust was too strong even for her, and she kissed him again, winding her fingers tightly in his hair.
Jareth let that kiss go on until they both needed air, drawing back only slightly. "I should have warned you, Sarah, mixing our magic like that has side effects. And you are irresistible when you're angry," he murmured. "Your runner won. And once you are crowned, I won't be able to take the Key from you, not without force and bloodshed, which I would never risk."
"Shut up," she growled, and kissed him again. "I'm still mad at you, you arrogant bastard." Her eyes were predatory, and she was everything he'd ever wanted.
Jareth only laughed, and swept his magic around them both. He was the more powerful, though her strength was growing. For a moment, her gold was wrapped up in his glimmering darkness, not stifled by his power but shining through it. Jareth took the moment of supremacy, and swept them into the castle.
Upstairs into their bedrooms was too far, at that moment, but the new throne room was right there … Jareth couldn't resist, bringing them both there and barring the doors with a burst of magic. He took her hand and started to pull her toward the throne.
Sarah snatched her hand back, and as he turned to her in surprise, she swept her leg across his ankles and tripped him. "As if I'd give you exactly what you want right after you pull a stunt like that," she snapped, and pounced on him. His shirt ripped under her hands, and he hissed as she bit his collarbone.
"Unfortunately for you, Sarai, you are exactly what I want," he shot back, and rolled her under him.
She was in no mood for that, however, and he felt her power swirl around him before landing flat on his back again. "No," Sarah told him, her eyes purely gold. "Dammit, Jareth, I can't help wanting you, but I don't have to give in right now. I'm half tempted not to speak to you until the coronation."
For once in his long life, Jareth was wisely silent. He'd hoped to transmute their conflict into sex, but Sarah was having none of it right now, despite the heat he felt rising from her skin.
"Don't make me decide to wall you out," she continued. "And don't you ever take that Key from me again. I am Champion here, and crowned or no, Umardelin chose me. Don't you dare come between me and my land again. I mean it."
She was Queen in truth already; he'd dragged her back here despite all the potential dangers, and Sarah had stepped up to rule. Jareth knew he should have been afraid, that despite her love for him she was making a credible threat. He had known she had potential at fifteen, and twenty-five, but he never would have expected this level of commitment and command from her.
Here, where there were no witnesses save the land itself that pulsed its magic in both of their hearts, he could do what must be done to atone for taking the Key – and to show her he understood her precisely. Jareth tilted his head back as far as he could, baring his throat, and stretched his open palms above his head. "I yield, Your Majesty," he said, softly and formally.
Sarah sat back atop him, blinking. That wild light still gleamed in her eyes as she seemed to consider him, the magic still wreathing her, before she leaned over him to nip his neck swiftly and sharply. Her dark hair was a curtain around them as she leaned back enough to stare down at him silently, the green of her eyes still swallowed by the gold. Jareth could feel the coiled need in her, but she made no move to take things further at the moment. "You, King of Goblins, King of Umardelin, did what you must to complete the ritual. You did what you deemed necessary," Sarah finally spoke, her tone strangely formal. "Yet, by her design, I am the Chosen here, my will as strong. You remain the power here, Jareth of Etaron, but you must respect my place as I find it. Perhaps your wish isn't precisely what you wanted it to be, now that you find yourself on the precipice?"
It was not only Sarah that spoke to him; Umardelin herself rang in the words. He had felt the kingdom take control of him before, too, been possessed by its power as Sarah was now. Most other monarchs had to demand that of their realms, but Umardelin was willful. "Yes, my lady," he said, to both kingdom and queen. "I shall not treat you so lightly again. Your choice, and your power, are not mine to take."
That cooled the molten gold of her gaze a little, a hint of green glimmering there. Yet there was one more thing he wished to have very clear. "As for my wish, all I want is you. I am Jareth of Umardelin now, not of Etaron. I will have no other kingdom before my own, and no other lady save my Champion and Queen."
Sarah stared down at him for a long moment. "See that you do," she finally said, and shifted to pull him up to her. She claimed him in a kiss, and he staked his possession right back with tongue and teeth.
That seemed to coax the fire in her blood, her pale fingers twisting into his hair again, all insistent heat and hunger again. Her eyes were her own, just the finest gold shine in their darkened green depths when she paused again for breath. Yes, still angry, with that glimmer still lurking, but she hadn't pulled away. And if she pleased, Sarah would have. Leaning forward, she nipped his lip again, but more gently now, now more quietly challenging. "I wouldn't make you something you're not, Jareth. I mean it; you are King here. I'll never try to change that. I never could. But you brought me here, wanted me here, and I wanted you, wanted this place. So I came. But, like you told me, bluntly," – Sarah took a moment to boldly look him in the eyes, suddenly and sharply arching against him – "I won't be your kept woman, Jareth. If you think I'll be content to watch from the sidelines, if all you remember from those dreams is the mind-numbing wrongness of what we were doing, and just how damn good it felt. You wanted me to take the crown, even then. That's part of why you kept coming back, even when I deliberately misunderstood what you were trying to tell me. When I kept misunderstanding. Until we didn't care anymore how or why we came together. You wanted to make me your Queen; you tempted me in every way you could for years. And God help you, Jareth, after all this time, you have what you said you wanted. I mean to take it."
She was driving him half-mad, her warned words intense and solemn, while the way her body moved was a very different kind of intense. And Sarah knew it, knew to use his lust to make him listen to her, to make certain he was enthralled enough to understand how very serious she was. "You are no one's concubine," he murmured, watching her. "Least of all mine. I wanted you for the will that matches mine, for the heart that is as fierce, for the mind that is as brilliant. I wanted you to rule beside me…"
He trailed off as she moved against him. Sarah paused then, her lips a breath from his as she seemed to trace them with her lowered gaze, rocking again, almost gently this time. "I'm not still the pretty little princess you thought I was in that park, Goblin King, to blink wide innocent eyes in confusion whenever something important happens, to cower when you raise your voice. You learned that mistake years ago and never looked back, I think. I'll challenge you, I warned you that before I ever came back to your bed, and I'll do it until my last breath. And you'd hate me if I didn't. We both know that."
That was too much, and Jareth reached up, running his hands up her back to the glorious fall of her hair. "You think I want you to cower before me?" he purred, chuckling softly. "Sarah, Sarah. I want you because you challenge me. Because we are as well-matched in battle as in love. I won today knowing I cannot win the same way again – and with you, I'll never win the same way twice. It was an underhanded trick, Sarai, and I swear to you, I will never steal the symbol of your rank again. I won't be able to, once you're crowned, for you will be Queen here. You already are Queen, in all but name. The Key burned when you approached – it knows its rightful owner."
A pause, while his hands traced her flanks, and he met her gaze with his own, steady and just as dangerously honest. "I should not have snatched at that fleeting advantage. I acted in haste and without thought, for we have not had a chance to discuss what our roles should be with runners, and what Umardelin will allow. I won't let you risk alienating your kingdom, Sarai – but I should have stopped time if necessary to warn you, rather than steal the Key. Forgive me, my lady queen. Ruling goblins, one learns to choose expediency over diplomacy."
"See that you don't make the same mistake again," she warned. "Because Jareth, I'm really not that little girl. You can't mollify me with peaches and sex so I'll do as you please. At the same time, I don't expect you to be anything less than the Goblin King. I think I would hate you, if you were less. I tried safe and sane and normal, and he up and left when he realized I wanted more. A more he could never give me."
"You cannot be happy with safe and sane and normal, Sarah, for you are none of the above. You are dangerous, and fae-touched, and extraordinary," he told her. "As for peaches … I thought of bringing you down here bespelled. It would have been easier, in a way, to simply steal you from your mortal life and trap you in a darker dream. But I have always known that you would one day break free … and for that offense, you'd have my head and my crown."
She let out a long sigh, and the last of her anger seemed to fade. It was not yet gone – she would not easily forgive him for taking the Key, he saw – but he was no longer particularly worried about the sharpness of her nails against his skin. "You call me dangerous, and you still want to fuck me on your throne?" Sarah asked, in lighter tones.
"Precious, I want to fuck you on our throne precisely because you are dangerous," Jareth replied, and swept them up again with his magic, to deposit them both on said throne … though in deference to her, he was still the one reclining, and she was astride him.
Her smile was slow and wicked. "You never could let go of that dream, could you?"
"Some dreams are worth holding on to." He hooked his fingertips into her collar and pulled her down for another kiss.
He could feel her chuckle against his mouth, the low and throaty pitch of it calling memories to mind that made him kiss her all the harder, fading into a quiet moan when she pulled back. Sarah pulled herself closer to him then, adjusting her position for a heart-stopping moment that left both of them gasping. And then her husky voice was in his ear, her arms curling around his shoulders, "Most dreams, actually. Hopefully the reality will live up to at least one of the fantasies." There was a pause then, as if she was considering, then she added, in a near-whisper, that smoky wisp of laughter, "At least this is easier on my knees, if my memory of the last one serves."
Jareth's chuckle was just as rich with memory. "I do believe that was one of my dreams, precious. If we're going to make it a reality, I shall have to put down a thicker carpet for you to kneel on."
"Don't get too used to me kneeling," Sarah warned.
He only leaned back, reminding her that she was the one atop him this time. "You know I'm quite willing to return the favor, whenever you should demand it. You've feared me and you love me, and once in a while you'll even do as I say, so what choice have I but to be your slave?" The rough purr in his tone made her eyes go lidded, and Jareth added tauntingly, "So will you claim your throne now, Sarai?"
As expected, the change in tone shook her to action. That sportive smirk of hers, smugly curling up her right lip, appeared slowly when he spoke, her gleaming eyes sly. Her right hand lost its grip on the back of the throne to slip back over his shoulder, slowly tracing patterns across the linen of his shirt. Something devious was forming in that formidable mind, he was sure. "That all depends, Jareth. The question is, do I feel as thought I've received adequate restitution to allow such an intimate level of familiarity? I'm not sure that I have. At least not that worthy of the woman you claim you plan to crown."
"In near two centuries as crown prince and then king, I have never yielded as I did to you, just now," Jareth pointed out.
"And?" she said, arching a brow, that curve of her lip taunting him.
"And if that is not sufficient apology, Sarah mine, you shall have to instruct me on what would be adequate," he retorted. And then, smiling, he added, "Later."
His gloved hands were in view, but Sarah felt his touch tracing ghostly up her leg beneath her gown. Magic, he'd done this with his magic once before, and she felt its shimmering warmth trailing along her inner thigh. There was the gasping catch of her breath, though she was trying mightily not to allow her expression show her pleasure. Jareth knew just where and how to touch her … and it was entirely unfair that he could do it without actually touching her, too.
The same could not be said for her traitor body; he could feel her thighs tighten on either side of his currently-trapped legs, the warmth of her clear even through the fabric of the gown. Yes, she was cross with him, out of sorts, but for the moment, Jareth would follow her fever's lead. The slightest beginning of a rhythm was building in her, his ministrations having their usual response. Her teasing fingers had still to knot into his shirt, though the true sign of her weakening was the dazed way she watched him through those sleepy-seeming eyes; the heat in her was rekindled, despite her sulky mood. That look had become the precursor to her losing control, his being devoured.
Still, he did not want to press his luck too far tonight. He'd come too close to making her really and truly furious with him. And while Jareth loved to warm himself at the fire of their blazing arguments, he feared what would happen if he pushed Sarah too far. Not heat but ice, and silence; she had locked him out once before, and he'd be damned if he let it happen again. It was no hardship, even to pride such as his, to be contrite for one evening, when those were the stakes.
So he kept those touches slow and soft, asking rather than demanding. No need to spur her on to greater passion; Sarah had a wild wanton heart all on her own, and all he had to do was wake it with these tender, knowing caresses.
She moved in slow swiveling reaction to his magic, arching when he stroked down her spine, tightening her lean strong thighs when he sent feathery touches flickering there. And all the while, his own rising interest grew more apparent, to be indulged at her leisure.
A fact that she was entirely aware of, apparently, a throaty moan drawn from her even as she leaned her head back in hungry reaction, keeping herself teasingly close but just shy of friction. The use of magic was still very new for her and she seemed to relish it when he unleashed it on her, thus far. For all of her protests, he knew from experience that the build was a large part of the enjoyment for her, allowing the lightning to spark her into flames before she would give in, burning them both for the wait and with no apology for it.
Another whimper then, her pace quickening against him, before those greedy little hands were shakily tugging at his shirt, one hand already under and tracing his skin as if it were a book she was committing it to memory. It was something he had known about her for years and loved her for it; once lit, she burned high and hot until she had what she wanted, be it her pleasure or his. Voracious in the moment, not a second spent on nor a thought given for pretty words or decorum. "This … might work for a … start," she murmured urgently, flashing those darkened eyes at him.
Jareth narrowed his eyes and focused his magic, though Sarah's questing hands were a terrible distraction. It took all of his will to remain supine beneath her, when every instinct demanded that he give as good as he was getting. To that end, he smirked wickedly, and let the caress of his power rise to her breasts as well. It was as if he had four hands on her at once, quite a feat of distraction in itself. His actual hands he gave the simple mission of unlacing the front of her gown, something Jareth could do practically in his sleep.
Oh, yes, the spark was most definitely lit; a swift, sharp cry tumbling from Sarah's gasping lips then, a shiver that ran through her like a current, and he attempted to keep the chuckle silent. Once already? Her resistance to this particular caress had always been nonexistent, stealing her thoughts and any lingering impedance in that instant. Before he could touch her with more than magic, she was impatiently pulling his shirt over his head and off of him even as he was baring her to the night. Without a moment's pause, her lips were against his collarbone, nipping lightly and briefly as she resuming her oft-repeated exploring. Even as she did, he could feel one of her hands snake down to her skirts, raking back the volume of them to press the summer's heat of her bare thighs against the fabric of his breeches. Quickly, too quickly, he felt the back of her hand brush against him, the strength of the touch just enough to tell him it was no accident. If the way her lips had curled against the line of his shoulder had not already given her away, that was.
"Methinks you find it a most appropriate apology," Jareth purred, and let his hands take over the work of some of the magic. That, he needed to remove his breeches without removing Sarah from his lap, so that she had no more excuse for avoiding him. They had always fit together so naturally, it was little wonder that he found himself in position to please her quite readily.
But it would be her move, this time. He chose to let Sarah take him, as she had during her run, rather than commanding her. This dalliance atop the throne was a reminder that he knew very well who was Queen of this realm, and of his heart.
He heard her gasp when the fabric ceased to be, her bent head rising then, her rumpled hair falling in her eyes when she looked up through its waves. Sarah's level gaze met his, the look in her eyes hot enough to burn, her breath coming quickly and her color high. The bust of her gown currently residing far lower than it should, she was bare to the waist where his hands did not tease and they were surrounded by the sweep of her skirt. Oh, that look in her eye; no need to curse the innocence that had once stared back at him. He cherished that esurient look on her.
"And if I possibly find it so?" she responded in a low voice, making the sly movement again, hidden by the swirls of fabric hiding the rest of her. "What boon would you ask of me, Jareth of Umardelin? What would the Goblin King ask of the mortal whom he must allow to share his throne?"
"The same as ever, my lady queen," Jareth murmured, a little catch in his breath at her subtle touch. And let iridescence bloom in his eyes, turning his gaze fey and wild. His voice went low, rough with emotion as it had been once before. "Love me."
He could see the sudden awareness in her eyes, the echo of memory, and how she smiled then, first startled and charmed before it grew sultry. Without another word, her lips were on his, Sarah rising slightly for an instant in whose aftermath had them both gasping. Gods, the feel of her! In his lap now, the scent of her surrounding him as she curled closer, arms going around his neck. The shudder that fell from her lips as they joined was its own memory, that sound alone, a sound he had first heard so many years ago. Even now, as they had just begun, a low and soft moan drew itself between her lips. "I did, I have, I can, and I will," she managed softly, her hair curtaining them again as she leaned her forehead into his, breath coming quickly. "Though one day you may live to regret it."
Jareth let her set the pace, his hands and magic drifting over her skin to heighten her pleasure. His own was quite high enough, at having her so, and could in fact benefit from the distraction of seeing to hers first. "I shall never regret you, Sarah," he breathed, and arched up to meet her. "Never. Though you raze my city a dozen times, I would still consider you worth it."
That had the intended effect, her rhythm paused, only to resume stronger. "Never … is a long time. Plenty of time … to make you wish you hadn't … oh … bothered." She swallowed a groan then, one hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, before she leaned away to look at him. Despite her determination, already Sarah's eyes had grown hazy. Something must have shown in his expression, however, because they flared suddenly with the effect that she rocked against him harder. "And if … I tried to make it my city? If I started to get as jaded … oh God,"she lost her breath for a moment, her whole body tightening in reaction. "… jaded as the rest of your kind? What … what then? I could be a danger to you, Jareth."
He grinned to her savagely, and let his grip on her hips tighten. "So long as it is our city as it is our castle and our realm, I shall give you not a murmur of complaint. Try to make it yours, try to take my rule from me, and I'll see you clapped in irons 'til you come to your senses, Sarai." She swiveled her hips then, and he threw his head back with a yearning growl. "Damn you, you wanton. I yield to you justly, but … never will you take from me what I fought and bled for. That includes you."
"Really?" There was no warning before she clenched once and then twice upon him. Never had she denied her hot blood; they both knew it would be ridiculous to try. It was her turn to return that cruel smile before she bore down harder on him, still in control, but not in the slightest trying to stifle her sounds of pleasure. "Good. Hold to that," she gasped out, "it wouldn't be half as fun if you wouldn't hold your own." Despite the flavor of her words, he knew her mocking even in a moment like this. Again, her muscles tightened on him.
That intimate tension bearing down upon him made her entirely too delectable to resist; Jareth hissed with pleasure, eyes going wide. "I'll show you holding my own," he growled, and seized her with magic. It was the work of a second to reverse their positions, though a trifle more awkward for them both; the throne was unforgiving stone, still unpadded by cushions. At least she had her thoroughly rumpled dress still caught about her waist to protect her.
There was room enough to lay Sarah back when he caught her knees and drew her roughly up to him, which was all that mattered to Jareth. "Speak to me of treachery and usurpation," he murmured, and thrust hard enough to make her cry out. "See that you are reminded, Sarai, we both rule here, and rule each other."
"I could've taken it from you at seventeen, if I'd wanted to," she purred, emerald eyes lidded.
He shifted his hands to her waist, lifting her lower body clear of the throne to sweeten the angle – and remind her of his strength. "I rather preferred what I took from you, at that age. And if you'd been bent on conquest, my Sarah, think what you would have missed."
Despite the ferocity of their lust, Sarah laughed, her voice ringing silvery off the walls of the throne room. His words were the last spoken, as Jareth set about showing her exactly why neither of them could ever hope to do without the other.
