Disclaimer: I don't wanna say I don't own 'the Labyrinth.' I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna and you can't make me so… there! Oh man… I said it… *sigh* Oh well, I own this plot-line, I'll be happy with that for now.

(Once again this story is rated 'M' for a reason so I must ask that anyone under 18 and/or averse to large doses of sensuality and dark humor go somewhere else. You will be missed, but I had to warn you. This will be the last warning, the ratings don't go down from this point.)

Duncan, claiming the name 'Cain' came to pay a call on Sarah. Add lots of male angst and a mouse, and you have the last encounter. Jareth, playing the part of the handyman, was sent up to the roof to mend it in the storm while Duncan announced his desire to 'court' Sarah for the length of her stay in Ireland. Now, after a filling and rather un-remarkable dinner, I give you chapter nine…

Knots and Kisses:

Jareth was full, warm, and tired beyond comprehension. He hadn't plied his given trade in years, and honestly he could not recall a time when he had been asked to mend a roof while it was raining. It was a novel experience, and he had done a thorough job of the repairs to make sure he would not be called upon to do them again.

He stretched, pleased at the bed in the guest room. Of course it was half the size of his bed in the Underground, and the sheets were of linen rather than watered silk, but sacrifices had to be made. This made him think of his hair, and Jareth's good mood evaporated.

In the room next door, Sarah was fast asleep. He could feel it, like little ripples along his spine. She was dreaming of him. It wasn't magic, he realized with a wolfish smirk, that bound them. If it had been, it would no longer exist, as he had been stripped of his powers when he had been dropped into this realm. So, their tie was something more, something greater than magic, and yet, so vulnerable…

Already what had once been a strong tie between them was now a slim thread like gossamer, beautiful, and fragile, and so important… He knew that if he allowed himself to sleep he would join her. It was the way of things. Truly bonded Fey couples were never apart, so great was their love and their need for one another. It was hard for him, denying the siren call of sleep.

His body was weary from long hours of manual labor in the rain. His mind was spinning with possibilities and ways to secure the outcome most desired; Sarah's love. With a full stomach and a warm bed, it was a combination that even the Fey King could not--or would not--resist.

His eyes drifted shut, and like a rock dropped into water, he was pulled deeper and deeper until he didn't know which way was up…

They twirled around and around, like beautiful and frightening tops. Their masks were both fierce and mocking, and she lifted her chin. She had been afraid once, afraid of them, and of the emotions that they evoked within her. They were just Revelers: dancers and drinkers, merrymakers of all kinds. She didn't comprehend it all at sixteen, but now it was clear. She wasn't afraid of these men and women, she was afraid of her own desires to join them.

Her gown was different, as well. It seemed that when she remembered her dreams, it gave her a little power within them. Instead of the silver concoction of fluff and glitter, she wore a long silver sheath, fitted to her body, flared slightly in the legs so she could move without difficulty. The top flowed over assets that time had bestowed generously, like water down rock.

Someone offered her a hand, and she took it. The Reveler was wearing a snake's mask, eyes slit and almond, pointed upward at the outer edges. He moved like a sake as well, sinuous and smooth. It felt as though he was gliding her about the room rather than taking steps, as mortals would.

As quickly as he had offered his hand, he was gone from her, and Sarah was again alone in a sea of faces. This time there was no blue velvet tunic, no haunting eyes, no promise at the end of the struggle. She felt the loss keenly.

A few women, three to count, grasped her about the waist and dragged her to a table. She was pulled into the lap of one, another began tying knots in the smooth fall of her hair. The third was making comments and gestures that had Sarah blushing, though she couldn't understand the language. Their nature was obvious. One of the men at the table disentangled himself from the arms of his female companion and reached out, trailing a finger over the bare skin of her inner arm. Sarah recoiled.

She was here for another, she told him, in the strange silence. It was a ball, she had danced to music… and yet there had never been sound. There had never been a voice for their wordless exchanges. She might never have noticed the fact, but for the soft strains of song she heard now. And with the music came the voices of the Revelers, and with their voices came the knowledge that he was there, that she was not wandering alone any longer.

She looked down at her bare feet on the white marble floor, knowing that the Revelers had set her aside. She was no longer one of their number. She was even ousted from the lap she had been given to use as a chair. Forced to her feet again, Sarah moved forward, knowing nothing but the search.

The song was different. It was all she knew for a long, sluggish moment. It was not a memory, no, this was something different, something less, and something more. Things were not always what they seemed, she recalled, lighthearted again.

Someone took her hand, whirling her faster and faster, until she became giddy with the pace, and the ever-changing faces before her. She didn't see whether he wore a mask or not over his face, it didn't matter to her. He was not the one she was looking for. She broke away, leaving the man bereft. She moved forward, and another clasped her about the waist, lifting her high. Sarah tossed her head back, her long hair cascading in waves to her waist.

Someone, presumably her partner, kissed the offered skin of her neck, and she gave them a glare. No, she was not for him. No. She moved forward again, the pace getting faster, the tempo throbbing in her veins, like lyrical fire. She took three steps forward, was whisked off her feet, and spun. She was placed down again she didn't know which direction she had been going, and which was the way back.

Still she pressed on. When she was seized again, and lifted, she used the height to look for him. She thought she saw to top of his head, that true silver-and-gold that she had never seen before and never would again. And so that was the direction she headed.

Swans and fawn and bears and dragons barred her path. Some, men and women alike, were more than pleased to waylay her with hungry hands, and hungrier eyes. She moved past them all.

One man grasped her about the shoulders and the waist from behind, pressing her against his chest. He swayed, and she followed the movements, only once before tearing away. When she spun to give him a reprimand, he was gone. Another hand lay upon her shoulder, and she spun to face her would be partner, rejection on her lips.

It died as she met his eyes. Those ever-changing eyes, now settled on deep blue. He didn't speak, and neither did she. They didn't need to speak. She smiled at him, and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, her hand trailing over his defined cheekbone. He caught it in his own, offering her a look that told her everything she could have wanted to know. When she made as though to speak he pressed a finger to her lips to silence her.

He swept them forward, and she followed. Others fell away, leaving them alone on the floor. They watched as their King, the man with shorn hair wearing a plain white shirt and black leggings tucked into tall boots and not a single bit of glitter, danced with a beautiful mortal. They should have known right away that she was no simple Reveler. Indeed, she had been too reluctant, too shy. But with their King she was shy no longer. She was like a candle, shining and bright in her purity.

"If I speak, will something happen?" She was staring into his eyes, and was intrigued as they widened, shifting into an impish green.

"Ah, so she finally reaches out." The sound of his voice in her head was more intimate than any caress or kiss she had received here, and she bit her lower lip, looking at her bare feet. His hand, without it's usual glove, lifted her chin gently, until their eyes met. Where their skin touched she tingled.

"Do not be shy with me, Sarah. I created this world for you once, I know what you wished, and what you dreamed. But I see some things have changed since then…" His eyes skimmed the room, the Revelers who were more sensual than mocking, her own attire, and the attributes that it covered. When he met her eyes again it was with a wicked hunger, one that shone brighter than any of the looks she had received before, in dreams and outside as well.

"Some things have changed, Goblin King." As he swept her into a graceful arch, she relaxed in his arms, allowing her to be drawn closer and closer into his chest. The hand that had been resting at her hip slid around to the full flare of her waist, the hand that was in the middle of her back slid up to cup the nape of her neck. One by one the Revelers ceased to exist, and the music grew slow, almost haunting. She knew this song, she remembered it. But the Goblin King didn't sing to her now, no, he was far too intent on her face to think about anything else.

They swayed, gently, and then not at all, the pretense of dancing escaping them. She lifted a cautious hand to his cheek, and he caught it in his own half-way to it's destination. He turned her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, letting his tongue dart out to taste the softness of her skin. It made Sarah's toes curl, and she blushed.

She moved to pull away, recalling all of the things that had brought them here. He held her still, unwilling to lose her touch when he had been deprived of it for so many years. More years for him than for her, as time in the Underground was fickle.

"Please, Precious One, just another moment in your arms, and I will leave you if you ask it. But do not ask me to lose you again so soon."

Hearing him say 'please' was what did it. The Goblin King was lost to her that moment as she met the eyes of the man with short hair and callus' reforming from fighting with a hammer all afternoon. She tilted her head back, and went up on tip-toes, her own half-closed eyes meeting his for a time-stopping instant. "Jareth…"

He met her, pressed against her lips with his, unable or unwilling to give her anything less than all of his passion, his love. He nipped very gently at her lower lip, as he had been wanting to do since the first time he watched her do it, and she gasped in shock and pleasure. He took advantage of that moment, pressing deeper into the kiss, his tongue teasing her own.

She was shy at first, almost timid. And then, like a dam bursting under the burden of it's load, she pressed forward with a mewling sound, and thrust her tongue against his. Her hands tangled, one in the cloth of his shirt, the other in his soft, thick hair. But Jareth, not a new hand at passion by any measures, let his roam.

One ran the length of her back, fisting in her hair briefly. He enjoyed the shiver that chased down her spine, and so intrigued by it was he that he followed the path of that shiver to her waist. His other hand tipped up her chin, tearing their lips apart so he could claim the creamy skin of her throat. It was deeply arousing to feel her pulse pounding under his lips.

He groaned, and she jumped. Her hands unfisted, and moved to his shoulders. He waited for her to decide what she was going to do. Was she going to embrace him, pull him closer, or was she going to push him away?

He eased back slowly, watching the play of emotion on her expressive face, in her deep emerald eyes. She smiled slowly, drawing him closer, burying her face in the hollow of his shoulder. He looked down on her and cursed the force of the reaction she inspired within him. The evidence of it was pressing against the confines of his pants, and relief was not in sight. He sighed in acceptance.

"Not bad, for a first kiss."

His heart skipped a beat, and then began to race again. He had been the one to give her this first taste of passion. It made something in him call out in joy, in possession. His Owl, nestled deep inside, was content with his choice. Sarah was his, whether she knew it or not.

She drew back to meet his eyes, and she smiled slowly, timidly. He could see what she wanted, could feel it in the shy way she eased into him. He could have given her the moon and the stars in that instant, gladly, and never again would he need to look into the night sky.

"Jareth, I want to--" Her words shattered the dream, and she was torn from his arms. Their hands caught, for a brief instant, as the edges of their worlds bled into white emptiness. The ballroom ceased to be, all that one could know of the other were their hands, clasped tightly together. But even that connection was severed, the pull on both too strong for the other to hold on.

Their hands fell apart, and both were thrust into other dreams, dreams that were nothing more and nothing less.

She woke the next morning to the sound of water running down the hall. She smiled and stretched lazily, content with the memories of the dream from the night before. She looked over at the alarm clock, and paused. Her hair had knots in it, four precise knots in a single strand. She recalled a woman tying them, ignoring her warning glares.

She rose from bed and used the mirror to untie them, on by one. It was then that she caught sight of the slight discoloration of her lips, slightly swollen and a darker shade than usual. She ran her fingers over them in wonder, and confusion. The child within her wanted to pound on the bathroom door and demand answers. Child-Sarah was more than content to believe that the Goblin King had been playing a game with her, using her. The adult simply refused to believe the accusations.

She met her reflection, looked it full in the face, and smiled.

Some dreams, she had decided years ago, aren't meant to be. Others, she amended, picking out the clothes she would wear that day, just took a little while to come true. They were probably all worth the wait. Waiting for his kiss had been worth five years twice over.

Still unsure whether or not her dream had actually happened, Sarah went into the bathroom adjoining her bedroom and turned on the hot water. His loud yelp and string of curses echoed down the hall, and she smiled. Either way, it was going to be a great morning.

Author's Note:

I have to tell you I love my readers! You know I almost thought about that, having the mouse bite Duncan, and then awarding him a piece of cheese and a place by the fire with a blanket. Oh well, lol…

Well here's your first taste of lemon, small and chaste though it was. I decided to give the faint of heart just one more chance to turn away, and find another fan fiction, while giving my mature readers a little glimpse into the passion that flares to life whenever Sarah and Jareth are alone together…

Sarah is pleased with herself, and after Jareth recovers from the burst of cold water, he'll be fine as well. It's refreshing, not having our Goblin King in a state of rebellion. One can only wonder how long it will last… Until next time,

-Chaotic Reverie