Author's Note: I started this so long ago that I don't even remember how it started...and now I have even more ideas for J/S stories. (I really need to kick Jareth out sometime...he's a terrible influence, especially where my schoolwork is concerned.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

A LESSON LEARNED TOO WELL

She felt the wood of the door first, her back impacting it all at once, the sensation—the sudden crash of spine on oak—leaving her aching, but it was irrelevant.

Everything was irrelevant. Jareth was kissing her.

His lips descended hungrily to hers, warm velvet burning now with inner fire, his hands clutching her face as though terrified to lose her, even as his tongue wormed its way past her lips.

She could feel her will crumbling, and she tried to make up for it by dragging her palms up his chest, against the grain of the rich, dark velvet, to clutch at his collar and—

She lost track of what she was doing.

Her tempter, her seducer—her trickster, her tormenter—groaned low in his throat and pressed his body more deeply against hers, and she almost melted at the feel of his warm, lean body pinning her against the timeworn oak.

One of her hands started to slip, and he surprised her by moving one hand from her chin—the other moved backward, tangling in her hair to compensate—to pluck her hand from his chest and pull it over his shoulder, where it curled limply, unconsciously, around his neck.

He still hadn't stopped kissing her.

His arm never returned to cup her face, instead winding around her waist, pulling her to him, counteracting the strange laxity in her body at his nearness, his irresistible draw.

She felt a noise begin deep in her throat, and wasn't sure if it were a hum of pleasure, a moan of lust, or a shriek of impotence. He tilted her head back, and she realized that she had no power to resist his kiss any longer.

Jareth felt it, felt the exact moment that Sarah finally gave into him. He felt like crowing in delight, like over-flying the stars and exploding into a million, glittering fragments.

All he did, though, was pull her closer and trail his lips along her cheek to her ear, buried in the luscious locks of her dark auburn hair.

"Sarah," he moaned, pouring all of his soul's longing into that single word—the most beautiful one he had ever heard.

Sarah gasped as his lips freed hers, as he whispered her name into the night, as dark and endless as time itself—and she knew that he controlled both.

"Jareth," she whispered back, breathless still with his power, feeling the electricity of his power crackle over her, dancing across her body like a master pianist's fingers on the keys of his favorite instrument.

She suddenly realized that her hands were no longer tied in the collar of his coat—were now tangled over his shoulders, one threaded in his hair, the other curled around his neck, caressing the silky skin as though she depended on it.

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him, light breaths whispering through slightly parted lips.

His eyes...

His eyes, darkened with unnatural, immortal desire, bore down into hers.

"Say it," he insisted, coaxed, pleaded. He would give anything for those words, those simple, precious words...

"Say it," he demanded again, when she simply gazed up at him, her eyes blank and distant. "SARAH!"

He had given her too long. She had remembered her purpose.

"No," she breathed, traces of their kiss still lingering in the way her voice was too shallow, too light. Then again, firmer. "No."

He almost groaned. So close, and yet so far...would nothing be enough? Would he never be able to win her, to overthrow her?

He recaptured her lips, and it felt like drowning, like flying. It felt like all his dreams coming true, and it would never be enough.

She didn't understand what she did to him...by moving, tilting her head, lifting a pale, delicate hand.

By breathing. By lifting her eyelids in the morning, to closing them at night—by existing.

He groaned low in his throat again at his impotence and slammed her against his body, curving her back off the merciless wood of the door. The fabric of her shirt bunched in his fingers, and he almost slid his hands beneath it—almost—but resisted.

Only for the moment.

Sarah could feel the heightened desperation in his kiss, in the way he pulled her to him. White heat, like fire's invisible, hottest flame, coursed through her, finding the paths that it had already seared, and scorching them anew.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Everything she knew had narrowed down to one single thing, to the body pressed heatedly against hers, to the way he held her, kissed her, caressed her.

Her arms tightened convulsively around him.

He fought her, fought her will, fought her body. He didn't know how she could resist—why she would want to resist—had he not offered her everything?

Everything...including himself.

His hands slipped beneath the fabric of her flimsy shirt.

Oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod... her mind chanted, feeling her succumbing again to him. His hands, his bare hands, caressed the skin of her back now, and she could feel the slight roughness of his skin as it passed over hers, leaving trails of desire etched across her flesh.

She wondered if she wouldn't have scorch marks there, come morning.

The pain in her back simply melted away, as if it had never been, as if he had never thrown her against the door, and she felt a linger moment's debilitating gratitude to him for that.

But she knew what was coming.

"Sarah," he groaned again, his lips still brushing over hers, his forehead tilted to rest on hers as though he needed the prop.

Right on time, she thought cynically.

"Jareth," she accused, trying to gather the strength to confront him at last, to end it now, while she still could. Her thoughts were a dizzy whirl, though, and she couldn't remember what she'd been meaning to say.

"Please!" he demanded desperately, his fist slamming suddenly into the door beside her head. The door shivered in response. "Please," he echoed, softer, more pleading. "I'm begging you..."

"Jareth..." His name was softer now, an apology for what she could not, would not say.

He growled, rougher now, and seized her lips once more for a punishing, pleasing kiss. No longer content with the door, he pulled her away, still pinned to his chest, and spun them both, until she felt herself suddenly on his bed, her head in a whirl.

His lips laid siege to her neck, her throat, her shoulders. She could feel him, feel his tension, knew it in the way the corded muscle in his throat stood out beneath her questing fingers.

"Just...say...it," he rasped, aggressive.

She clenched her jaw, resistant to the last, and he snarled in impotent fury at her.

"You—" he began, but she beat him to it, taunting him.

"You love me, Goblin King," she accused, eyes bright and glittering like broken gems.

His own narrowed in response. "You're twisting—"

In an instant, her hands in his hair had pulled his lips back down to hers, and he sank into her, pressing her into the soft mattress beneath them, sliding his hands up her back beneath her shirt once more.

Inside, he smiled. If this is how you want to play, my dear, he promised, then this is how we shall play.

His hands flew up her sides, taking the hem of her shirt with them. Sarah arched into his chest as he nipped at her lips, making his task that much easier, and he had to repress a shiver as he felt the increased heat of her beneath him. Another moment was all it took, and he released her lips to yank the tangled clothes over her head, both gasping for air in their release.

"You have no—" she tried to challenge him, but her words cut off with a gasp that turned quickly to a moan as he fastened his hot, clever mouth over one breast.

He chuckled darkly as he proved what she had just been trying to deny, his tongue swirling around her nipple, pulling pleased, breathless sounds from her.

Her hands began plucking at the buttons of his coat, and he smiled as he felt it loosen. "You're mine," he purred, nipping in the valley between her breasts.

"In your dreams," she countered swiftly, breathlessly, but her hands told the lie, pushing the heavy velvet piece from his shoulders.

"You like my dreams," he rebutted, his voice sultry with promise, twisting his shoulders to help her. When she inhaled, no doubt planning to attack that statement as well, he surged upward and claimed her mouth for his own once more, still pulling his heavy coat off of himself and throwing it away.

He felt her push angrily at his chest, but the gap in his shirt left her no choice but to push against bare flesh, and he knew she felt that intimacy.

How is she still fighting me? he wondered, marveling once more at her persistence. It made no difference, though. He would win, in the end.

He heard—felt, rather—her grumble at him in the back of her throat, her lips vibrating with the low, irritated noise, and he smiled. His hands slipped down from her shoulders to caress her breasts, and the noise became a moan of pleasure.

"Say it," he insisted, returning to his original demand while her eyes were glassy and half-lidded. "You know I'm going to win anyway," he continued, cruelly.

She whimpered, seeming to try to find herself for a moment before her eyes focused on him suddenly. "You'll never win," she breathed.

His eyes narrowed in displeasure. Those were not the words he wanted. "Neither will you," he replied huskily, voice deeper with suppressed passion. His fingers drifted lower, to the fastenings of her pants.

"I've already won," she reminded him, eyes glittering at the recitation of their familiar argument.

Jareth did not find this funny. "You say that so often," he snapped, roughly pushing her clothes down over her hips.

"I wonder what your basis for comparison is," she gasped, stealing his lines.

He snarled, tugging her knees up in turn to free her legs from their fabric restraints. "You—always you," he hissed, and distracted her again by nipping her inner thigh.

She gasped and yanked a handful of his hair, pulling his dangerous lips away from her too-sensitive areas. "Jareth," she protested angrily, "it's not—"

"Fair?" he teased, finishing for her. "I agree. You really should shut up and cooperate." His eyes sparkled as he gazed down at her, flushed and naked, a perfect delicacy set out for its king.

And one he meant to enjoy very thoroughly.

"You're still fucking dressed!" she screeched as he swooped in low, aiming for her neck again. She squeaked loudly as one of his hands wandered down past her waist, discovering a very secret, very personal, very sensitive part of her anatomy.

Jareth smirked. "You can fix that any time you like, dearest," he assured her smoothly. "I promise, I won't mind..."

"Distraction," she muttered darkly, hands wandering down his chest and parting the fabric of his shirt smoothly, tugging at the hem a bit where it was tucked into his skintight leggings.

He chuckled and obligingly kept his distractions to a minimum as his Sarah commenced stripping him in earnest. He couldn't really help himself, though, when it came to sampling her lips, and they were so tantalizingly close...

Sarah's hands slowed to a complete halt as she melted beneath Jareth's superior powers once again. His hands were dancing lightly over her body, encouraging her to twist and writhe into them, teasing and tempting her into the very position that he wanted her...

Jareth purred, low in his throat. It was almost too easy.

"Sarah," he purred, sweet and smooth and darkly rich as molasses, "beautiful Sarah..."

Sarah whimpered.

"My beloved, darling Sarah," he breathed into her ear, flicking out his clever tongue to trace the tender shell of her ear. He could feel her fingers curled tightly into the waist of his leggings. He knew that he was laying it on thick, but if it worked—oh, if only this works!—then he would win, and that would be such a sweet victory...

Sarah mewed faintly and pushed weakly at his waistband. He couldn't blame her; he was long past wanting the distraction of clothing gone as well—

"Will you say it?"

Sarah moaned in frustration, her lips searching for his, though he wove a hand into her thick tresses to hold her still.

"Sarah..." he breathed. "Don't defy me."

His eyes were smoky and dark as he remembered the first time he had said those words, and it seemed that Sarah remembered as well, her hazel eyes snapping open.

"Jareth!" she gasped, as though his name had ever deterred him from his goals.

He nibbled along her jaw in response.

"You arrogant jerk!"

He laughed delightedly and kissed her again, a long, open-mouthed kiss that swallowed her will in his own. Her hands lost track of what they were supposed to be doing and wound around his waist, her hips rising to meet his.

Am I going to have to remove my own clothing? he thought in a huff. Sarah, apparently, was far too easily distracted...although there were times when it was as helpful as it was frustrating.

"Sarah..." he purred, nuzzling his way back to her ear.

He felt her tremble in response.

"Sarah, darling Sarah..."

She whimpered, and Jareth smirked.

"Darling, precious Sarah..." he continued, his voice rivaling the richest and most decadent of chocolates, and felt her grind against him in response, nipping at his throat enticingly. "I'm still dressed."

Sarah choked, pushing him back to glare at him. Jareth raised a wing-tipped eyebrow in response. "You arrogant—"

Jareth cut her off by rolling them over so that Sarah lay on his chest. "You know you want it," he said, the voice of reason. "And it would be rather difficult to finish this while I'm still wearing my pants."

"Pants my ass," Sarah scoffed, pushing herself up to straddle his hips, ignoring the very localized poking that went on between her legs. "Those are blatant advertising of your overgrown ego." She didn't seem to notice that she had curled her legs around so that her toes could caress his thighs, but Jareth did.

"And you love them, don't you? Just like you love everything else about me..." He smirked.

She opened her mouth to refute that, but he placed his hands on her hips and ground against her. Sarah was very effectively silenced.

"Whatever you wish to call them, take them off so we can finish this," Jareth insisted, temporarily giving up on his mission for sweeter entertainments.

He was almost surprised when she complied, swooping down to capture his lips as she finally remembered how to remove his final piece of clothing.

"This still doesn't mean you've won," Sarah insisted breathlessly as Jareth rolled them back over. Jareth kicked his pants out of the bed and pressed a knee between her legs.

"I wouldn't count me out of the fight so quickly, love," he countered, slipping a hand in to tease her folds. Sarah lost what little breath she had regained, and Jareth took advantage of her distraction to devour her neck, his free hand caressing her breast until she melted beneath him again.

"You—" she breathed, but he cut off whatever she was going to say by kissing her, reveling in her heady taste, a mixture of all his favorite flavors and something—something that was uniquely Sarah.

She moaned as he replaced his fingers inside her with his burgeoning erection, and Jareth's smirk threatened to become permanent. He knew that sound—that was the moan of oh god, we should have done this ages ago, soon to be followed by—

He shifted inside her, pressing against her inner walls as he pushed deeper.

—do that again PLEASE!

Jareth growled into her lips, pulling her more tightly against his body. Her arms around his neck were almost strangling him, but that was hardly an inconvenience. He didn't even mind when her nails broke the skin on his back.

It just meant he was doing something right.

Sarah whimpered into his mouth, a strangely pleading sound, and he slid his hands down to her hips, holding her immobile as he controlled their tempo.

If she won't say what I want, Jareth thought, a little mischievously, then I don't have to give her what she wants.

Her thighs tightly clenched around his waist disagreed, but he was too lost in her body to care. So hot and tight—she'd been wet almost since their first kiss—and now clinging to him desperately...

He had to pull away from their kiss, lack of oxygen threatening even him. Sarah arched her back against his chest and dropped her head to the side, inviting him to hide his face there.

It seemed an adequate substitution. He thanked her with a sharp bite, making her shudder.

She moaned his name pleadingly, but he ignored her, intent on milking every ounce of pleasure from their joining before either lost to their climax. They were wound so tight, both of them, it wouldn't be long now—

She screamed his name, her nails digging deeper into his back, and trembled violently as the ecstasy of it overwhelmed her senses.

He joined her only moments later, one last thrust before he spilled himself inside her, collapsing on her chest, too limp to move.

They laid there, utterly exhausted, before Sarah finally laughed breathlessly.

"I love you," she admitted.

Jareth groaned, wrapping his arms around her more tightly. "I wish you wouldn't fight me every time," he grumbled from her shoulder.

Her laughter had more energy the second time.

"But where's the fun in that?"