Chapter 6
"– home –"
Sarah wavered on her feet, even within Jareth's grasp. They were standing in the middle of her living room.
Her nausea shot into her throat; she choked, and broke free of him, and ran to the kitchen – the bathroom's not close enough – She bent over the sink, and threw up.
When her coughing subsided, she reached up, without looking, and turned on the faucet. Sarah closed her eyes and let the cool water run over her feverish face. Trembling, she opened her lips to take a sip –
"Better not."
She flinched at Jareth's low voice.
"Why not?" Her words came out as a croak.
Even without looking, Sarah knew that he had shrugged. "Plain water can be hard on an upset stomach."
He didn't sound disgusted at all … if anything, he sounded – amused? Resigned?
Her knees weakened, and – oh shit, don't let him see – damn it – she felt herself begin to cry.
There was silence from behind her. Then she heard the refrigerator door open, and the crack of a can of soda being opened.
Sarah lifted up her head, with an effort – it felt heavy, and stuffed. She didn't bother to hide her tears. Why bother?
Jareth reached up, and took a glass from a cupboard. After considering, he took down another. He poured the soda – 7Up – into one of the glasses, and turned towards Sarah.
He paused, taking in her tear-streaked face. Then Jareth raised both eyebrows, and held out the full glass.
Sarah sniffed, hard – damn it, I am thirty-two fucking years old, and sniveling like a baby – took the soda, and gulped it down. She set the glass on the counter.
When she looked back at Jareth, he had retrieved the grocery bag of yesterday, and had plucked a bottle of wine out of it. Sarah stared. The wine looked like nothing she had ever seen – it had a dark color, but strange fiery streaks writhing and tangling in its depths –
She felt herself hiccup, and saw Jareth's mouth quirk at the edges. He had the bottle of wine, and a corkscrew, and the empty glass in one hand.
He held out the other hand to her.
Sarah felt herself quail, inwardly.
"Come, my dear –" His voice was gentle. "Come sit down, before you fall down."
Fiercely, she pulled herself together, and strode out of the kitchen, bypassing his outstretched hand, and snatching the can of soda from the counter as she went.
Sarah heard him laugh, softly, and she knew that he was following her to the living room. She made it to the couch before her knees gave way; she turned on the lamp, flopped down and stretched out before he could claim a corner. Jareth sank into a chair on the other side of the couch, gracefully, and rested one ankle on the opposite knee. Sarah found herself looking at his shoes. They were black, polished – immaculate – she blinked hard as their edge caught the light, and took another swig of soda to calm her stomach.
"So." Jareth twisted the cork out of the bottle, and she heard him pour a glass of wine. "Tell me, Sarah. Who am I, to disgust you so?"
Sarah put her soda on the coffee table, grabbed an ornamental pillow, and busied herself with finding a spot for it beneath her head.
Jareth waited her out.
She darted a glance at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, amused, with that hint of – I know something you don't know – except, of course, she did know –
Sarah wet her lips. "I –"
He took a measured sip of wine, and tilted his head. "Yes?"
"I don't want to say."
Jareth raised an eyebrow.
"If I don't say it –" she continued, stumbling in her sickness, and – fear? yes, that's it – "I have this silly feeling that if I don't say it, it won't be true." She swallowed. "But it is true, isn't it?"
He smiled. "What is truth?"
"Oh don't even start playing around with me, you son of a bitch –" Her words came faster, in her panic. "You're a liar – a liar and a cheat. You're sick. You're evil – You're – you're –"
"Who am I?" He spoke in a tone of cold command. "Tell me."
Her voice was only a whisper.
"You're the Devil."
Jareth's mouth fell open. He stared at her –
"You're serious?"
Sarah felt a sudden qualm. "Ye-es ..."
"One moment, please." Grinning, Jareth placed his wine carefully on the table, and clasped his hands together. "There. Now tell me again, dear. Sarah Williams – Doctor Sarah Williams – bearer of the standard of scientific belief in this shining age of rationality – tell me –" he spread his hands and opened his eyes wide at her – "who do you say I am?"
She felt her cheeks burn. "You're the Devil. You're Satan."
Jareth stared at her, his lips twitching – and then he threw back his head and laughed. He laughed long, and loudly – and then he slapped his hands on the chair's armrests, and took a deep breath.
"The Devil! The Prince of Darkness!" he crowed to the ceiling. "Fear me, love me, do as I say or I'll drag you down to Hell –" he broke off in another hoot of laughter.
"Stop it!" Sarah spat. "It all fits together! It all makes sense!"
"And it's the funniest thing I've heard since Aaron thought I was a character from – what is it – Star Wars? I mean really, Sarah – what drivel must you humans drag in from popular culture these days in order to justify me? ... I –" and he stared at her, enunciating carefully – "am the Goblin King. As the King, I take children kindly offered to me. As a being with power over dreams, I am free to create whatever night and day visions I see fit, if I can latch on to a human susceptible enough. The Goblin King has no Fairy court, and no dream weaver in history has had an assembly of delirious siblings – and neither has ever had the powers of Hell to command ..." He grinned. Light from the lamp sparked off his teeth. "You poor child. Isn't it enough that I am an archetype? Must you make me evil incarnate as well?"
"I'm not a child!" Sarah's head spun. So dizzy. "It all fits! Ben can see you – my friend, Ben – he's a priest, and he can see you! You frighten him ..."
"He's the young man with dark, curly hair, yes?" Sarah nodded; he continued, smoothly. "But he was looking at you, precious. He stares at you like a dog at a chunk of raw meat because of ... the particular demands of the priesthood." His grin turned lascivious. "Believe me, my dear – if I know one priest, I know them all. Young Benedict is just coming to terms with the prospect of a long life stripped of the pleasures of the flesh."
"He's not like that –"
"You can believe that, if it makes you more comfortable."
"But – Jareth, I saw you. You wouldn't go into the cathedral, or the chapel –" Bile was pooling at the back of her throat; Sarah swallowed hard. Don't get sick again – don't get sick –
A shrug. "I don't care for the décor."
"Your – your clothes – you look like –"
Jareth looked down at his shirt, then laughed again. "Mephistopheles? Really, Sarah – is it my fault if red highlights my complexion?" At her protest, he bent towards her and tapped a finger on her temple. "If the best justification you can find for my being the Prince of Darkness is my admittedly outstanding fashion sense, you are truly straining at a gnat."
Shivering at his touch, Sarah closed her eyes. "I – I had a dream –"
"You did?" Jareth's voice softened. "What did you dream?"
"I saw your eyes – there was a snake – and I heard something screaming and I couldn't understand – and then I was on fire –"
"My dear Sarah ..." He cradled the side of her face in his palm. "That's probably because you are ill."
His hand was cool. I'm burning up – I feel sick – And as he moved his fingers to her forehead, and traced a pattern there, her stomach lurched. She gulped. "God – it's you making me this sick?"
Jareth unclenched his other hand from where his fingers had dug into the soft material of the chair. He drew back his hand from her face, and looked at her, smiling. "It is possible. I have seen reactions to my presence that were far more spectacular, of course –" he retrieved the glass of wine, and held it up, gazing at its ruby color in the lamplight. "But, then again, it could be something else …"
Something else – wait –
"No," Sarah snarled, from where her head lay propped on the pillow. "I swear, Jareth, that if I'm pregnant, I'll jump off a bridge –"
Jareth chuckled. "And to think I believed you had obtained your delusions from Dante. He writes a nasty fate for suicides, lovely." He took a sip of wine, and smirked at her. "And it has been fewer than forty-eight hours. I am flattered, but it would be rather too early in the term for you to be sick – no matter what supernatural potency –" he lingered on the word – "you ascribe to me."
Sarah felt her pulse thump in her temples. "Start making sense, Jareth!"
He gazed at her furious face, his expression indulgent. "Fine. You're not pregnant. I took – precautions."
"Oh – you learned your lesson somewhere else?" she snapped.
An eyebrow went up. "Quite. It was several hundred years ago – no, more than that –" he frowned, thoughtful, "when a young lady caught my fancy ... but then she bore me a son, and all hell broke loose." He took another sip of wine. "So to speak. She buried herself alive in a nunnery, and he – well, he resisted my considerate offers, and blandishments, and cut quite a heroic figure, in his day … interfering in some of my schemes, and prophesying, and doing all matter of inconsiderate things. You have probably read about him."
Sarah blinked. Her pulse had suddenly slowed, and the nausea was wearing off ... The pillow cradled her head in a comfortable way; the rise and fall of Jareth's voice lulled her. "What happened to him?"
His voice was hypnotic. "Where there are prophecies, they will cease, and where there are men, they will make ... mistakes."
"What do you mean?"
Jareth smiled. "I caught him, in the end."
Sarah blinked again, feeling sleepy. "And you never had any other children?"
"I'm not sure, come to think of it. It's possible. He is the last one that I remember. My dear –" Jareth put down his glass on the coffee table – "it would make your life a great deal more interesting, to bear my child. I could arrange it – the time is not right yet, of course, but it might be closer at hand than even I know –"
"What?" Sarah choked, jerking out of her daze. "Are you kidding? If I'm not sick from being pregnant, it had damn well better stay that way!"
"Suit yourself." Pouring himself some more wine, Jareth looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Although such melodrama does not suit you, Sarah. This squalling about sickness – it could be my presence, yes, but it could just as well be influenza."
"Oh." Her voice sounded small, in her own ears. "Wait … you're trying to get me off track – you're tricky –" She grabbed for the can of soda; Jareth, smiling, gave it to her and leaned back into his chair. "The Labyrinth. Did you put your son through it?"
Jareth sighed. "No. He rests, now, deep in the diamond of the day."
"What is the Labyrinth? Is it just a dream?" Sarah's mind skipped back to Lyn, and their college class; she bit her lip. "I've wondered for a long time."
Light flashed off the wine. "The Labyrinth … well, my dear, the Labyrinth is difficult to explain."
"Try me."
Jareth cradled his glass in one hand, and propped his chin on the long fingers of the other. "Every journey through the Labyrinth, to retrieve something that has been taken, echoes the first time that my kingdom was breached." His voice turned ugly. "A great many things of importance were retrieved at that time, though I have not felt such a harrowing threat since. Mostly because I restructured the outer limits of my kingdom – I made each of them a reflection, or an echo, of the reality lying deeper within. So, a runner's victory over the Labyrinth has only a symbolic importance to me – although it is never pleasant to be reminded of the original. The runner's defeat, on the other hand, is much more profitable." He smiled. "And enjoyable."
Sarah bit her lip. "Have many people – won?"
"No." He looked at her. "It takes a certain amount of ... potential. Courage. Goodness." His lips twisted into a sneer. "Moral fiber. I had never thought you a possible victor, love – I had thought that you would fall very quickly, with your anger compounded by your selfishness. You can imagine my surprise when you did not."
Sarah considered cursing him – but she felt too tired – weak – like she would melt into the couch with the heat – she dragged her attention back to his voice –
"Only a few have defeated me, even on the plane of dreams. And those who do … well, you understand, Sarah, that I do not take even a mock defeat lightly."
"Is that why you came after me – now?" She shivered.
Jareth's eyes measured her, from across the glass. "How clever of you to finally figure it out, my dear."
His voice snagged on her skin, like a cat clawing silk.
"Every victor over the Labyrinth is an intrinsic threat to me. It is therefore in my very best interests to find a weakness in his – or her – armor, and to exploit it …" He smiled, showing sharp teeth. "And, of course, to ensure that he – or she – is completely debauched, whether through my own agency, or that of others."
Sarah felt faint. "Debauched?"
Jareth said nothing, but his eyes moved to her legs.
She clamped down on the sudden quivering in her stomach. Don't get sick again. "Bullshit. This cannot be about sex. That attitude is right out of the Dark Ages."
He smiled. "So too is the Devil. And you had no problem with that, did you?"
"Fine," Sarah snarled. "You're not Satan – you're some creation of the nastiest part of my mind – some twisted, perverted dream archetype that takes pleasure in torture – and just won't leave me alone –"
"You didn't want to be left alone, Sarah ..." Jareth crooned. "We had a bargain, a bargain that you made. What does it say about your psychology – about your inmost desires and dreams – that you should give yourself to me in a wild tangling of lust night after night –"
"Shut up." Her heart was pounding. "This can't be just about sex. You don't work that way. You're tricky."
"I'd like it to be." When she did not respond, Jareth smiled, and slid his gaze up her body to her eyes. "No – not sex. At least, not completely."
Sarah felt like screaming in frustration. "Then what is going on? You want to drag down the victor. That's it? I'm such a big threat that you have to go out of your way to torment me?"
Jareth was silent. He swirled the remaining wine in his glass, and his gaze lingered on her.
"If you have not figured it out by now, Sarah dear – I am not going to ruin the surprise for you."
"Surprise?" Her skin prickled. "Oh, hell no, Jareth. You have no power over me."
His face twisted. "I know!"
She stiffened at the grating tone of his voice, and stared at him.
Raising the glass in a mock toast, he spoke more calmly. "Power is such a complicated thing, Sarah. I have no power over you, but I have power over certain dreams, and certain powers over humans ... and certainly power over all those unfortunates who fail at the Labyrinth – so I would advise you to –"
"Those who fail at the Labyrinth," Sarah breathed. "You bastard. You're distracting me on purpose!"
Jareth sneered at her. "You never know when to listen, do you, Sarah?"
"Oh, I'm listening." She raised herself to a sitting position on the couch, and glared. "Power over dreams? Like the ones you were nice enough to send Aaron? And what about the rest of them? That's part of our bargain – you remember?"
"I remember." His eyes were slits. "Dreams, Sarah – nightmares and hallucinations – I must admit, I have my hands full these days, since humanity works so hard at making my job easier."
His voice crackled with menace. Sarah felt herself shrink backwards into the couch's cushions, suddenly wanting to hide –
"Good intentions – those are the best material." Jareth closed his eyes, and she listened, stupefied, as he half sang, half chanted:
I flew to Babylon of old
Through gardens green and streets of gold
While one, or two, or nine, a score
Sang weeping on the river's shore …
I flew to Babylon today –
The stars are veiled, the sky is gray.
The streets are rolling with a flood
Of women's screams and children's blood –
Sarah covered her ears. "Stop it!"
Silence.
Shaking, she twisted her fingers together. "What the hell was that?"
Jareth shrugged. "Just a ditty."
She looked at him in disbelief. He could not be so calm, so – smug. "You're trying to distract me."
"Trying? I'm succeeding."
Sarah squared her shoulders. "I want you to stop, Jareth."
He smirked. "Stop what, again?"
"The children who run through your Labyrinth, and who lose – I want you to stop tormenting them."
His smirk faded. "And if I do, Sarah," his voice was quiet. "If you hold that tiny victory to yourself, what will you do with the rest of the children in this world of sorrow? Those who starve, those who die of disease, those who are enslaved, or those who fall victim to their own minds – not to my tricks ... There are countless millions more suffering, and dying, than you can ever hope to help."
Sarah bit her lip, and fought back tears. "I know." She lifted her head. "But just because I can't help them all, Jareth, does not mean I shouldn't try."
He fell silent.
Sarah watched him, and saw how the golden light of the lamp caught the fall of his hair, and pricked out diamond-bright sparks in his eyes – his eyes, veiled as they were, staring into the depths of the wine as though he were reading some mystery there …
"Such good intentions, Sarah."
She blinked. He sounded – sad? No – tired, more like. Weary.
Jareth looked at the wine glass. "My crusader." He flicked his eyes to her. "What would you do, if there were no more children to save?"
Sarah's eyes opened wide. "What – you can't be serious, Jareth – you can't take all the children of the world –"
He curled his upper lip back from his teeth. "You misunderstand me. What I am trying to say, Sarah," and he put the glass down, forcefully, on the table, "is that you need suffering. You feed on it as much as I do. We are two of a kind, precious thing – without the miserable ones, you would pine away, purposeless –"
"You're wrong."
Sarah spoke calmly – but she had a strange, warm feeling within her that told her she was speaking absolute truth.
An image flashed across her mind – herself, standing at the door to the Labyrinth, staring ahead from a crossroads ...
She looked him squarely in the eye. "You're wrong, Jareth. We are different."
His voice was almost inaudible. "How so?"
"If all suffering came to an end next year – or next week – or tomorrow – I would not mind in the least. Whatever power I have, I use to help people – if I were powerless because nobody needed help, that would be fine with me."
She smiled, aware of the cliché as soon as it came to her mind. "I use my power for good."
The silence between them crackled with something powerful ...
Jareth held her gaze, and his own turned bleak, and cold. "Touché."
Breathing out, Sarah let her eyes fall shut. She felt a tear spill down her face - sorrow? no –relief – joy – Now I know the answer ...
I use my power for good.
I use my power for good.
She had stepped forward from the crossroads. The path was clear. And she saw the gates of the Labyrinth shimmer, and then the huge mirror dissolved into a fine silver dust that fell upon her like a blessing – the flames flattened out into a golden and amber highway, and she stepped over the snake with one foot and trod it into the ground with the other –
The silver dust changed into rain. It fell upon her, cooling her and washing away all traces of pain and fear and fire –
Sarah blinked awake.
A dream.
Had it all been a dream? Was she awake, or sleeping?
Awake, or sleeping – her smile turned into a full-blown grin. It didn't matter. Either way – she touched her forehead to confirm – her fever was gone. She no longer felt sick. She felt as if she had slept for hours in the past – she glanced at her watch – the past three minutes.
I use my power for good. That's the difference. That's what makes me what I am. That's why he has no power over me.
He – Jareth ... Was he even in the room anymore?
Sarah turned her head to the side.
There -
Glee shot through her. I've won! "I suppose it was too much to hope you'd just disappear?" she laughed. He has no power over me!
Jareth said nothing. His face could have been sculpted from ice. Only the gleam of his eyes showed that he was even alive.
Sarah lifted her chin. Even five minutes ago, his expression would have made her cringe. But now ...
I don't have to fear him, anymore. He can't trick me, or take me with him. We're different …
She no longer felt sick, or tired. And she no longer felt afraid.
He can't trick me. I know my path now. He has no power over me!
Sarah laughed again, in sheer, giddy relief. "You lose, Jareth!"
Jareth eyed her, narrowly, and then uncoiled an arm to pluck the wine glass from the table. He raised it to her. "Then allow me to drink to your victory, clever girl." His voice was vicious.
Sarah watched him drain the last of the wine - the red and violet writhed together in such a strange way ... I wonder ...
Her confidence bubbled straight to her head, like champagne. Sarah swung her legs over the edge of the couch, and looked at the coffee table. "What is that, anyway?" She pointed at the wine.
"Believe me – you don't want to know."
"But it's alcoholic?"
Jareth nodded. "And then some." He gave her a narrow look. "I would be careful with it, if I were you."
"How sweet of you to be concerned. If I wanted advice, I have my dad on speed-dial. No –" she returned his glare with a smirk – "I'm feeling so much better, Jareth – come to think of it, it's probably because I've realized, yet again, that you – have – no – power –"
"Enough."
She grinned, ignoring his curt tone. "You have no power over me –" she glanced at him again, and saw him grimace – "so if I have some of this, you can't whisk me away to the Labyrinth, or keep me with you a month for every swig, or anything like that, right?"
He gave her a jaded look. "Correct."
"Great." Sarah stretched out, and grabbed Jareth's glass – mine's still in the kitchen, damn it – filled it, and held up the wine to the light. "I have to say that it looks pretty."
Jareth shifted. "Not quite the word I would use."
She toasted him, and took a drink.
The wine flared in her mouth, and burned its way down her throat before igniting in her stomach; Sarah spluttered, and coughed. "Holy shit!"
"Also not quite the word I would use."
Sarah looked at him. He was half smiling at her, his eyes – soft, again? She flashed back to him standing at the base of the cathedral, and gazing at her.
She smiled back at him. "You have no power over me." Was it the wine, or the euphoria of a puzzle solved, the truth revealed – hidden knowledge now her own – that made her so giddy? "You have power over dreams, and nightmares, and hallucinations – and lots of people – but, get this – you have no power over little old me! That really gets under your immortal skin, doesn't it?"
Making a face, Jareth uncrossed his legs and folded his hands. "Must you rub it in?"
Sarah leaned back, took another mouthful of wine, and only coughed once after it went down. Jareth's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Impressive."
She beat out a rhythm on the glass. "Damn straight."
"Hmph." Jareth leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.
Go ahead and sulk …Quieting down her inner laughter, Sarah stared into space. The journey through the Underground – through the Labyrinth – about growing, and changing –
Growing. I've grown. I know my purpose now. He can't take it from me, or lure me away, or persuade me –
Her skin prickled. Persuade me …
Shit. The third night. She felt her knuckles whiten on the glass. He was a trickster, and a cheat, and a deceiver, with a capital D ...
Sarah narrowed her eyes, and thought as hard as she could. Tricky bastard. He was probably expecting her to get drunk and fall asleep, just so – she felt cold – just so the bargain would be broken, and – could he renege? Her thoughts flew faster and faster. Could he go back to torturing Aaron? Could he do something else – could he – she inhaled in shock. Their bargain. If she broke her end of it, she wouldn't put it past him to tie her word around her neck and drag her down with him –
"Damn it," she hissed.
"Hmm?"
Sarah twitched at his gravelly tone, and turned to look at him. Jareth was practically draped over her chair – so relaxed that he looked boneless. His eyes were still closed.
"No power over me …" she reminded herself, in an undertone. Then she took the wine bottle, and topped off the glass, her hands shaking. You can do this …
Was he really going to try and trick her?
Let's see ...
She took a gulp of wine, hardly noticing the burn, and put the glass on a table with a click. Then - "I win ..." she sang, in a low voice. "I win, I win ..." Then she got up, and walked over in front of Jareth, and poked him in the chest.
His shirt rippled strangely – don't be scared – and he cracked open one eye to give her a jaundiced stare.
"You lose, Jareth. Couch is all yours tonight."
Was that a slight smile at the corner of his mouth? Had she imagined it? Because it was gone, as soon as it had appeared ...
Sarah's thoughts scurried off into a safe corner, as Jareth rose, and walked a few steps, and stretched out on the couch, all in one fluid movement. She saw the way his shirt caught at his waist, and writhed beneath the folds of his suit jacket; she looked at the long line of his body, relaxed – but graceful, even at rest –
"Then go away, little girl. You tire me."
She blinked.
He really was trying to trick her. A bubble of fury began to rise into her throat, from her stomach. Just how stupid does he think I am?!
Pretty damn stupid, apparently. So confident that she would forget whatever she had promised, in the haze of victory, and – and whatever that wine was ...
I don't trust you any further than I can throw you, and I want to see you keep your promise. And then you'll get your precious third night - you understand?
He had kept his promise. And he was counting on her to forget hers. So he could take her – drag her down to the Labyrinth – imprison her – torture her –
Sarah paused, and gathered her thoughts. Persuade me, he had said.
She felt her lips curl back from her teeth. She could be persuasive. Very persuasive. After all, this entire time, he had been busy scaring the living daylights out of her, and hurting her, and making her sick – she hadn't really had the opportunity …
His eyes were still closed, pale lashes on alabaster skin – he looked for all the world like a beautiful, fallen angel asleep on her couch –
But that was out of the Dark Ages, true enough. Not a fallen angel – more like herself. Myself. My shadow self. My longings, my repressed desires, my anger, my cruelty and selfishness, with a face out of my dreams ...
Jareth stirred, and sighed, and his beauty in repose almost made her choke –
Persuade me, he had said ...
Before Sarah could convince herself otherwise, she turned her back on his form and padded quietly to her bedroom. The orb was glowing on her vanity; she ignored it, and eased open a dresser drawer. Taking in a deep breath, she quickly stripped off her everyday clothes, and pulled on a silk slip.
You can do this.
Sarah raised her chin, and walked over to her vanity. She ran a brush over her hair. Then she took a bottle of perfume – sandalwood? why not? – and dabbed some on her pulse points, and beneath her ears.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Am I really going to do this?
Her reflection made no reply. It shimmered, strangely, in the crystal light.
Sarah turned her back on it, and left her bedroom as silently as she had come.
Her heart pounding in her throat, she eased back into her living room, hovering at the threshold.
Jareth lay there, much as she had left him – his eyes closed, his head tilted back, one arm relaxed at his side. He had thrown the other over his eyes.
If she didn't know better, Sarah would have thought him asleep.
You do know better ...
The silk on her body rustled, in the dead silence of the room. Sarah blew on her wrist to dry the perfume. He could smell it. She was sure that he could smell it.
You can do this.
"Jareth ..."
No reaction.
"Jareth." She allowed an edge to creep into her voice. "I know you're awake."
She heard him sigh. "You know me so well."
He shifted his arm, brought his hand to his forehead and massaged his temples with a thumb and finger. Sarah swallowed, as she saw him pause, and sniff the air. Then Jareth sneered. "Yet you believe a bit of incense is enough to send me on my way – honestly –"
He let his hand fall, and propped himself up on both elbows, and opened his eyes –
– and she saw him go still.
Sarah held his gaze with hers.
For a long moment, he did not move.
Then she watched him turn his head slightly, and narrow his eyes. He flicked his gaze over her – Sarah's scalp prickled as she saw him do it, and then she spoke, softly:
"What do you think of this?"
She trailed one hand down the front of the slip, brushing it over the contours of her body, and smiled as she saw his fingertips brush against the fabric of the couch in unconscious imitation –
– but Jareth caught himself doing so, and his jaw tightened as he leaned back against an armrest, and folded his hands on his stomach.
"I can't imagine what you mean by it."
Sarah let her smile fade. "Well, it's certainly been a long day. A long week ... And, Jareth, I don't feel like spelling out anything for you – so I'll just go to bed –" She turned in the doorway.
"Wait."
His voice was clipped.
Sarah waited, smirking inwardly. "Yes?"
"I've had a sudden epiphany."
"Oh, really?"
A long pause. "Yes. Really."
Sarah looked back over her shoulder.
If anything, the darkness in the room seemed to have grown – thicker, somehow. More intense. The light from the lamp flowed around the figure reclining on her couch, shimmering like a heat wave.
Sarah turned her face away from him. The few seconds it took for her to stroll from the hallway to the couch felt indeterminably long.
Jareth remained still, watching her.
Then, slowly, he moved his right hand off the cushion, and let it slide to the floor, and his arm after it.
"I suppose that's an invitation?" Without waiting to hear an answer, Sarah knelt down next to the couch, set an elbow practically next to his ribcage, and propped her chin on one hand. With the other, she reached out and took the glass of wine. She brought it to her lips, and took a slow drink, watching him, and letting the heat from the wine roil in her stomach.
His jaw was tight. "Suppose away."
"Well then, Jareth ..." Sarah made her voice husky. "Let me tell you what I suppose. I suppose you thought you could trick me - make me so giddy at figuring out one of your little games that I'd forget the other – and go back on my word - and then you'd come up with some sort of nasty fate for me, wouldn't you?" She tipped her head to one side. "Am I getting warmer?"
Jareth's face was impassive. "Perhaps."
"Hmm." She looked long at him, and then smiled, slowly. "I think it is getting warmer in here – don't you?" She moved her chin from her left hand, and dipped a finger in the wine, and before she could reconsider, reached out and traced Jareth's lips with it.
She saw his eyes flare.
"Oh, I suppose so many things, Jareth." Sarah tapped her finger against her own mouth, and watched him follow her movements. "The victors of your Labyrinth – I suppose you were telling the truth when you said that you search for weaknesses in their armor; you try to corrupt them –" she sucked the remaining wine off her finger and heard him inhale – "you try to drag them down ... well – it may sound medieval, but I suppose I know the answer to that little riddle. Because it's not medieval. It's Machiavelli. It's not about sex –" she languidly stretched her left arm over the armrest, behind his head, and tugged at his hair with her fingers. "It's about power – isn't it?"
Greatly daring, Sarah brought her mouth to his right ear and whispered: "Isn't it?"
She flicked her tongue over his earlobe and heard him hiss.
"What was that?" Sarah smirked, letting her words puff against him.
Jareth took in a careful breath, and then turned his head in one quick motion, so that her lips parted instinctively as his words coasted over her mouth.
"Are you trying to seduce me, Sarah?"
She brushed her lips over his. "Do you want me to seduce you, Jareth?"
A moment of electric silence, and then he murmured: "If I did, you would have to try harder."
Sarah raised her eyebrows, and put the glass of wine on back on the coffee table without looking away from him. "Harder?" She drummed her fingers on the table, and then placed her free hand in his lap.
Jareth's start was almost funny – the abrupt movement yanked his hair away from her left hand – she would have laughed at his snarl, had she not been giddy with the adrenaline flooding her body –
"Harder, Jareth?"
She moved her hand, experimenting, and did laugh as he cursed, and jerked his face away from hers. "Somehow, I don't think harder is the operative word, is it?"
Jareth snapped his eyes back at her; they gleamed in the light like ice.
"Little girl –" he growled – "little Sarah – you must know that you're playing with fire."
Sarah tossed her head. "Well, if I am, I should warm up my knees." Before he could move, she stood, yanked his legs to a different angle to make room for her, and straddled him where he lay. "I can't kneel on a hard floor all night, you understand -"
"What a shame –" his acid reply caught in his throat as she ground her hips against him; she watched, satisfied, as he threw his head back and grabbed at the fabric of the couch with both hands.
"The real shame, Jareth, is that you have not accepted that I'm not little anymore –" She rocked in his lap, finding a rhythm. "And you know that – but you can't move past thinking of me as some kid that you can frighten with a few dirty tricks."
"Little girl –" his voice was ragged. "Little girls who play with fire always get burned." His eyes bored into hers; she refused to look away. "Always."
"Oh." Sarah stilled in his lap. "I see."
I do see – she thought. She could see the desire in his eyes, could feel it radiating off him like heat from an oven after the door fell open – fire – he was so physically warm that it wasn't natural – she shouldn't feel sweat beading on her upper lip from doing what she was doing – her mind flashed back – a special guest a royal guest who'll give you a crystal ball if you just give him a lap dance –but she could feel exactly how much he wanted her – right there – Sarah shifted, pretending to consider his words, and saw his eyelids fall half shut.
"So ..." She kept her voice low. "Do you want me to stop?" She ran her hands up his shirt, and undid one button – two – three – and trailed her fingers over his chest. "Do you, Jareth?"
His eyes were slits – thin veins of some precious stone, glowing with anger. His lips had compressed into a white line.
She waited.
Jareth gritted his teeth. "No."
"There!" Sarah smiled. "That wasn't too difficult, was it?"
He didn't take his stare from her face. A long moment – two – and then he ground out: "Well?"
"Well what?"
Jareth's gaze stabbed her. Despite herself, Sarah felt an inward clench of fear.
"Keep going."
"Let me see." She licked her lips. "What will you give me, if I keep going?"
He said nothing.
Then Sarah half-shrieked with surprise as he seized her hips with his hands; she gave in to her anger, and slapped him, hard.
Jareth froze.
Sarah felt the fear within her intensify. If his eyes had burned before, she had no words for what they were doing now ...
But she kept her voice level. "I never said that you could touch me, Jareth ..."
The mark of her hand on his pale cheek was turning red, almost the color of the fury in his eyes – or was it the light? – congealing like blood as he unhooked his fingers from her slip and slapped his hands back to his sides.
"Ah – he can be taught!"
Sarah felt his entire body go rigid beneath her, like a coiled spring – shit – shouldn't have said that – he was enraged–
She stared off to one side, and the painting over the mantel – she saw the cream, red and black of their clothing reflected in the glass covering it, and the white and silver-gold of his skin and hair – and she put her hands back on his chest, and moved them in small circles. "You never answered me, Jareth. What will you give me, if I keep going?"
Sarah trailed her eyes back to his, and twisted her hips. She gasped as he thrust upward, instinctively, and felt a rasping growl vibrate through her fingers – no, it was his voice –
"What do you want?"
Biting her lip, she fought to keep her voice level. "I think you know what I want ..."
"What do you want, Sarah?"
It was getting more difficult to breathe. "Promise me –"
"Promise you what?"
"Promise me that you will cease to torment those who fail your Labyrinth. Give me your word. Swear it."
"Those who fail – not just children any more, is it?" Jareth's voice was venomous. "How like you, to change your mind at the last – ah–"
Sarah had let her body drape down over him; she kissed where his pulse hammered in his throat, and watched him toss his head back on the armrest to allow her better access – his skin gleamed in the lamplight like polished ivory –
"I'd hate to stop now, Jareth ..."
"No –" he choked – "Don't stop –"
"Then swear it –" She hardly recognized her own voice. "Swear by all of your power that you will do as I ask."
She ran her tongue up his neck and heard him groan. "I swear it."
"Swear what?"
"I swear –" Jareth's voice caught, and half of her marveled – she had never heard him inarticulate – the other half of her moved her entire body over him, slowly, sinuously – his words stumbled over each other – "What you ask – I swear by all the power I have ever had and ever will have that I will do as you command in this matter –"
I will do as you command.
Sarah felt a surge of blood rush to her head. Goosebumps swept over her body.
Power.
She sat back, and stared down at him. It was like no other high she had ever had in her life – hearing him stammer, watching him twist where he lay pinioned beneath her, gasping with desire.
"Why, thank you, Jareth ..." she purred. "Now be a dear and help me, would you?" Sarah reached between their bodies, tracing through layers of cloth. "I don't feel like doing all of the work here."
His hands shot off the couch and to her waist – she took one of them and wrapped her fingers around his whitened knuckles.
"One hand only, for now."
Jareth's eyes darkened. He pulled the one hand from her fingers, and let it fall back to his side, and slid the other like a knife between her legs, watching her face for a reaction.
Sarah worked on keeping her breathing steady, and refused to look away from him.
He raised his eyebrows, and one corner of his mouth crooked up, half-smile, half-sneer. "No undergarments whatsoever. You seem to have thought this through ..." He uncoiled his fingers; she gasped and he bared his teeth. "Not so confident anymore, are we?"
Bastard.
Sarah sneered back at him. "You're doing it wrong."
His hand stilled. "I beg your pardon?"
"A little higher, please." Sarah moved her body, and watched him stare at her in disbelief. "Jareth ..." She swatted his shoulder. "Pay attention."
A genuine smile tugged at his lips. "Very well." He moved his hand, slightly, and Sarah shuddered at the wave of goosebumps that prickled her skin – that was it – right there –
"There, Jareth –" She let her head fall back. "Right there – keep doing that –"
God – she felt the heat from the wine spreading from her gut through her entire body, reaching the tips of her fingers – Sarah moaned, and brought her own hands to her breasts, and caressed herself where she was aching to be touched –
Jareth faltered – Sarah tipped her head forward, and grinned as she saw how his mouth had fallen open.
"See something you like?"
She slipped one hand beneath the neckline of the slip, and watched his teeth snap together. "Fuck –"
"Exactly." Sarah leaned in, and brushed his mouth with hers, and whispered: "The first night, Jareth, I wasn't sure what to expect; and the second – well, we both remember last night –" she felt him smile against her lips – which turned into a wince when she nipped him – "but tonight ... tonight, Jareth ..."
She kissed him, softly this time.
"Tonight, you do what I want."
He moved his hand, slowly, and brought his face closer to hers. "And what do you want?"
Sarah took a deep breath, catching the rhythm of his fingers. "It's been a long week, Jareth – for both of us ... I don't know if you –"
"What do you want?" His voice was husky, intimate where his mouth pressed against her ear.
"I'm not sure you can –"
"Try me."
Feeling as though she were jumping off a cliff, Sarah turned and kissed him. "I want to have the best sex of my life – I want your mouth on me – I want you in me –"
She pulled him closer and the kiss rapidly turned into something that made her head buzz, strangely – she blinked away a sudden haze, aware of her stomach churning, and felt his sharp teeth with her tongue, and realized that she had fisted her hands in his shirt and was pressing herself against him –
Sarah broke away, breathless. "So give me what I want, Jareth ..."
His eyes were burning in his stark white face. "I want, I want, I want ..." He bared his teeth.. "Take what you want, you precious, greedy thing."
Am I really going to –
Sarah leaned forward to kiss him again. "Both hands."
She felt him smile against her lips – and then his free hand trailed over her jaw, his fingers moving in a delicate counterpoint to his mouth –
Breaking away again, Sarah gasped. So hot. She was on fire. With one swift roll of her hips and arms, she peeled the slip over her head. So thirsty – She reached out and grabbed the glass of wine, and took a long swallow –
"Sarah ..."
Jareth's voice was low. She opened her eyes and focused on his face, looking up at her.
He was holding out his right hand.
Her pulse thumped in her ears. Sarah gave him the glass of wine.
Jareth raised it in a salute to her, and then turned it, so that his lips touched the rim where hers had been.
Sarah watched him drink the last of the wine, and heard the glass fall with a soft thud on the carpet. His lips were red as she caught them with hers again – that same bitter taste – but now it burned, even as her naked body burned, pressed against him – Sarah buried her face in his neck and inhaled his scent as she tore at his cuff links, and pushed and pulled at his suit jacket –
Up close, the red shirt shimmered even more strangely – moving away from his skin where it lay open, and twining around her fingertips – it looked like blood coming to a boil above a fire –
"Jareth –"
"Yes?" His voice was hoarse.
"Jareth – I want ..." she tried to swallow; her mouth was too dry – "I want ..."
She bit back an instinctive protest as he leaned backwards, on his elbows, to get a better look at her –
But then Sarah felt a delicious shiver, as she saw that he was not staring at her body, but into her eyes.
"Take what you want ..."
Sarah felt, rather than saw, Jareth undo the last few buttons of his shirt. He drew back his shoulders, and she drank in the sight of his chest –
"Sarah ..." he whispered. "Princess ..."
She looked back up.
His eyes were dark – it had to be a trick of the light – but there is no light there – no light in his eyes – so dark they were almost black.
Those eyes held hers, and would not let go.
"Take what you want ..."
His voice flowed over her, like honey –
"Take what you want ..."
Sarah snarled, and fell on him, kissing wherever she could, trying to devour him – pulling his shirt down his arms with sharp yanks –
– and she caught their reflection in the painting's glass frame – the two of them, moving together – and with the shirt rippling away from his body, Jareth looked for all the world like a snake, coiled in pearl and ivory, shedding a ruby-red skin.
...
Two references that I can remember:
"Do sit down, before you fall down." Raiders of the Lost Ark
"No undergarments whatsoever ..." Crossing the Line, byScattered Logic
You read? Please review!