Of Age

Disclaimer: The characters and settings depicted on this story are the legal property of The Jim Henson Company. They have been used without permission and no copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made off this story, and it was created for fan appreciation and entertainment purposes only.


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Sarah knew she should have ordered tea. She glanced down at the sandwich and half-pint of beer in front of her and wrinkled her nose in distaste. She didn't really like beer anyway, but had wanted to sample the local drink. To her uneducated American palate, this warm, thick beverage was completely undrinkable. She shook her head slightly and thought back on how she had ended up sitting alone in a small pub in Ireland.

This was supposed to be her last indulgence before settling down to graduate school. A driving tour of Ireland. Too bad her plans had gone awry. Her college roommate, Allie, had intended to go with her but at the last minute Allie had developed a debilitating case of the flu. Sarah's plane tickets had been non-refundable and so she had chosen to go alone rather than forfeit the money.

This morning, Sarah had left Dublin at the crack of dawn on her way to Galway. Halfway there, she had been forced from the main road by a series of inexplicable detours. Then her rental car had developed mechanical problems just as she'd reached the boundaries of the tiny village of Boccánach, a place so out-of-the-way that it wasn't even on the map.

Today was apparently some sort of holiday and when she'd called, she had found that the rental car office was closed, leaving her stranded. She'd finally decided to take a room in the village's sole bed and breakfast until she could arrange to have another car brought to her tomorrow.

Sarah gave a deep sigh. Today might be some obscure Irish holiday, but it was also her 21st birthday and so far the only person who had noticed had been the barmaid who checked her identification when Sarah had ordered the beer.

She smiled as she remembered the call she'd made earlier before leaving Dublin. Using her calling card, she'd dialed her father's telephone number and listened as the phone rang in a house over three thousand miles away. After a few seconds, she'd heard the click as the answering machine picked up. She'd been about to disconnect when Toby's voice filled her ear.

"If this is Sarah, don't hang up. Dad took us to the zoo but we didn't know what time you'd call, so..." There was a pause and then the sound of her father's baritone, her stepmother's alto and 7-year-old Toby's wobbly soprano had filled the air. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Sarah. Happy birthday to you."

Sarah smiled widely and tears pricked her eyes as she remembered her family singing to her. The song had came to an off-key ending and Toby had said, "Um, call back later if you're Sarah."

She'd left a message, "Thanks, guys, you sounded wonderful. So far, I'm having a great birthday. Ireland's really beautiful and I'll call again soon. I love you."

As she thought it over, she decided that she wouldn't mention her current situation when she called them back. No point in letting them know that her birthday had turned into such a disappointment. They couldn't change anything and they would only worry. Besides, she thought, she was an adult now and adults had to deal with disappointment gracefully.

She looked up to see a small dark-haired man approaching her table. He seemed to be about forty, gray just touching his temples. He was smiling and his brown eyes were friendly.

"Excuse me," he said in a lilting Irish accent. "It's your birthday today?"

"Yes," Sarah said with a slight smile. "How did you know?"

"Ah, Deirdre told the lot of us," he confessed and tilted his head toward the pretty barmaid and the group of people gathered at the bar. "You're the American girl whose car gave out?"

"That would be me," Sarah nodded, and held out her hand. "I’m Sarah Williams. You heard about my car, too?"

He grinned and shook her hand. "I'm Liam, I'm what passes for the mayor in our little village. Boccánach is a small place; there's no such thing as a secret here. It's such a shame that you're stranded on your birthday."

"There really must not be much news in this place if I'm a topic of conversation," Sarah laughed.

"A stranger is always interesting to us," he smiled and nodded. "You know, they have renovated Castle Boccánach, restored it all to its former glory, so to speak. It's being opened to tourists soon and the owner is giving a kind of pre-opening fete tonight. It wouldn't be a proper birthday celebration, but you might find it entertaining. There's supposed to be free drinks and food." He winked at her. "Nobody in their right mind would pass that up. The whole village is turning out for it."

"It's very nice of you to include me, but I don't know where this castle is and even if I did, I don't have a way to get there."

"Well, now, that's not a problem. The owner's hired a tour bus. It will be in the square at 7:00 o'clock. Anybody who wants to go is free to ride."

"Thank you," Sarah said. "I'll think about it."

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She hadn't really intended to go, Sarah mused to herself. So, why was she now sitting on the bus bound for Castle Boccánach? Probably because she had never spent a more boring birthday in her life. After leaving the pub, she'd wandered around the village, looking in the windows of the closed shops. She had considered taking a look at the local architecture, but nothing had seemed very impressive and she hadn't even been able to find a church here. Probably hidden away down some path she had overlooked.

After returning to the bed and breakfast, Sarah took stock of her finances. She was on a very tight budget and the unexpected expense of this side trip had eaten into her travel money more than she liked. Suddenly, free food and drink didn't sound like such a bad idea after all.

So she'd bathed and dressed in the one outfit she'd brought that was suitable for a nicer occasion--a long-sleeved white silk blouse with pearl buttons, plain black skirt, and black pumps. Her only jewelry was the gold cross necklace that her grandmother had given her on her high school graduation. She wasn't sure if she was dressed appropriately but she hadn't wanted to wear jeans. Besides, she thought, it was her birthday, she deserved to dress up a bit.

And this trip would have the bonus of free entertainment--a tour of a medieval castle. The last time she'd been in a castle... Her mind quickly skittered away from that subject. If she thought about him, she would have to think about the dreams. Vivid erotic dreams in which he played a starring role. Dreams that jolted her awake with her heart pounding and her body aching for a man she hadn't seen in six years. A man who, in reality, had never touched her.

Sarah shook those thoughts away and glanced around the bus. She didn't see Liam, but her fellow passengers seemed to know each other and were laughing and talking quietly. While a few of them smiled in her direction, and more than a few of them looked her over with open curiosity, no one spoke to her. No one even sat next to her. A stranger might interest them, she thought, but a stranger was still an outsider, that much was very apparent.

As the bus turned down a long drive, Castle Boccánach suddenly loomed out of the twilight. A massive gray six-story structure with towers on either side of a large arched entrance. It had an almost ominous air about it and Sarah shivered at the sight, hoping that the interior wasn't as forbidding.

The bus pulled onto a gravel parking area and the guests were quickly ushered toward the castle. As Sarah exited the bus, she felt the chain of her necklace break and the cross fall to the ground.

"Oh, no," she murmured. She quickly looked around, but couldn't see it in the dim light. She realized that she was keeping the rest of the passengers from leaving the bus so she quickly moved aside. Scanning the ground frantically, she failed to see the necklace.

'Wonderful,' she thought to herself. 'What will go wrong next?'

Sighing, she joined the other guests in the Great Hall of the castle. An auburn-haired woman dressed in an elaborate period gown stood waiting to greet them. To this woman's right, across the hall, stood a line of people dressed in various medieval costumes.

"Good evening," she said, "I am pleased that you could join us. I am Doireann. I will be your guide through the Great Hall of Castle Boccánach. Each area of the castle has a guide assigned," she gestured to the people standing across the hall. "If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask. You are free to wander about the castle at will and examine any room that you like."

Doireann smiled widely and waved a hand. At her gesture a stream of waiters and waitresses in red jackets carrying trays laden with drinks and hors d'oeuvres entered the room from a side hall.

"Eat and drink your fill," she said. "And please, have a wonderful time."

At that, the servants began to mill about, offering drinks and tidbits to the guests. Sarah watched as the guides broke ranks and began disappearing through other doorways. One guide in particular caught her attention. A tall figure, wearing a hooded black cloak, paused on his way out of the room. Reaching out a gloved hand, he took a flute of champagne from a passing servant. His head turned and although she couldn't see his face, Sarah would have sworn that he was looking directly at her. He gave a slight bow and lifted the glass of champagne in a salute. The edge of the flute disappeared under the low hood as he took a sip.

Sarah smiled. Was he flirting with her? Her smile faded as she glanced back and realized that several of the village women were standing behind her. She felt slightly foolish in thinking that he'd been flirting with her. He was probably married to one of the ladies behind her.

When she looked back, he was gone.

"Oh, well," she murmured to herself. "He was probably 70 years old and had a wart on the end of his nose."

She took a glass of champagne from a servant and approached a few groups of people to say hello. While they politely returned her greeting, in each case the conversation quickly trailed away into uncomfortable silence upon her arrival.

Deciding to try approaching people individually, Sarah saw a young woman standing alone. Sarah smiled, hoping to draw her out. She was perplexed when she saw an emotion akin to fear flash through the woman's eyes before they were quickly lowered and the woman turned away.

After a few more unsuccessful attempts at joining the discussions flowing around her, Sarah finally gave up and wandered the Great Hall alone looking at the lavish paintings on the walls. The main furnishings seemed to be wooden benches lining the walls and at the far of the hall a pair of ornately carved chairs, presumably for the Lord and Lady of the castle.

A beautiful gilt mirror hung on the wall behind those chairs and she wandered over to take a closer look. Beneath the mirror was a large display case containing a collection of Venetian masks. A small card on the edge of the case stated that this was the owner's private collection.

Sarah felt a sense of unease as she examined them. The colorful masks looked so familiar. Some of them were very plain but others had flamboyant beaks and deformed brows. A mask on a separate shelf drew her attention. This mask was isolated from the others and while those masks were designed to be tied around the head with ribbons, this was the only mask with a handle.

Deep red in color, the half mask had an almost demonic visage. The handle was attached to the mask by a skeletal hand. Sarah stiffened in recognition. Was this the mask that he had worn in that drugged ballroom dream? She looked at it more closely, doubt creeping over her. She'd seen it so briefly, she couldn't be certain.

Sarah gulped at her champagne and then chuckled weakly, shaking her head. It was being back in a castle that was causing her to think these things. It had been six years since she'd seen anything of the Labyrinth or its King. She was letting her imagination run away with her. She drained the glass and placed it on the tray of a servant who was suddenly standing beside her. Taking another flute, she turned away from the display and walked to the doorway on her right.

Opening the door, she found a large bedroom. A guide dressed as a chambermaid smiled as Sarah entered the room.

"Good evening, milady," she bobbled a curtsy at Sarah. "Welcome to the solar."

"A solar is what they called a bedroom, isn't it?" Sarah asked.

"Yes, milady, but originally the solar specifically referred to the bedchamber of the Castle Lord and his Lady," the guide explained.

"This is so gorgeous," Sarah said, walking further into the room.

Tapestries and paintings decorated the walls and a fireplace filled the near wall, blazing cheerily, but it was the large canopied bed that dominated the room.

Heavy red velvet curtains, interspersed with sheer ivory silk panels, surrounded the bed. The immense oak headboard was carved with images of men and women who were, upon closer examination, engaged in lascivious acts that brought a blush to Sarah's cheeks.

The door opened and a group of villagers entered. As the guide turned her attention to the new guests, Sarah slipped from the solar. She'd had enough rejection for one night. She wasn't about to stand around while they ignored her again.

Sarah wandered from room to room, until she found herself facing a narrow set of uneven stone steps that led down below the first level. She could see a lighted torch at the end of the steps, but couldn't see any further. She cautiously walked down until she found herself in a wide dimly lighted room. Torches were placed at irregular intervals along the rough walls and she could make out dark objects scattered throughout the gloom.

She approached the first one, baffled. It was a long wooden table, with a large wheel on one side and a series of spiked rollers along the middle. There was a white card along the side and she leaned over to read the words written there: The Rack.

"Oh, my god," she said as she realized that she was in the castle dungeon. She started to turn and leave but hesitated. She'd never seen an actual dungeon before and surely a brief look around couldn't hurt.

She approached the next object and recognized it from the vaguely human size and shape and from the sharp spikes lining the inside. The iron maiden.

A display case under a torch caught her attention and she walked over to look at the things within it. The Heretic's Fork, a chastity belt, thumbscrews, a Scold's Bridle, and other testaments to degradation were there.

Sarah shivered and quickly turned away.

"These things disturb you," a whispered voice came out of the shadows.

Sarah jumped at the sound. As her eyes searched the shadows, a dark figure stepped forward.

She gasped and took a step back, her eyes going wide, hand flying to her throat.

As the figure moved further into the light, she recognized the cloaked man from the Great Hall. The hood was still drawn over his head, the flickering torches keeping his face in the shadows.

"You're one of the guides." Sarah relaxed and gave an involuntary laugh. "You startled me. I thought I was alone."

"I apologize if I frightened you," he said, his voice still a scant whisper. "Yes, I am your guide through the dungeon. And I assure you that we are quite alone." He gestured toward the instruments of torture surrounding them. "These things disturb you," he repeated.

His voice. Didn't she know that voice? She couldn't be certain. He was whispering and the acoustics in this horrible place were distorting the sound. She frowned slightly.

"Yes, these things disturb me. I don't understand how people could be so cruel," Sarah said, shaking her head and looking back down at the display case.

"While I am certain that you would wish them to be generous, they can be cruel," he said in that relentless whisper.

At his words, Sarah's head jerked up and her eyes narrowed as she looked closely at the cloaked figure. Was that a hint of blond hair she saw at the edges of the hood? Every instinct that she had was suddenly screaming at her to get out of this place. Even if this man wasn't... him.

'Getoutgetoutgetout,' her mind began chanting.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She thought she could hear faint amusement coloring his voice.

"No, nothing's wrong. You..." her words caught in her throat and Sarah swallowed hard, "You just reminded me of someone," she said. As casually as she could manage, she began to walk toward the stairway. Why did it suddenly seem so far away?

Sarah glanced at the man out of the corner of her eye and saw that he was matching her movements. Her heart began to pound and she lengthened her stride in an attempt to reach the steps sooner.

Moving quickly, he stepped into her path.

"Leaving so soon? You haven't seen everything yet." The amused tone was clear now.

And he wasn't whispering anymore.

That voice...

Sarah took a panicked step back.

The chanting in her mind had become a piercing wail and her heart was thrumming so hard that she thought it might burst from her chest. She dug her fingernails into her palms, took a deep breath and made one last effort to deny what had become agonizingly apparent.

"I don't want to see anything else," she said, fear making her tone sharp. "Stand aside."

With an exhilarated laugh, the man threw back the hood to reveal that hauntingly familiar face. Wild blond hair tumbled around his shoulders and mismatched eyes set above high cheekbones gleamed as he took in her horrified expression. She caught a glimpse of sharp white teeth as his lips curved into a grin. With a careless gesture, he slung the cloak from his shoulders and tossed it to the ground.

"Ah, Sarah," the Goblin King said in his soft seductive voice, "one would think that you don't appreciate my little surprise. I've gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange all of this for you and you don't seem pleased at all. I'm disappointed."

Sarah shook her head slowly. Terror had stolen her voice and she knew she was gaping at him. He looked the same, some detached part of her mind marveled. She took in the dark leather jacket, the white shirt open almost to his waist, revealing his ever-present pendant. Dark leather gloves and boots complemented the tight black breeches that did nothing to hide his obvious arousal.

Sarah flushed and quickly looked back up to his face and saw that he was grinning knowingly at her. Her eyes darted past him to the stairway and she tensed to run.

"Oh, no," he smirked, seeing her intention. "You can't run away, the fun is only just beginning." He made a slight gesture and she felt an unseen force push against her body, maneuvering her gently but inexorably back against the cold stone wall. As she struggled against it, she felt this same force pull her hands high over her head.

Looking up, she watched incredulously as shackles mounted in the walls opened of their own accord and slipped around her wrists. With a sharp snap, they locked, holding her in place.

"What do you think you're doing?" she suddenly shrieked, pulling viciously against the chains. She winced as the unforgiving steel dug painfully into her wrists. "You have no right to do this!"

Jareth crossed his arms and leaned casually against the rack, making himself comfortable against the instrument of torture. Tilting his head, he slowly looked her over. "You are incorrect," he said mockingly. "I have every right."

"No, you don't," she cried. "It's over. I won."

He sighed. "A minor point. Do you remember our agreement, Sarah?"

"Agreement?"

"When you so carelessly wished your brother away, we made an agreement, you and I."

Long ago words echoed through her mind.

"You have thirteen hours in which to solve the labyrinth before your baby brother becomes one of us forever."

"I remember," she spat out angrily. "I solved the labyrinth. I beat you."

"And I allowed your brother to return home," Jareth agreed reasonably and then smirked as he tugged casually on a glove. "But, Sarah, did I ever once say that you would be allowed to leave?"

Sarah couldn't catch her breath.

"I appreciate what you're offering, but I want my brother back."

"Such a pity."

"Even if you reach the center, you'll never get out again."

"I went home," she choked out. "I've been home."

His demeanor was suddenly serious. "Only because I allowed it." The slightest edge of bitterness crept into his voice. "You were far too young when last we met. You failed to understand what was offered but I can be a patient man when necessary."

"That was six years ago," Sarah said in disbelief.

"I waited until you were of age," Jareth said.

"Of age?" she repeated blankly.

"Twenty-one is the age of adulthood in your realm, is it not?" He raised an eyebrow. "And today you are 21."

With a wicked smile, he pushed away from the rack and stepped close to her. His body barely touched hers as he leaned down and purred into her ear, "Happy birthday, Sarah."

She gave another yank at the shackles holding her hands and drew in a sharp breath at the pain that flared through her wrists.

"Be still," he said. "Stop struggling or you will hurt yourself."

"What do you want?" she said. "Why am I here?"

He leaned back slightly. "I have what I want - you. As for the setting," he gave an elegant shrug, "I find it appropriate."

He rested one hand along the stone wall at the side of her head. The other hand tangled in her long hair and held her still. He pressed his mouth to hers in the barest suggestion of a kiss.

"You have tortured me, Sarah," he murmured against her mouth. "For six long years I have looked into your dreams and I have seen what you desire. I have seen myself kissing you... touching you. It has been a torment to see those things and not act upon them."

"You--" her voice broke and she drew in a shaking breath. "You sent those dreams. You made me dream those things."

"No, I did not." His lips moved tenderly over her cheek. "You want me."

It would have been easier to deny what he was saying if she could breathe properly, if a throbbing ache hadn't already settled into her body at his touch, overriding her fear.

"Now it is your turn to be tormented." His tongue flicked against her earlobe. "I can, however, be very generous."

He smells so good, she thought, like leather and spices. Something dark and masculine. Almost involuntarily, her eyes drifted closed and she tilted her head slightly to make it easier for him to reach her. The low laugh he gave brought her to her senses and she snapped her eyes open, twisting away from him as best she could.

"I don't know what kind of game this is, Goblin King," she bit out, "but I won't play." The last few words were punctuated with sharp jerks against the shackles. Sarah ignored the pain.

"Why so formal? You know my name." He nipped at her earlobe. "You scream it out often enough in your dreams." Sighing, he leaned back slightly. "But this is no game, Sarah. You are mine. You won the child but lost yourself to me. You only specified that you wanted the child back; you never said anything about yourself. I was generous enough to allow you time to... mature," his gaze drifted over her, "but now I will have what is mine."

"How? By raping me?" she bit out.

For a split second he looked appalled, then anger flared in his eyes. "You think I would harm you? You think I would force myself on you?"

"I think I'm chained to a wall. I think that's the only way you can get me to cooperate," she hissed.

"You are chained because I do not wish to engage you in a foot race," he snapped. "As for your cooperation, I could easily entrance you." He cupped her face in his hands and his voice softened. "I have watched you blossom into an intelligent, compelling woman. I have come to...care for you." He murmured, "I want you to care for me as well."

Shocked, she looked closely at him and was surprised at what she saw. There was an almost childlike bewilderment in his eyes, as if these emotions were foreign to him.

'Maybe they are foreign to him," she thought, 'has he ever cared for anyone before?' She shook her head slightly. He was a master of manipulation; he tricked people to get what he wanted. It wouldn't do to forget that.

"You doubt me," he said and then kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, his mouth warm and soft against hers. She felt his hands at her waist, pulling her blouse free of her skirt. His tongue brushed against her lips but she refused to open her mouth.

He stepped back with a disappointed sigh. He held out his hand and suddenly he was holding a leather riding crop.

Sarah's eyes widened at the sight of it. He lifted the crop and she flinched.

Jareth frowned.

He lightly placed the tip of the riding crop at the hollow of her throat. Starting at her neck, he slowly drew the tip of the crop down over the buttons of her blouse. As it passed over a button, the blouse parted until it was left hanging completely open.

Sarah inhaled sharply as she felt the cool air of the dungeon against her skin. "What... What are you doing?" she stuttered.

His eyes darkened and his smile grew predatory. "Proving my point. Admit that you want me."

Her eyes narrowed and she resolutely shook her head. He wasn't going to win. She wouldn't let him win.

He smirked and lightly dragged the tip of the riding crop over the bare skin of her stomach to come to rest between her breasts. She felt the clasp of her bra give way and then gasped as he used the crop to push the fabric of her blouse and bra aside, baring one rosy-tipped breast to his view.

Her eyes slid closed and her breathing became erratic as he lightly teased the already taut nipple with the cool leather of the crop. The sensation stopped but before she could open her eyes, he was pressed against her again, his mouth covering hers.

She fought the pleasurable feeling for a moment, but finally conceded and parted her lips slightly. His tongue slid into her mouth, brushing against hers and as she tentatively responded, she felt his gloved hand cup her breast. Instinctively, she arched into him and the kiss quickly became more passionate. Clever fingers pinched the nipple gently. At the sound of the soft moan she let out, she froze and she tore her mouth away from his, turning her face to the side.

"So stubborn," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Admit that you want me."

She knew she was fighting a losing battle but she couldn’t bring herself to give in. She shook her head again but didn't speak. She didn't trust her voice.

He stepped back.

"Open your eyes, Sarah," he commanded and reluctantly, she did.

She immediately regretted it. With a cold smile, he lowered the riding crop to the hem of her skirt. Slowly, he began sliding it up, raising her skirt as the crop moved higher. She knew she should press her legs together, try to stop him from doing this but she couldn't seem to make herself move. She could hear the tip of the crop scraping the stone wall behind her and the side of it grazed her leg from knee to thigh. She could hear her breathing become harsher as he relentlessly, but oh-so-slowly moved the crop upwards. By the time it reached the juncture of her thighs and rested lightly against her panties, she was breathing in short gasps and the throbbing between her legs was almost painful. His eyes burned into hers, and for a moment they were both perfectly still.

And then he firmly pressed the riding crop against her.

Sarah gave a strangled cry as pleasure shot through her and her head fell back against the wall.

The crop was immediately gone and he was kissing her again, tongue sliding deep into her mouth and she returned his kiss fiercely. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her away from the rough wall and tightly against him. She felt his erection pressing into her stomach and she shuddered. He caressed her breast and she gasped into his mouth when she realized that his gloves were gone and that his hands were bare. In the next instant, she realized that her clothes were gone as well.

He broke the kiss. "Admit it," he demanded.

"I... I..." she stammered, her voice trailing off. 'Why couldn't he just accept it? Why did she have to say it?' she wondered stubbornly.

"You dislike losing as much as I," he laughed softly and then became serious. "Think, Sarah, you have never once asked me to let you go. You have never once asked me to stop. Admit that you want me."

His hand slid down her body and he lightly stroked between her legs, fingertips sliding easily through the slick moisture gathered there. "You would still deny it? When even your body gives you away?" A little more pressure from his fingers wrung a groan from her and she pushed against his hand.

Her breathing was coming in sharp pants and all she could focus on was the feeling of his fingers on her.

"Ah, well," he murmured, "so be it." And he moved his hand away from her.

At that, Sarah's self-control finally broke.

"No," she whimpered, "god, no, don't stop."

"Then admit it." His voice was suddenly hoarse.

"Yes, damn it," she sobbed, "yes, I want you."

In the next instant, Sarah found herself lying on a soft bed. Velvet and silk panels shielded the rest of the room from her view. She quickly looked around, dazed. Jareth was lying beside her and she blushed when she saw that he was naked.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"The solar." He nipped at her neck as his hands caressed her body.

She looked back and recognized the carved headboard with its lewd figures. Alarmed, she started to sit up. "There's a guide here and the guests..."

He pushed her gently back down onto the bed. "They are gone," he assured her. "We are alone."

"But where..." Her question was cut off as his mouth covered hers, his tongue dipping into her mouth, teasing hers. She responded by moaning and wrapping her arms around his neck, and he deepened the kiss. His hands caressed her breasts and she gasped into his mouth and arched toward him.

He broke the kiss and trailed his tongue down her neck, until his mouth closed over her breast, sucking at the hard nipple. Her hands sank into his soft hair, holding his head to her breast and then slid down to caress the soft skin of his back.

His hand slid back down between her legs and stroked softly. She groaned and lifted her hips from the bed but as he slowly began to slide a finger inside her, she tensed slightly.

"Jareth," she whispered, "I've never actually..."

"Shh," he replied, "I know."

He gently pushed a finger inside her and began to move his hand, searching for the most pleasing rhythm, the most secret places. Soon, he found a tempo that caused Sarah to make sobbing noises in her throat, her legs opening wider, hips lifting to meet his hand. Just as she was on the edge of orgasm, he stopped and moved his hand away.

She protested with a wordless cry, and then her eyes widened as he positioned himself over her.

"Do you want me?" Jareth asked, his breathing harsh.

"Yes," she whimpered.

"Tell me. I want to hear you say it," he demanded.

She looked up at him, eyes black with desire. "I want you, Jareth."

With a hard thrust of his hips, he was inside her.

Sarah gave a cry as he entered but the small burst of pain quickly faded. Gently at first, he moved in and out of her until she began to moan and instinctively push against him, trying to match his movements.

At this encouragement, he deepened his thrusts and quickened his rhythm. He was so close to the edge that he was hanging on by a thread, but he was determined that she would climax.

He shifted his balance and quickly slid his hand down between them, finding the small area that controlled her pleasure. He stroked against it firmly and suddenly Sarah was coming with a scream, contracting around him. Her hips bucking against his, he gave himself over to release, spilling himself inside her.

Still joined with her, he nuzzled her neck and then tenderly kissed her lips. She smiled shakily and reached up to gently caress his face. He rolled to his side and gathered her in his arms and held her tightly against him.

As he listened to her breathing deepen into sleep, he puzzled over the feelings that this mortal roused in him.

"But what no one knew was that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl," he mused to himself. 'Perhaps,' he thought. 'Perhaps this time the story had gotten that part right.'

"Sleep now, Sarah," he whispered and kissed her temple. "When you wake, we will be home and you shall begin a new life."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Excerpt from Garda Síochána Missing Person's Report:

In response to a missing person's report filed by the family of Sarah Anne Williams, officers located Ms. Williams' rental vehicle abandoned in the remains of a village once known as Boccánach. The vehicle had three-quarters of a tank of petrol and appeared to be in good working order; it contained her luggage and personal belongings. These items appeared to be intact and there was no sign of foul play.

A search of the area produced one other piece of evidence. A gold cross necklace, later identified as belonging to Ms. Williams, was found just outside the ruins of a twelfth century castle a few kilometers from the village.

One officer involved in the initial search was heard to joke that he knew what had happened to the American woman. He stated it was obvious that the goblins had taken her away. Boccánach is the ancient Gaelic word for goblin and local legends claim that the King of the Goblins still rules there. This statement was overheard by a newspaper reporter which resulted in these comments being published. That officer has received a written reprimand.

To date, no further trace of Sarah Anne Williams has been found and this missing person's case remains open but inactive pending further investigatory leads.