Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth.
A word of explanation before you delve into this tasty little one-shot. This story was written in response to a challenge issued by the lovely and duck-like Marti Owlsten. It all began when she made the comment that she found the rather common Labyfic description of Sarah's hair as 'chocolate brown' odd. "People," she said, "Should not be compared to food." Much hilarity ensued as we discussed the possibilities and it all culminated in her declaring her dare. "Write a romantic one-shot in which all descriptions are portrayed in terms of food."
This story may make you very hungry. Then again, it may put you off food for a week. Rated T for a possibly questionable description of Jareth's pants. Read at your own risk.
A Labyrinth Fanfiction
It was, at last, Sarah's eighteenth birthday. She felt like a bottle of wine, finally aged to optimal body and richness. Her party had been grand, a veritable tossed salad of colors, excitement and joviality. All of her friends had been present. Stephanie, as vibrant and biting as a jalapeño pepper, had gifted her with a jar of lotion that smelled of strawberries and cream. Adam, ever the life of the party, had drawn people to him like ants to a sweet, carbonated soda. Shy Andrea hid in the corner like a radish, secreted away beneath the garden soil. Even Brad had shown up. Sarah knew that he harbored a crush on her, but it was like rich, Christmas fudge; tempting and wonderful in small doses, but liable to cause a stomach ache if you got too much at once.
Sarah was still young and her experiences with romance were few and fleeting. Like Pop Rocks on her tongue, they tantalized her but quickly fizzed away, leaving her mouth dry and her heart yearning for a dish of greater substance. Buried deep down, she knew something wonderful was waiting for her, like the fluffy cream at the center of a Twinkie. She could not be certain what was in store for her, but at night she dreamed of a pair of eyes that were like two blue Skittles in a bag of original flavors; enchanting and enigmatic in a world where all else was common red, orange, yellow, green and purple.
Now, as she sat by her bedroom window, Sarah found her thoughts as incoherent and messy as a scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream, dropped on the hot cement. Midnight was drawing near, soon to mark the end of her birthday, and Sarah felt like a piece of bread that had been left too long in the toaster. If something did not happen soon, her spirit would be little more than a crumbling, blackened ruin, unappetizing to all but the most starved and desperate. How she longed to burst into the world, golden and perfect, to be slathered with the butter and jam of love and acceptance.
Downstairs, the grandfather clock began to toll the hour and Sarah's heart fell like an amateur chef's soufflé. All hope seemed lost to her, like Super-Sized fries at McDonalds, it simply ceased to exist. With nothing left, Sarah hung her head to cry bitter tears, a rain of vinegar from her eyes.
"Why do you weep, my Sarah?" someone asked from behind her. His voice was rich and cultured, like a truffle that could, with only the tiniest shred, turn a common plate of slop into a delicacy fit for the most exquisite table.
Sarah turned quickly to face the speaker, her eyes as wide as a large pizza with extra mushrooms. When her gaze fell upon him, joy bubbled up in her heart, like a pot of spaghetti sauce boiling over. A smile, as warm and comforting to him as a batch of cookies just out of the oven, lit her face. "You came," she whispered in a voice that was hushed and full of promise, like the gentle rustle of the rhubarb leaves in spring.
Jareth stepped towards her, his movement calculated and slow as molasses. He wore a cape the color of burnt coffee beans. His snowy shirt was like frothy whipped cream, spilling over in lace at his cuffs and against his chest. His pants were tight, like the skin of an overripe fruit; as if, with a single false move, they could burst, spilling his delectable juices on the unworthy ground. With a smile that made her heart feel like a marshmallow Peep in a microwave, he said, "Did you really think I would miss this day? I have been watching you and waiting for it far too long." He stood before her, tall and elegant as a six-layer wedding cake, but there was a hint of trepidation in his countenance as he extended his hand.
Like the yeast in bread dough, Sarah quickly rose. With no hesitation at all, she slipped her hand into his, reveling in the buttery smooth texture of his leather glove. Jareth stared at her with delight and amazement, as if she were a thick slice of triple-chocolate cake with only five calories and a full recommended daily serving of fiber. Feeling like a vacuum-sealed package of Tang on a rocket ship to the moon, he said, "You do not shy from me?"
With a giggle as sweet and bubbly as champagne, she replied, "How could I? You are like hot, buttered popcorn at a movie theatre or cotton candy at a fair; without you, it is all meaningless." Gently, she squeezed his hand, like a shopper testing tomatoes in a supermarket.
"But I am your villain," he said, his eyes becoming frosty, blueberry snow cones on a February morning.
Leaning close to him, as if they were the last two Cheerios in a bowl of milk, inexplicably and irresistibly drawn together, Sarah said, "Back then, I was but a child, an egg, and I needed to face you- my nemesis, my whisk- and your frying pan Labyrinth, to shape me into the omelet I am today. Now my needs, like myself, are a bit more... complex."
Words scrabbled from his tongue like peas from a fork, so Jareth took a moment to simply take her in. Her skin was pale and creamy as well-beaten mashed potatoes. Her eyes were the green of fresh lima beans and her teeth like a perfectly even row of ivory corn. Her hair was the deep brown of a rich gravy. Her lips were like two glistening pieces of fresh, red meat. She was a beautiful Shepard's Pie and Jareth knew he would not be complete until she was his.
Emboldened by the hungry look in his eyes, Sarah raised her free hand to run through his hair, that golden explosion of pineapple that fascinated her so. Her fingers trailed down to the skin of his cheek, as soft and warm as a fresh-baked croissant, and his eyes drifted shut. As she explored the sharp, Brazil nut-like angles of his jaw line, his honeyed lips parted. "Can this be true?" he sighed.
Sarah leaned her head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart, like coffee in a percolator. Slowly, as if still afraid she would flee, his arms came up to wrap around her shoulders, clasping her to him like a hot dog to a bun. "Jareth," she said, "I feel as if we are destined to be together, like peanut butter and jelly or cupcakes and frosting."
She tilted her head up and he his down. Their lips met like a piece of butter hitting a hot skillet, sending waves of heat and energy through both of their bodies. Sarah felt as if she were little more than a toffee, melting into a gooey puddle against him. Her fists clenched in the lacy, opened front of his shirt and she clung to him like a squirrel to its last nut. Without him, she would surely starve to death.
Jareth frowned, stepping away from her, though his hands lingered on her shoulders. A hollow feeling swept through the young woman, as if she were a pie with all of its filling removed, as he disengaged. Worry wrinkled her brow like a dried fig as she gazed up at him. "My Sarah," he said, his tone heavy and thick with emotion, like glutinous maple syrup, "I will only warn you once..."
A glacial caramel-mocha frappe of fear dribbled down Sarah's spine at the intensity of his stare.
He glowered down at her with eyes as hard and cold as the entree of a frozen TV dinner. "...if you chose me, I will never let you go."
Her skin tingled, like lemon juice on baking soda. She attempted to meet his gaze with equal gravity, but a hint of humor peeked through, like bits of brightly colored fruit imbedded in jello. Mimicking his somber tone, she said, "Just fear me, love me, do as I say..." She reached up and pressed her hand against his bare, sugar-pale chest. "...and I will be your slave."
The smile that lit Jareth's face was the most delicious thing Sarah had ever seen. Softly, he said, "I wish the Goblin Queen would take me away, right now."
I cannot believe I wrote that line about his 'suculent juices'...
I think I'm going to go hide under a rock.