Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth or any of the characters associated with the film. They are the property of the Jim Henson Company.

AN: Hm. This is a LOT more scandalous than I have ever written before. It may seem a little jolty with the 'he' and 'she' usage... Anyway, for any of my readers who are under the age of eighteen, the M rating is probably not enough--don't read it. This story contains matter that may offend and is NOT suitable for younger readers.

He backed her into the wall and she could feel the cold stone against her back, through her shirt. She let out a tiny, almost inaudible noise as she realized that there was nowhere else for her to go. His hand, gloved in butter-soft black leather, reached to tuck a loose strand of her nearly black hair behind her ear. He did so without touching her skin at all, and yet she could feel heat emanating from his hand, brushing past her cheek. She closed her eyes at the sensation, willing herself to remember that the man who had her trapped was dangerous. Maybe it was the danger that made him have this whole effect upon her. Her eyes nervously skittered about, drinking in his appearance in small, broken doses.

Her eyes glanced to the side to look for an escape, and then to his torso to observe his black, archaic silk shirt with its soft folds and billowing sleeves, a stark contrast to the near whiteness of his skin. Her eyes flitted up, as though searching for solace in the heavens, and then back down to catch his sun kissed platinum locks dancing carelessly in the warm breeze and his hungered eyes, darkened in deep longing, eyeing her as though she were a tasty treat. Almost as though he had read her mind, he licked his lips which caused her eyes to betray her and watch the action. She bit her lip to keep herself from licking it. She turned her head to the left, searching for an escape route desperately. With her head turned, she didn't catch the rapacious smirk on his face.

He watched her clever, quick mind flit from thought to thought. She should have known better – there was no escaping him, there never had been. It was simply amazing how enticing she could look in a pair of her primitive jeans, and a simple cotton shirt, buttons all down the front. It was always more amusing for him when she decided to play the lamb. Run, little lamb, but the wolf will always hunt you – always take you down. She realized now that he had won. This game was his, and he would not let her off easy this time. She turned her pleading murky green orbs up to his in anticipation of whatever prize he was planning to exact. His hands were on the wall on either side of her head and he used the wall as support as he moved in to lay his lips upon hers.

She was stubborn at first, keeping her lips closed tightly, squeezing her eyes shut. He smiled lazily at her as she glared at him, all defiance and fire. He knew how to quench the fire – the question was quite simple, would she let him? He pulled one hand from the wall, dragging his fingers through her hair in leisurely zigzags and she stiffened beneath his hand. His smug smile deepened and he continued to drag his fingers down the soft, peachy skin of her cheek. Her eyes were confused pools of uneasy emerald. As he dragged his fingers down the column of her throat, her eyelids fluttered and her head tilted back. But, as quickly as it had happened, it had also ended. Her head snapped forward and her eyes were wide with indignation. Still, his smile widened.

She was biting her lip to keep from moaning. The way he languidly explored the outline of her body with his fingers was sheer, delightful torture. He could be so cruel, but then again she had pushed him towards it. His hand stopped on her hip bone, resting there for a moment, drawing lazy circles there. Her breathing had become heavier and her body was taut with expectation. She looked up to find his eyes, intense globes of cobalt, locked tightly on her face. He was enjoying every tiny change in her expression; he was taking pleasure in breaking down her controlled demeanour. She glared at him again. It had not had the effect that she had hoped, in fact it only served to entertain him further. In a last ditch effort to flee this sought after torture she squirmed beneath him, but it was too late. His hand had already skirted the waistline of her jeans; his fingers were already popping the button free of its restrained position.

She stopped moving, as he had expected, when he slid his hand down the front of her jeans. He watched her face carefully, savouring every emotion her sinfully beautiful face betrayed. Satisfied that her eyes were closed, he allowed himself a moment to close his own. The heat, the silky smooth wetness were utter torment to him for he had left his gloves on this time. The game was more interesting when he could clearly savour her reactions without the distraction of his own. He opened his eyes slowly, and found that her supple lips had parted ever so slightly, allowing her panting breaths to escape. A self-satisfied smirk grew across his features.

It was slow torture, a cruel affliction of her senses. His hot hands covered so closely by that sleek leather, stroking her to sweet agony. She was glad that she couldn't open her eyes right now for seeing his smug expression may have ruined everything for her. She rested her head against the wall, tiny gasps leaving her parted lips. Suddenly she was aware that his other gloved hand was slowly tracing a line down her nose, over her parted lips, dragging her bottom lip down. The moment that his mouth closed over hers possessively, his tongue sliding in to meet her own, was when he chose to enter her with those butter soft fingers. She moaned into his mouth, her hips arching towards him in a bid to end her suffering faster. With even, steady strokes he brought her closer and closer to climax. It was a preview for the night ahead, a small peek into the future, only his hand would not be gloved and another appendage, more apt for the task, would be in its place.

She melted against him, her breathing coming in stunted pants, her pale skin flushed. He watched her through the corner of his eye as he kissed her along the line of her jaw. She was close now, closer than ever, as was evident by the kittenish sounds escaping her mouth with each thrust. As she began to tighten around his fingers, he dragged his mouth back up to hers, kissing her with brutal need. She gave one last, lingering moan into his mouth before collapsing against him, breathing heavily. His fingers still in place, and her face not on his, he allowed himself one more brief moment to close his eyes and take pleasure in the spasms of her walls. At long last, he leisurely pulled his fingers out from inside her, eliciting yet another moan into his shoulder. Glancing down at the silken hair of his satisfied companion, he thought wistfully of an old phrase of hers. It's not fair. But, he knew he would get his just desserts later.

"Perhaps," he whispered roughly into her hair, the fragrance of lilies filing his nostrils, "you will think twice before trying to run my labyrinth again, my dear."

Her only response was a stifled, contented giggle into his shoulder.