Jareth: *pats Bon-bon's hand soothingly* Really, darling, this is the third peanutbutter overdose this month. I think it's time to get some help.
Moi: *Weakly, through a mouthful of peanutbutter* Hhlp? Hhlp wiff whaf? Ah haff noh frobem... Ah ohwn Lah-briff, ah haff peenufbuvver, an Gerarrr Bufler if mah chaufferrr. Liffe if booiffuul!
Translation: No, thank you, kind sir, but I don't require any assistance. I am perfectly happy just as I am. After all, being the owner of Labyrinth, in possession of an ample supply of peanutbutter, and with Gerard Butler as my personal chauffer, what could I possibly have to be unhappy about?
Jareth: *Sighs heavily* That's right darling, you just rest.
We are now accepting donations for the "Imagination Coner and Peanutbutter Awareness Fund". Please contact your local Labyrinth distributor for further information.
Halloween, 1994 - Part Two
Oh, how I had missed coffee.
I wrapped my fingers around the cheap, kitten-printed mug, sighing with contentment as heat bled through the ceramic and seared the sensitive flesh on the inside of my fingers, and inhaled the aromatic steam of ten-dollar black coffee. Technically, the coffee came complementary with the room, but the coffee maker had to be rented.
I'd gladly given into the scam and rented the stupid coffee maker.
Taking a sip, I grimaced as what taste buds survived the scalding liquid were treated to the acerbic, tar-like taste of my long-coveted beverage, and promptly took another swig.
It was a human thing.
As were the ultra-comfy sweats I had changed into. Underground attire, while undeniably stylish in a medieval way, was nowhere near as comfortable as a set of utterly un-stylish jim-jams.
I had managed to stay in my Halloween costume until Nok and Toby had ventured off again to continue trick-or-treating, but no sooner had the door closed, than I ran to the 'bedroom' of the cheap little motel suite I'd rented, and threw on the most unattractive jammies I could find. Then I'd piled my hair on top of my head in an equally unbecoming fashion, and flipped on the T.V. to unabashedly wallow in my humanity as I brewed my caffeinated tarmac.
It was enough to keep the home-sickness at bay.
Which really was altogether pathetic in itself.
Honestly, I'd spent nearly twice as long Aboveground as I had Under, and I was dying to get out of here after less than twenty-four hours. How the heck was I going to survive the next eight weeks or so?
I stoically drank another gulp of foul-tasting, searing coffee and turned to plop in front of my television, determined not to be a pitiable female, bemoaning her unfair, though self-inflicted, fate.
I sighed.
This sucked.
It took nearly half an hour for my coffee to cool down to less-than-molten temperatures, and by then I was pretty well fed up with it - so I went in the kitchen and poured myself another cup. And I was going to enjoy it, dammit - and my stupid, shapeless pajamas.
As I stirred a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into the drink, hoping to somehow make it a little more tolerable, I sensed more than heard someone behind me and held up the coffee-stained spoon without turning around.
"Don't you dare say it, or I'll shove this spoon so far up your nose you'll smell nothing but crappy coffee for the rest of your life," I threatened. I just knew Nok was going to make some snide comment about how much I must have missed being up here…
"Sarah," hissed a distinctly not-Nok voice, and I froze.
Kitten had found me.
Any second now, he was going to go about extracting a very unpleasant revenge involving all sorts of demeaning, irritating nicknames and insinuations about my non-existent relationship with the Goblin King, and it was going to be absolutely unbearable. I held my spoon at the ready, mentally counting the iron rings on my fingers as I spun around -
And found myself facing a very irritated Jareth.
I felt my stomach twist and my legs tremble in a vaguely gelatinous manner, a shiver running down my spine. Good lord, I'd forgotten what that man did to my knees.
He looked much the same as I remembered, though subtle differences caught my attention. His eyes were still uncannily bright, but hooded in a sensual manner I'd managed to overlook before; his frame still held that slender, leonine strength, but the thinly-veiled promise of danger looked more like self-confidence now; and his pants -
No, actually, his pants were still the same.
I managed not to blush as I tore my eyes away from his shamelessly showcased assets, and noted with detachment that I was apparently too stunned to be afraid quite yet.
I silently clarified to myself that I was shell-shocked by his appearance, not his pants.
"Jareth," I answered, and felt a dim flicker of self-satisfaction at the unflappable calmness of my tone, despite my being off-balance - all of my time dealing with the fae had definitely paid off. "How nice of you to drop by."
He sneered at me. "So, you are aware of the existence of manners," he said sharply, and I blinked. Not the response I was expecting.
"What?"
His sneer turned into a bonafide glower. "Eight years, Sarah. Eight years, and not one visit, not a single message, not a bloody nod in my direction! Do you have any idea how unspeakably rude that was!" he demanded, seething. The numbness of shock was wearing off, but instead of the bladder-releasing terror I'd been anticipating, a slow, hot fury slid up my veins.
"How the heck was I supposed to know you wanted me to visit?" I snapped, clenching my burning-hot mug in a painful, white-knuckled grip. "It wasn't exactly like you sent me an invitation, you know!"
Jareth scoffed at me. "Of course I wanted you to come to me! Why do you think I allowed you into the Labyrinth to begin with? What more did you need, a heralded messenger?"
I nearly opened my mouth to throw a sharp retort back at him, but paused as a sudden suspicion struck me. Come to me? Allowed you in?
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"You did block me from leaving," I accused, and the righteous outrage on the Goblin King's face faltered. It was the all confession I needed.
"Why you miserable, conniving old toad! How dare you!" I snarled, very narrowly refraining from hurling my coffee mug at him. When I had first followed Hoggle through my mirror, years ago, I had suspected the maligned King of spitefully preventing my return home. Carefully ignoring the little voice in the back of my head that pointed out I had been all too happy to stay Underground anyways, I fed my newly acquired proof to my raging fury.
"You were in my Kingdom. I had every right," he said defensively, and his eyes flicked to my torso, as though making certain my center of balance wasn't poised for an attack. I felt a little flutter of pride under my anger, that I had enough of a reputation Underground to make even the mighty Jareth wary.
Buddy, you ain't seen nothing, yet, I thought with savage vindictiveness.
Sarah was mad.
Quite furious, actually.
Jareth carefully kept a wall to his back and his footing clear, lest she make good on the violence threatening to tear loose of her precarious restraint.
This was not going as he expected. He wondered if perhaps he should have just sent her a snarky letter, instead.
Oh, of course, he had the advantage of magic over her, but from the rumors he'd heard, the rings glinting off her fingers and that chain round her throat (which looked quite sufficiently lengthy to serve as a modified flail, should she need an extended reach) were cast of iron, and he had no desire to confirm them. His feisty little princess would only need to land a single blow to potentially incapacitate him.
Also, he suspected the kitten-clad mug she held, as well as the steaming liquid it contained, would do significant damage if hurled at his head with malicious intent.
He watched as the gears turned in that clever little mind of hers, rolling over his slip of the tongue. Had he honestly expected her to cower and apologize? The blow to his pride had clearly clouded his judgment.
"You let me back in, and then trapped me there, expecting me to panic and come beg you for help," she said finally, and he grimaced inwardly. She was far too shrewd, sometimes.
"You obviously have a discouragingly low opinion of me, precious," he said in a mocking tone, and felt quite certain it did not betray his lie - because, in fact, that had been precisely what he'd done. After that wholly uncalled-for rejection she'd cast him, who could blame him for wanting a little revenge? Honestly, it would have been harmless had she just used her head and come to him, rather than gallivanting all over the Underground for eight years, flaunting her existence to everyone and turning his little debacle into a widely-known anecdote. Really, what right did she have to be outraged, anyways? Clearly, she'd enjoyed herself immensely in her new home.
"An obviously accurate low opinion, Your Highness," she retorted, and he quite nearly winced. When had she become so proficient at detecting falsities? She certainly hadn't been nearly so good when she'd run his Labyrinth.
"Well, perhaps if you hadn't been so quite boorish in your rebuff of my proposal, I may not have felt so uncharitable," he countered, and tensed as she shifted slightly, though it appeared that she had simply rocked back, rather than preparing to spring at him.
"Me? Boorish? Who was the one who demanded I give up everything, including sacrificing my brother, to spend the rest of my life totally whipped?" she shouted, her expression incredulous. Jareth felt his ire rising again, overriding his caution.
"Your brother was never part of the offer, precious," he growled, glaring. How could she alternately be so insightful and so dim? "You had won - your precious Toby was already Aboveground again. And, if you remember correctly, it was I who offered to be your slave," he said, perhaps just a little louder than necessary.
Her eyes widened even more, mildly surprising Jareth. He hadn't realized human eyes could reach that circumference.
"And you expected me to believe that?" she spat, waving her free hand about dramatically.
Jareth growled at her, crossing his arms angrily. "And why should you not have?" he demanded.
I gaped at him. Was he serious?
I gave a shriek of frustration, which was answered by my neighbor quite politely pounding on the wall and requesting that I quiet down a bit, please.
"Oi! Stuff a sock in it, willya?"
I snarled and hurled the television remote at the wall, which it slammed into with a satisfying thud.
"Shut up, jackass, or I'll shove something somewhere," I shouted back, and turned back to Jareth. He looked quite close to hurling something at the wall as well.
"Why didn't I believe your dumb proposal? Because you didn't love me, Jareth," I answered heatedly. Something in his expression broke, and I could see whatever was holding his composure erect crumpling.
"Love? LOVE?" he roared, and I blinked in surprise - not only because he was all of a sudden in the middle of a breakdown, but because I quite abruptly realized that even though he was fairly pissed, and obviously at me, I wasn't frightened.
Huh. Go figure. Guess I had a backbone after all.
"You humans and your stupid ideas about love!" he snarled, and started pacing in my tiny kitchen, his long legs eating up the space in but a few strides. "You wouldn't know love if it ripped your heart out of your chest, threw it on the ground, danced on it in pretty white heels, and spit on it while reciting lines!" he growled, and I practically dropped my coffee cup. I stared at him for a moment, my mouth working soundlessly as humiliation, guilt, and fury warred for control of my vocal cords.
"You can't do that!" I snapped finally, slamming my mug down on the counter before my fingers stopped working. How dare he make me feel guilty? "You hadn't exactly been straightforward, you know! The whole time, it had been nothing but tricks and taunts and traps, and then all of a sudden, 'Oh, you didn't know I did it all to make you happy? What do you mean, holding your brother hostage, making you traipse through a humungous maze-"
"Labyrinth," he hissed.
" - MAZE, because it has a destination, dummy -" I retorted, and picked back up like he hadn't said anything. "-'And throwing a snake at you isn't romantic?' You were a shining example of excellence for mixed signals!" I ranted, and very narrowly curbed the desire to stomp my foot. "That's not fair!"
Jareth's mouth twisted with distaste. "You know, I really dislike that phrase," he informed me. I rolled my eyes.
"Oh, how inconsiderate of me, Your Majesty," I said sarcastically. "However may I make amends?"
He smirked, and I had a brief moment to wonder if perhaps that had been an unwise choice of words before Jareth closed the distance between us, and had my chin quite firmly in his grasp.
"Careful, precious thing. Were I less generous, you may have just enslaved yourself," he murmured in a low, dangerous voice. I scoffed.
"Generous, my ass," I said defiantly, despite the way his grip slurred my words. "You set the cleaners on me because I didn't fawn over you. That's hardly generous," I objected.
He grimaced. "In retrospect, it is possible that I may have reacted strongly, but you were being quite aggravating," he said defensively.
I glared. Was that supposed to pass as an apology?
I let myself go limp momentarily, forcing him to alter his balance to keep his firm hold on my chin, and then threw my weight forward before his equilibrium had time to adjust. Jareth's eyes briefly widened in surprise, and I took advantage of his bewilderment by slipping a leg between his and wrapping it around the back of his knee, sabotaging whatever stability he still held, and toppled the both of us to the floor.
We landed heavily, me on top, and I fluidly swarmed up him, keeping one leg tangled in his and settling my other knee securely across his stomach, with one forearm across his throat, pinning his head to the linoleum.
He looked up at me in utter shock, and I grinned down at him, wiggling my iron-clad fingers directly in his line of vision.
By the time he'd realized what his lovely, clever, infuriating Sarah was doing, Jareth's footing had been swept neatly out from under him and he was half-way to the floor, and suddenly he remembered why he'd been keeping a respectable amount of distance between the two to them.
Inhuman strength and agility didn't count for much when using them would get you a face full of iron - and judging from what she'd done to his arrogant, irritating cousin at that Halloween ball several years ago, she was more than willing to oblige.
He should have stuck with a letter.
"If you're in an apologetic mood, perhaps you should try saying sorry for slapping a slave collar on my friend," she said with mock pleasantness, her tone made of diamond and steel.
Jareth blinked.
"Armand?" he inquired. Why the devil would she be upset about him?
"Do you have so many slaves that you need to ask? Wow, I'm feeling really smart for turning you down, now," she said coolly. Jareth narrowed his eyes.
"You truly have no idea what you are talking about, Sarah," he said stiffly. She bared her teeth at him in a sharp grin.
"Then please, enlighten me," she prompted, pressing just a tad harder on her knee. Air rushed from Jareth's lungs, and he tried very hard not to growl and send her flying across the room, iron rings or no. Patience, old boy.
"Armand is a wished-away. Do you know what typically becomes of the wished-away, precious thing?" he asked evenly, trying to seem as though being quite intimately pinned to a cheap linoleum floor was hardly a noteworthy occurrence.
Sarah's eyes narrowed. "You turn them into goblins," she snarled. Jareth made a gesture of acquiescence with his partially-free hand.
"Generally, yes. However, our dear Armand was already fully-grown, and therefore less prone to goblin-esque tendencies, so I offered him a compromise: he would provide me with information, and I would allow him to remain human," he explained, and cast a glance at Sarah's arm, where it pressed firmly along his throat. "I assume that you have realized his collar is iron, and therefore I cannot touch it - he insisted on the collar himself, to avoid situations with other fae. Really, the damned collar is more symbolic than anything," he said with a touch of annoyance. Being iron, Armand had been required to forge the metal band himself, and it was rather clumsy - thus reflecting badly on Jareth, for allowing such a crude collar to be used. Had he a choice, he would most certainly have provided the Creole with a stylish silver circlet, or at the very least, something more comfortable than his rough band.
However, being an old acquaintance of Sarah's, he was, of course, stubborn beyond all reason.
"Armand is hardly my slave, precious; he is my retainer, bound to me out of mutual respect and usefulness. I would more readily consider him a friend than an employed hand," he added.
Sarah blinked, obviously thrown off-balance by his answer, and relaxed her pressure on his neck, leaning up a little. Jareth tried not to look smug.
"What sort of information does he give you?" she asked, and he was pleased to hear nothing but curiosity in her tone - all hints of accusation had vanished.
"Political standings and shifts, mostly. As well as pertinent gossip, the condition of affairs in neighboring kingdoms, and whatever information he may have about you," he replied easily, a small smirk lurking in the corner of his mouth.
Sarah blinked again, and her jaw slackened slightly.
"He's been feeding you information on me?" she demanded, apparently unsure whether to be scandalized, terrified, or flattered -
But completely unfocused on restraining him.
With a quick flexing of muscles, Jareth easily rolled the two of them in her distraction, reversing their positions and neutralizing the threat of Sarah's rings.
Sarah hissed in fury.
"Why, you -"
"Ah, ah, precious, turnabout is fair play," he chided, and casually rested his hips against hers, leaning his face far closer than she had previously. "It's my turn, now."
Dammit, Sarah. That was dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
I berated myself as Jareth hovered - though, hovering implied a gap between us; really, he was sprawled - atop me, pinning my hands above my head with obnoxiously negligent ease, gloating in his control.
I glared at him. Really angrily.
"Now, now, Princess, smooth your hackles. It's only fair that I get a few questions," he reasoned, grinning. "And I'm not threatening you with poison, I might add."
I resisted the urge to spit in his face and/or try to knee him in the crotch.
"What could you possibly want to know? Surely your friend has already told you everything you'd want to know about me," I ground out through clenched teeth. Armand and I were going to have words when we met again.
"I would like to know why exactly you felt it necessary to so meticulously avoid me for the last eight years," he replied, ignoring my barb. "And I answered you fully and honestly, therefore it would be in good form for you to return the favor."
I glowered at him for a moment more, just for good measure, before turning my head to a more comfortable angle and relaxing slightly, conceding to his game of twenty questions.
That was a mistake.
As soon as I released the tension from my muscles, I instantly became aware of just how sinuously Jareth was pressed against me, and where he was pressed, and just how large the pressing matter was.
My face lit up like a candle flame, and little sunspots of rather insistent need erupted where we touched. Which was practically everywhere.
I glanced at Jareth, and was quite certain he felt it too - his mismatched eyes were dilated and huge, and he was eyeing the exposed skin of my neck and jaw like I was a particularly delicious-looking treat. His nostrils flared, and I had the frantic thought that he could smell my reaction to him -
I quickly whipped my head back around. "Well, obviously, I expected you to destroy me on sight, or at the very least do something extremely unpleasant," I said, and regretted facing him again; now his hungry eyes had turned to my lips, watching them form my words with unsettling intensity.
I shivered and licked them instinctively, and his eyes flashed with something dark and raw.
The pressing matter was really pressing, now.
Deliberately clearing my throat, I flexed my fingers in an attempt to alter this current train of thought, and felt his own hands tighten minimally in reaction.
"What else did you want?" I said - and blushed harder as he favored me with a knowing grin. "To know! What else did you want to know?"
"Why the devil you would think I'd wish to harm you," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, as he bent his head to my neck. His hot breath ghosted along my skin as he explored without touching, raising goosebumps and eliciting another shiver. Belatedly, I realized I had tilted my chin again to allow him access, and found I couldn't remember why that was a bad thing.
"I kind of filleted you," I muttered distractedly, noting with vague dismay how breathless I sounded. "I expected you to be a little miffed about it."
He chuckled, and the sound rumbled though his chest and into mine, raising another round of goosebumps - and other things - from the sensitive skin there. I arched up into the sensation, sliding my leg slowly along the inside of his thighs, and humming with satisfaction as he growled quietly.
"I wished your return, my precious thing, not revenge," he murmured, and I swear I felt it as he grinned. "Well, not entirely," he corrected. His tongue darted out to taste my pulse point, and I groaned quietly, rolling my hips against him. He stiffened, everywhere, and made a masculine sound of pleasure that buzzed against my ear.
A grin settled on my own mouth, and I hooked the leg I'd slipped between his thighs around his knee again, simultaneously pushing my shoulders against his and flipping our positions back to their original state.
" 'Not entirely' is not the same thing as 'no', Jareth," I told him, and was rather disappointed that my voice was still breathy.
I was also disappointed that Jareth seemed in no way adverse to our current arrangement. Granted, I was practically straddling his waist this time around, and had my palms flat against his gloved ones in restraint rather than an arm across his windpipe, but really, he seemed to be reading a little too much into it. It was just out of convenience.
Honestly.
"Come now, Princess, you can't tell me the idea of revenge isn't," he paused, a melt-worthy grin on his smug face, and thrust his hips up against mine - "Pleasurable, now and again."
I narrowly avoided gasping. And/or moaning.
Glaring, I hurriedly released his hands, fully intending to get myself out of this ridiculously compromising situation, but my escape was foiled as he threaded his fingers through mine securely.
I had a moment to realize that this was probably a bad thing.
He stretched his arms above his head, drawing mine with him, and pulling me nearly parallel to his chest. My legs extended slightly as I scrabbled for balance, and he immediately took the opportunity to capture my ankles under his thighs.
I let out an exasperated breath. Was it really fair of him to be restraining me when he was the one on the bottom?
"Ah, Princess. I'm not nearly done with you yet," he said, smiling. I growled, jerking uselessly at my hands - iron vices were more easily escaped - and accidentally jarred loose my necklace, whose heavy pendant tumbled from the neckline of my shirt and swung downward. The tip of it lightly skimmed the skin exposed by Jareth's open-necked poet shirt, and he hissed in discomfort as an angry red welt rose up in its wake. I flung myself upright, and this time Jareth allowed me that much, though I noticed he kept his legs firmly overtop of my ankles.
It was really a good thing I was limber, or that would have been an exquisitely uncomfortable position.
Clamping my lips together before I could apologize - it was his own fault, there was no reason for me to say sorry -, I clapped a hand over my necklace to stop its swinging, as Jareth's gloved fingers seized the pendant almost simultaneously.
He wordlessly studied its design, echoed in gold around his own neck, for a moment, before cocking a winged eyebrow at me inquisitively. I struggled to beat down a blush.
"Armand gave it to me," I tattled, not feeling the least bit guilty. The rotten bastard had sold me out to Jareth, and I had no qualms about returning the favor.
Jareth arched both eyebrows for a moment, and then let out a mildly sardonic laugh.
"Of course he did, the bloody schemer. He's been working on me for nearly a decade; I should have known he'd be doing the same to you," he chuckled wryly. I blinked at him.
"Er, what?"
Jareth tapped my pendant. "He was attempting to tell you, my precious thing, that you are much like this trinket - my equal and opposite; my bane and my balance. Unfortunately, he's far too subtle to be an efficient matchmaker, as it took him the better of ten years to even get us in the same room," he said with mild amusement.
I blinked again.
"Why, that conniving little rat," I growled, narrowing my eyes as I suddenly remembered every conversation where he tried to tell me 'Jareth's not so bad'. I clenched my fists. "How dare he try to manipulate me!"
Jareth smirked, taking my hands again and gently prying them loose. "Now, precious, he had good intentions," he said soothingly. I glared mildly at him.
"Don't take his side," I protested. He smiled smoothly.
"Of course not, darling, I'm simply pointing out that he had your best interests in mind," he answered. I glared harder.
"And don't coddle me."
Jareth laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it, precious thing. You'd castrate me."
I nodded sharply in satisfaction. "Good. We understand each other, then."
Jareth's eyes glittered, and he grasped my unclenched hands in his again, pulling me down toward him. "Now that we have that out of the way, I believe we were in the middle of something," he said, grinning. I felt my heartbeat stutter - oh, for Hoggle's sake, what are you, fifteen? - and I tensed instantly, halting my descent.
"Wait, my necklace -" I said, grasping for an excuse as I glanced down at it - and realized, oh good lord, I was still wearing those stupid pajamas -
Jareth grinned in a fervor-inducing manner, and lifted the obstacle in question with one nimble-fingered, glove-protected hand, while the other snaked beneath my sweatshirt and began tracing the line of my hip. I shivered.
This was heaven. And I was ready to admit it.
It wasn't that I was having a lust-induced epiphany, or anything quite so trite, so much as I was finally allowing the knowledge that I'd kept mercilessly downtrodden the past eight years to surface.
I wanted Jareth. Badly.
Not that I was in love with him, or anything… That would just be ridiculous. After all, I hadn't even spoken to him in eight years. But… he was precisely what I had realized I wanted - dark, dangerous, mischievous, playful, and fair.
Yes, fair.
It took a few years for the bite to wear off, but I knew, full well - that, as I had wished my brother away, the Goblin King had every right to come and collect him, and had been generous to allow my trial. It just made it easier to pretend I hated him if I ignored the truth - and I had believed it necessary. Truly, I had expected Jareth to be quite irritated with me over the whole affair.
Never in a million years did I expect Jareth to be amicably, and by all indications, in extremely good health, lying under me.
Absently removing the rings from my fingers and leaning down, I slid my hands into his hair - how many blondes had I done the same to, wondering if their hair felt like Jareth's? - and lightly scored my nails along his scalp.
A purr - a real, honest-to-feline purr - rumbled in Jareth's throat. I laughed softly, pressing my lips to his throat and smiling as the vibrations buzzed through the contact.
The bare skin of Jareth's other hand - good god, he was practically on fire - wound underneath my shirt, and both of his suddenly-bare hands skimmed up my ribs, tickling lightly as he ran his thumbs along the undersides of my breasts - I groaned again, nipping the side of his neck -
"Oh, yuck! Good grief, you didn't tell me they were gonna be doing it!" Toby yelled, and suddenly my disgusted kid brother and a very guilty-looking Nok were standing in the living room.
Apparently, Toby had wasted no time in testing the stealth capabilities of his new knife.
"I didn't think it was possible! They haven't even seen each other in nearly nine years - I rather thought some sort of re-acquainting time would be necessary," Nok said defensively, casting me an accusatory glare.
I blushed about seven shades of red and scrambled off of Jareth as though he'd suddenly sprouted tentacles.
"Toby, what are you doing here -" I demanded, cutting off abruptly as I spotted a familiar, golden-skinned face poking out from behind the sofa.
"Armand?"
The Creole in question waved amiably at me.
I snarled.
"Oh, you are going down, you rotten sack of kishmer," I said, and launched myself at him while hissing obscenities in several languages, predominately Troll.
Armand managed a frightened eep, before diving toward the door in an attempt to escape my wrath. It was a futile effort.
My fingers closed tightly around his ankle, and I tugged, hard, sending him crashing to the floor with a distinct 'oof'. I scrambled up him and easily slipped him into a chokehold, perhaps holding on just a bit tighter than absolutely necessary.
"Cheri, wait, I can explain-"
"Don't you Cheri me, you little spy! How long have you been feeding him info on me? Huh? What have you told him? I swear, if I find out you told him about Midsummer -"
Jareth perked up, his tousled blonde head peeking around the obstructing sofa.
"Midsummer? What's this?" he peered at Armand, arching an eyebrow imperiously.
I relaxed a tad. "Alright, you can slide on that one," I told Armand quietly, and glared at Jareth.
"This is not a conversation you want to be involved in," I informed him sternly. He cocked an eyebrow, glanced appraisingly at the quite thoroughly restrained Armand, and nodded sagely.
"There seems to be a goblin here who requires my singular, undivided attention," he replied, and slowly withdrew, as one might retreat from a dangerous predator. I tried not to be too flattered.
Reluctantly, I released my chokehold on Armand and allowed him to right himself. He nodded his thanks to me, and promptly set about trying to scoot his way as far into the sofa, and as far away from me, as humanly possible.
"Well?" I asked after a moment. "What do you have to say for yourself?" I said crossly, my arms folded across my chest.
"The two of you are extremely slow on the uptake."
I glared and growled in warning, to which Armand ducked his head apologetically and placatingly held up his hands.
"Easy, Cheri, I was kidding," he said, and smiled softly.
"You know me, Cheri. You know I would do anything in my power to see you happy," he told me, and shrugged. "I knew that he would make you happy," he said simply, jerking his head in Jareth's direction. I cocked an incredulous eyebrow.
He grinned. "Irritated, crazy sometimes, but happy," he clarified.
I eyed him for a moment, and then leaned around the sofa, surreptitiously peeking at Jareth.
He was draped regally over one of the tiny, wooden, kitchen chairs, imperiously regarding Nok, who was stumbling over an explanation as to why he had actively helped me avoid his liege for the past near-decade. I smiled to myself as I saw the tiny smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth, and was able to suppress a blush as he briefly glanced at me and winked.
Something in my chest, which I refused to acknowledge as my heart because I was far too mature and jaded for it to be doing such girly things, bloomed warmly, spreading up to my cheeks before settling contentedly in my tummy.
I withdrew, and deliberately did not look at Armand.
"Well, since he didn't try to enslave or outright kill me, I guess no real harm was done. In time, I could probably forgive you," I told him graciously.
He wisely said nothing and nodded appreciatively.
I glanced at him, grateful.
"Things settled, darling?" Jareth said, somehow managing to gracefully perch himself on the back of the sofa, and smiled affectionately at me, as though he'd known me for years. Which, really, I guess he had.
"More or less," I agreed.
"Good. Best be off, then," he said, and lightly stepped over the edge, holding a hand out to help me up. I took it, and regarded him suspiciously.
"Be off where, precisely?"
He looked at me blankly. "Well, home, of course."
I blinked. "Home?"
Jareth smiled tolerantly at me and lightly grasped my chin. "Underground, precious thing. To the Labyrinth. You've been away far too long."
I would have objected, if I hadn't been hoping to hear that very answer. Finally, I'd to get to roam the Labyrinth again! And this time, it wouldn't be me running for my life in the Firey Forest.
"Ahem," Toby coughed irritably, and I threw him an apologetic grin.
"Well, of course you'll be coming too, Toby, if only for a brief while. I daresay Sarah would have my head if I denied you your Aboveground education," Jareth said. "After all," he threw a wry glance at me, "someone has to teach you proper etiquette - and if we left it up to your lovely, albeit utterly uncouth, sister, I'm certain you'd offend the entire High Court by the end of the year."
I glared. "Hey!"
Armand coughed discreetly. "Actually, Sarah, you could stand a few courses in diplomacy."
Nok nodded. "You're pretty spectacularly rude. I'm sure without me you'd already be dead."
I snarled at the little goblin. "Oh, right, because your routine flight in the face of danger is so helpful to me."
He shrugged. "Consider me an advance warning system."
Toby sighed. "Can we go? Not everyone here has been able to escape Aboveground life, you know," he said impatiently. I chuckled at him.
Jareth turned to me, and held out his hand with an inviting smile.
I smiled back, and took his offered hand.
"Alright, home it is," I agreed.
It's only forever,
That's not long at all…
Fin
AN: That's right, darlings! We have reached the end of this little story. :D I hope you had as much fun as I did! A great big squeezy hug to my spendifaberous Betas (who both probably just cringed at my use of a non-existent word) Lov2Catnap and TrashedXandXScattered - Thank you, darlings! - and to all of my reviewers!
*Squints off into the distance* What is that I see on the horizon? ... an epilogue?...
Reviews are always appreciated, especially now! :)