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Fair Sarah	By : dragonslover1 Category: G through L > Labyrinth Views: 4861 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth. I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Prologue
- 2-One
- 3-Two
- 4-Three
- 5-Four
- 3
- 4
- 5
Fair Sarah
Three
　
He must be dreaming, he realized. Nothing else explained this.
He ignored the little voice in his head, reminding him that he never dreamed. Because this couldn’t be possible, not even here, in his realm of impossibilities. Simply having Sarah in the Underworld again was a kind of dream come true, but having her here, in his arms, reveling in the feel of her lips?
To his shame, he wanted nothing more than to continue the course of the dream. To pet her, murmur lovely things in her ear, to stretch her out over her own bed and learn her physically. He wanted to make her pant and beg and promise him and him alone that she would remain his, forever.
But there was a very good reason why he couldn’t. She’d demanded him as payment, the words thrilling and exciting even as they were damning. He wanted to fulfill that wish, to give himself and take her at the same time. Yet, to do so would be to break a vow he’d made to himself an eternity ago. It was to activate the invisible shackles of his own realm.
He could take no queen. He couldn’t even have a lover, not for a single night. It was the main reason why he focused so on his own games— they were a necessary distraction. Monotony bred thought, and thought bred self-hatred.
Dream or no— and signs were pointing to ‘no’— he could never have Sarah. The results would only make her come to despise him. In the past, such a reaction wouldn’t have bothered him in the least, but with Sarah. . .he didn’t want her hatred. He wanted her wonder, her amusement, her laughter. He wanted her sharp mind in a constant battle with his own. He. . .wanted her, he realized, and that was dangerous.
Her mouth was so tempting, so pleasing, spreading warmth through his entire body and muddying up his mind, that it pained him to sever contact. It’d been so damn long since he’d had a body in his arms like this, pliant and willing. He craved more.
His hands pushed against her shoulders. “You forget yourself,” he found himself saying. Gods, he wanted more. It didn’t help that her eyes were dark and hazed with pleasure; what he wouldn’t give to be able to just take her. “I am a king,” he reminded her, “and I do not respond well to demands. This is all you will ever have.”
In her eyes, the fog cleared, giving way to disbelief and then anger. “So you’d allow me a kiss and nothing more?” she bit out, indignation rising.
“Yes,” he answered easily, as though he didn’t care. He stepped aside, out of her range— cowardly, yes, but he needed the distance. He also needed her oblivious to the fact that his tight pants hid nothing. He would have to start wearing leathers again, he realized with a frown. The stiff fabric hid evidence of any and all arousal quite well. Over his shoulder, he added, “You would do well to remember that I have been very generous with you. But I will not remain so forever.” He smirked. “Be sure you remain in my good graces, lest I find a new home for you.”
At the words, a single whiff was conjured through the air. A putrid, hair-raising scent slithered around her— a warning. Should she defy him, he would cast her into the bog.
Well, no, he wouldn’t, he knew. He liked her too much as-is to alter her, even to alter only her scent. But she would believe the threat as truth, and this was important. She needed to fear him.
Otherwise he would undoubtedly end up as her little slave.
It surprised him how tempting that thought was. What would she do, he wondered, if she had him as her personal slave? If he granted each and every one of her desires, a genie with no limit to the wishes he could bestow? What would she wish for? What would she order him to do?
He was almost desperate to know. And he must be truly bored, he now knew, to contemplate such a thing. Certainly, such events would shake up the monotony of his life, bring out the unexpected and please him just because things had changed. . .but it would also mean all his power, his will, would be owned by another. His pride would never allow for that.
He would never allow for that.
As the scent hit her, Sarah straightened, eyes widening in horror and throat going tense as though holding back a gag. Good. He gave her a nod before willing himself away, back to his own room. Let her stew on everything that had happened for a little while. They still had some unfinished business to get around to, he and the fair maiden, but for the time being, distance was a good idea.
As was a nice, warm bath, he mused. Something to relax his tightened muscles and soothe his riotous mind.
Normally it was difficult to distract him to this extent. Not so for Sarah, he realized. He pondered on that curious ability of hers as he made his way to his bath, the oval marble rising straight out of the ground in a trio of steps all around. A wave of his hand had it filling with warm water which wouldn’t cool, not until he was done.
He supposed, as he thought back, that Sarah hadn’t seemed so distracting during his game because he’d been focused on her anyhow. She was his opponent then; it was simple procedure to keep his eye on her, try to manipulate her any way he could. Now that he didn’t have reason to focus on her (or none he would admit to), he could truly see the way she wormed herself into his mind.
She affected him. He could admit that. It didn’t hurt his pride too much to think back on the way she’d spoken to him, agreeing with himself that she was so very unexpected and he liked that. Any and all unforeseen events were welcome in his life. And what was Sarah, if not a kind of author of such events? He wondered, as he climbed into the water, what she would do if she had his power under her command.
Not just to have him willing to use his power for her, but to have such power herself. Probably remodel, first of all, he thought with a smirk. Oh, she would definitely remodel. Having seen her style himself, he knew it differed from his own. They were both similar in certain ways, though; they both liked clutter. Seventeen items on a single table, arranged in a particular way, pleasing to look upon but ultimately useless.
But while he liked gargoyles and goblins, she liked fairies and glitter. Despite having common ground, they were incredibly different. Not that he was surprised, of course. Sarah was a woman, after all, and he was. . .old. A king, but still old, and he’d long since forced himself to find beauty in his curse. If he hadn’t, well, then he would be the Mad Goblin King.
It had a certain ring to it, he mused, but no. He had too much pride to allow for mental instability.
By now he was quite relaxed, reclining in his bath, letting his eyes close. Immediately, as if it’d been waiting on the wings, an image of Sarah was conjured in his mind’s eye. Lovely temptress, he thought, the words almost a curse. . .though not quite. Her body enticed him, he admitted. Not as much as her mind did, perhaps, but she did have a stunning shape to her.
He recalled the sensation of her pressed into him, as if she had no shame at all. Supple curves, soft skin. . .soft breasts. A smile tugged at his lips. Now he knew she was sharp, quick, capable of riling his desire for companionship just by opening her mouth— and capable of riling his body without so much as trying. He was reduced to contemplating things he hadn’t considered in centuries beyond his care to count, things like wondering how silky her hair would feel, where he could touch her that would thrill her.
His body reacted to these thoughts, all too happy to be prowling for pleasure. And though he had the instinctive reaction to tamp it back down, he decided against it. Let his body react. He could indulge this once.
Thinking of his newest guest did the trick fairly quickly. The warmth of the water aided his lust, each slight motion bringing a rush of heat over his body, and he likened it to having a dozen of Sarah around him, touching him. In fact, that was a brilliant idea, he realized. Eyes still closed, he made his fantasy into a reality, conjuring six mimics of her around him.
Their hands were all over him in a second, touching, petting, leaving nothing unexplored. It worked a harsh groan out of him; Gods below, he’d forgotten how intense this felt. He opened his eyes then, hoping the sight would help keep his reactions under control.
The sight of her, six of her, served to do the opposite. They all looked the same, raven hair spilling over slim shoulders and bountiful breasts, as naked as he— but they were just mimics, clones of magic. He had to remind himself of this as their hands roved over him, biting his lips on hums of approval and pleasure. The fantasy kept trying to evolve, to go further, but he was in control, not them.
Nothing more than touches, he told himself— and them. As if they could respond. It almost made him bitter; he didn’t want even six false images of her. . .he wanted the real Sarah so much more.
And he couldn’t have her.
Frustrated now, he made their touches work harder, needing a release from this buildup before it could shift into anger. He forced himself to relax, eyes closing again, letting the fantasy run rampant. From his neck to his wrists, his chest to his hips and all down his legs, those hands pet him, until his need burned all through him. Only then did a hand slip around his manhood, starting a lazy stroking.
He moaned. It felt better than he remembered, and certainly better than it should with the knowledge that this was a false Sarah. But his body didn’t have the awareness his mind did and didn’t care, either. His body just reacted, starting a restless shifting of his hips against that warm hand.
What happened next was just pathetic. Hardly a dozen strokes of his shaft and he was through, groaning and shoving his hips against the grip that held him, one stream after another of his royal due flowing into the bathwater. For a moment, as pleasure washed over him, ecstasy breaking through his walls of forced disinterest, he didn’t care. But as the fantasy ended, the clones vanishing just as he’d summoned them, his mind returned.
And now he was cross with himself. Somehow the swirls of white within the water seemed to mock him, reminding him of his weakness. Sarah didn’t escape his wrath, either; it was her damned succulent curves that had reduced him to this. He bared his teeth, as if blaming those tendrils of white for his anger. Ridiculous. But there it was.
Thousands of years of self-control and it ends after one day in that human’s presence. Could he be more pathetic?
Under his will, the water cleared, though it did nothing to erase the shame now filtering through. How easily she’d broken through to his very core, he thought. And how easily he’d let her. How bored must he be to allow such things to happen?
Very, his mind answered.
Well, it wouldn’t happen again. He valued his freedom— convoluted though it was— too much to shackle himself to another. For that’s what his damned curse entailed: he was trapped here unless directly summoned, a punishment meant to force him to live a long and solitary life. But just in case, a second part had been added. If he were to take a lover, to join bodies with another or marry, his life would be bound to that being, whoever it was.
If the person was mortal, he would die when he or she did. If he took Sarah, both of their fates would cross, and he didn’t know what would happen if that occurred. She wouldn’t be able to leave the Underground ever again, unless directly summoned, and as for Jareth. . .
He didn’t know. Her fate might very well be to eventually rule another world of her own making, for all he knew. Which meant if their fates were bound, her future would be corrupted. Despite his age, he didn’t understand the machinations of fate, and didn’t know what the consequences would be. Perhaps she would just take his own, but it was just as likely that the clashing of fates would destroy the entire Underground.
Not a risk he could take.
Which meant he couldn’t allow himself to react to her again. His release hadn’t been satisfying enough to justify an argument in its favor, even. So he did something now that he probably shouldn’t have: he put a bind on himself.
It showed visibly as a series of chains tattooed into his skin, winding and tightening as he wove his magic. Once he was certain his body would no longer respond to anything, he forced it into place, for a moment feeling as though the chains were real around him. And then they faded. Though there was no longer a visible sign of the spell, the magic remained in place, as real as his own skin.
A strange sense of loss overcame him then. He could have scoffed; what had he lost? The possibility of sure death? The ability to become aroused? He hadn’t been making use of it anyway. So what had he truly lost?
A chance, a little voice whispered, answering his question in the only way capable of making him pause.
But it was true. He’d taken away the possibility of a chance from himself.
He tried to convince himself that it was for the best, but the hollow feeling in his chest spoke for itself.
- 3
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- 5
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Fair Sarah