A/N: Just a One-shot. Scratchin' the writing itch. As always, we'll see where it goes. Originally I was going to just write it and forget about it on my hard drive buuuut, y'all have been too good to me for me to disrespect you like that. So I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own the plot and the words, but I do not own Sarah and Jareth.
Waitressing was not a glamorous job by any stretch of the imagination.
Waitressing at the local pub where every Joe Shmoe felt he was entitled to make lewd comments or steal a quick grope was even less than that. If truth be told, Sarah felt she was little more than a glorified whore when she worked at "Charlie's".
Sadly, said job paid the bills and she was in no position to argue with that. College tuition was taken care of through her loans, but rent and living expenses were not and in this college town, you were lucky to find a position at all. Most were already filled by more eager students who were simply happy to have a job.
Sarah huffed out loud as she came to a stop at the doorstep of her place. She dug for her keys in her black leather purse, frustrated when she didn't feel them right away. She heaved the pure up on her shoulder a bit more; the straps were so worn through that she had to duct tape them in order to keep them together. Her hand touched cool metal and she grabbed at the noisy trinkets. The wind had picked up to near hurricane-like speeds and she really wanted to get inside before all hell broke loose. That would be just what she needed after a night like this.
Her dark hair whipped around her face as she shimmied the lock a bit, trying to fit the poorly welded key into the well-used hole. After a few moments, the key when in and she turned it; nothing happened. Sarah groaned and rolled her eyes before positioning herself so she was parallel to the door then, leaning back, she slammed her right shoulder into the stiff wood a few times before it finally gave way. Sarah stumbled in to her shabby studio apartment, her worn-out purse slipping from her shoulder and landed with a muted thump on the floor. She gave it a satisfying kick across the room, not caring that its contents had no problem spilling from its belly as it skidded away from her.
With another grunt of irritation, Sarah grabbed the handle of the door and with a hard shove she closed it just as the first crack of thunder met her ears. Placing her keys in her pocket, Sarah turned the deadbolt and slid the chain lock in place, and then after a moment's contemplation she kicked the warped wood hard, another satisfied grin leaking onto her features as she did so. If she wasn't so positive her landlord wouldn't give a crap, she might have complained; but for now, kicking it would do.
"My, my…what did that poor piece of wood do to you to warrant such abusive behavior?"
Sarah spun around so fast she had to close her eyes from a dizzy spell that threatened to unbalance her. When she opened them again, no one was there. She mentally slapped herself when she realized the lights weren't on. She reached to her right and flipped on the switch. Fluorescent light flooded the tiny space but still, she saw no one. Sarah wasn't fooled. Her eyes darted to her left where she saw her umbrella leaning innocently against the wall. In a quick movement, she snatched the thing up and held in front of her like a flimsy sword. It wouldn't do much good, but at least if whoever was here charged at her, she could take him by surprise and open it in his face while she made a mad dash.
Sarah's eyes fixed on the bathroom door, and then shifted to her cell phone lying helplessly on the floor ten feet away. She had three options: grab her cell phone and call 911, attempt to wrench open the damned door and make a run for it (with no wallet or phone and in a record-breaking storm) or confront her would-be attacker that was (she was sure of it) hiding in the bathroom waiting for her to look for him.
The decision was easy.
"Fuck this," Sarah turned around, dropping the umbrella and put all of her focus on getting the stupid door open. First the deadbolt, then the sliding lock and finally the handle. She made quick work of everything and had her hand around the doorknob when—
"Tut tut, that won't do,"
She yanked hard – the door didn't so much as groan in protest like it normally would have. Her heart-rate sped up and she tugged even harder. The door handle snapped off. Sarah stiffened, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end and her stomach dropping out from under her. That was it – she was done for.
No! She wouldn't give up without a fight. Sarah clutched the brass knob in her right hand like a bludgeon while her left hand discreetly felt in her pocket for something useful. She found a bobby-pin and her apartment keys. Fine. She'd scratch his eyes out then hit him with the blunt object and pray he'd black out.
Sarah briefly shut her eyes and took a steadying breath before she spun around in a blind rage, lashing out like a trapped cat at her foe. First the keys, which she aimed at his face, followed by the brass knob – which she aimed at his temple. Neither hit their target for both her wrists had been caught in a hard, vice-like grip. She could literally feel her pale skin bruising under her captor's strength. Her hands were beginning to feel a little numb as her vision cleared of the blind rage, but before she could focus on the man before her, another loud boom sounded and the lights in her apartment flickered then died.
Ice cold dread crept through her veins, freezing her muscles and paralyzing her lungs on its path to her brain. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, and could barely breathe. His hands, which felt oddly leathery, still gripped her fragile wrists in a hold that she doubted even Arnold Schwarzenegger could break. He squeezed harder and she groaned, the door handle, keys and bobby pin all dropping from her numbed grip and to the wood floor with a loud bang that was covered by a convenient clap of thunder.
"Ahhhh," she whimpered, slowly dropping to her knees in a weak attempt to loosen his hold. He let go and she clutched her wrists to her chest, trying to rub circulation back in to them. Her lip trembled at the throbbing pain. She looked up at the imposing silhouette standing before her. She felt her heart move to her throat when she saw how tall he was, even from her position on the ground. Just from what she could make out of his build, she knew he'd overpower her in an instant if she tried anything.
Sarah tried to swallow but her throat was as dry as the Moab desert. Unlike the rest of her, her brain was working furiously to find an escape route. Sarah considered herself a strong and clever woman; one that the average attacker would not be able to outsmart – but this man was no average attacker, of that she was sure. Any move she'd pull from her self-defense classes she was sure he'd counter.
"You are wise to notice this, my dear."
Sarah started at the sound of his voice. It was like he could read her thoughts. And was that a British accent she detected?
Her assailant chuckled a low, baritone note deep in his chest as he lowered himself to her level. He was so close to Sarah that she could feel his body heat. She tried to discreetly back up.
"Ah, British? No, although easily mistaken for," he said.
Sarah froze in her movements "What the fuck? He can read-"
"Language, my dear, language," his voice was low and smoother than a Jazz player's saxophone. Sarah's head snapped up to look at him. It was so familiar…
A flash of lighting and she saw parts of his features. High cheek bones, an aristocratic nose, blonde hair and one blue eye, one brown eye...
"No…" her voice did not sound her own as it left in a rush from her parched throat. Chuckled again and she brought her arms to her chest as if to shield herself.
Another flash and she saw his bow-shaped lips were upturned in a half-smirk, half predatory smile. Sarah instinctively backed up until she hit the door.
"That was a dream - I was young and in love with fairytales…it was the mental manifestation of my obsession, that's all. This can't be happening, he isn't real…"
Jareth stepped forward, enjoying her internal debate with herself. Sarah tried to shrink into the door, but there was nowhere to go. She was the trapped cat from moments ago, only now she wasn't the cat, but the mouse that was toyed with by the cat before it ate her.
"Oh, I assure you I am very real," the dark prince said, reiterating his words by placing his gloved hands on her thighs and inching them upwards.
His touch, although clearly lethal, was light as a feather as he brought them to a stop where her legs met her pelvis. Her breath hitched and renewed fear blossomed in her stomach when her mind darted to what he might do. But to her immense relief, he merely took them from her legs and placed them, rather, on the door on either side of her, truly trapping Sarah in his arms. He leaned forward, studying her features even through the dark. His breath was warm as it fanned across her face.
"Wonderful thing the human mind is; capable of blocking truly horrific or truly fantastic events from memory, passing them off as distant thoughts or dreams," Sarah flinched when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear so better to see her face.
Suddenly memory after blocked memory escaped from the vault that she'd held them in and flooded her mind's eye. She shut her own eyes tightly. Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus, Ambrosias, the Goblins, the castle…Jareth…
"That's right, dear Sarah, remember…remember everything," his voice turned cruel and mocking. A single tear escaped her clenched eye and Jareth leaned forward, slowly brushing the salty liquid away with his thumb, ignoring her wince.
"Did you think that you would beat my Labyrinth and walk away, little Sarah?" His silver tongue was poison to her ears Did you really think that my kingdom crumbled and washed away into nothingness? Did you really think that you did all that?" His voice spit fire. "I am a king, little Sarah, and kings are not defeated by a silly girl's whims and fantasies." Sarah tried to quell her trembling body but stubbornly kept her eyes shut. Maybe if she never saw him, never fully saw him, then he wouldn't be real.
Jareth was growing tired of her childish grip on reality. With a wave of his hand, the lights in the apartment were forced back on despite the raging storm outside. He held her chin in an iron grip and forced her head to turn to him. "No, little Sarah, what you remember happened those many years ago is not what I remember. What your mind has conjured up is not the truth," he snarled. "And now, I have come to claim what you thought I lost years ago. I come to claim what is rightfully mine," His voice was deathly quiet. Sarah felt his grip tighten on her chin - he didn't need to tell her with words; it was clear enough by his actions.
Sarah had no choice but to open her eyes.
Jareth's lip lifted in a horrible combination of a victorious smile and a disgusting sneer.
Then he swooped in and crushed his thin lips to her trembling ones in a bruising, dominant kiss that seared her heart and mind.
You are mine, Sarah.