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This is an older fanfic (old old old) that never made light of day on any of my sites... although I think I did have it on ff.net at one point.
Beck and Call
Prologue ~ Whenever You Need Me
Ensconced in the warm safety of her bed, Sarah listened as the clock downstairs softly proclaimed the time with four ponderous notes. The house was otherwise quiet, her family asleep and her friends from the Labyrinth long since returned to their own world, but she found herself restless still, filled with a tense, almost anxious sense of waiting.
Or longing.
Closing her eyes and burrowing further into her pillow, she struggled to ignore the feeling, to dismiss the thought. Her yearning was neither unfamiliar nor unexpected, but now the emptiness had a name, one she feared to speak lest the simple syllables conjure his presence.
Jareth.
It should be impossible to miss someone she scarcely knew, much less one who had intimidated her at every turn... and yet she did. She felt no pride, no triumph in having said the words which ended their contest and proclaimed her the winner... only regret. For all that he frightened her, she had not wished to reject him. Knowing it was the right thing to do – that she could not sacrifice Toby in a single moment of petty spite, or even for the promise of fulfilling her dreams – was small consolation. His anguished cry as he tossed the crystal into the air had mingled sorrow, pain, and injured ego, and her own cheeks had been wet with bitter tears to have wounded him so.
Jareth.
Languorous excitement began to curl in her stomach at the memory of other emotions the Goblin King had evoked, the way his elegant features captured her with their cruel intensity. How the palpable sense of power in his slender frame awakened her body to the desire she'd seen in his eyes, heard in his voice. Those dangerously sensuous tones played through her mind, their cadence causing her pulse to accelerate, even as the ache inside encouraged her to relax into his keeping.
Jareth!
Eyes flying open, frightened of how a mere recollection had stirred her senses, Sarah turned onto her back to stare at the canopy above. There was nothing remotely sensual in its sturdy structure or candy-apple color, and under such mundane influences her fantasy began to fade.
"Have you need of me, Sarah?"
Heart beating frantically in her throat, she tried to tell herself that the voice was in her head, a lingering, foolish wish; reason knew better, the words far too warm, too close, to be anything but real. Swallowing, supporting herself on a trembling hand, she shifted onto her hip and leaned around the bed curtain to peek at the window seat.
Lounging at his ease, long legs stretched before him, boots crossed at the ankles, Jareth inclined his head in greeting. Gone were the tattered clothes he'd worn during their last confrontation, replaced with a richly embroidered waistcoat and dove gray poet's shirt. He smiled, chuckling softly at her shocked expression. "Good... morning, is it?"
"How did you get in here?" the question came out as a shuddering whisper, her nervousness only making his smile the wider.
"Now, Sarah, is that any way to welcome someone who's come in response to your call?" Adjusting the fit of his gloves he shook his head scoldingly. "Sweeting, I'm hurt."
His gently mocking tone dispelled some of her awkwardness, enough to straighten her spine and strengthen her voice. "I didn't call you."
"Oh but you did," he assured her, rising gracefully to his feet and strolling smoothly toward the bed, "three times, to be exact. And so wonderfully insistent that last time." Towering above her, one arm braced against the canopy, he reached down to stroke velvet-clad fingers along the curve of her chin, the arch of her throat. Eyes drifting closed under the heavy weight of his seduction, she tilted her head into his caress as his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "The question is, why? What do you want from me, my precious thing?"
"Wh... why would I need you?" Sarah faltered over the words, shivering as he bent closer, his breath dancing along her nape, dipping to caress the well of her throat – almost but not quite touching. One small part of her insisted she should be frightened, that she should try to send him away; a greater part cried out for his presence like dry soil for rain, his soul the sun that could make her blossom. The book had been right about so much else; why shouldn't it be right about his feelings for her?
Jareth laughed again, the sound joyful rather than sarcastic, but still filled with male superiority. "That was the question, sweet. Do you know the answer?" He brushed his lips along her collarbone, paused to consider her reaction. "Or are you still too young to understand?"
Blushing pink, Sarah gazed up into his handsome features, distantly surprised by his hopeful, yearning expression. I know what I want, she thought, but not what it means, where it may lead. The Goblin King was as unpredictable as he was entrancing, his motives and strengths outside the strictures of the game impossible to gauge. Even now, he was different – more relaxed, more natural, as if his role before had been rehearsed. Staged for her benefit. What was real, and what was pretense? Could he be trusted?
"No," he murmured, watching her face, disappointment reflected in his mismatched eyes, "not too young to understand, but still too young to accept. You're not yet ready to embrace what I offer, are you, love?"
Finding her throat suddenly tight with tears, she shook her head, uncertain whether the movement signaled agreement or denial. "I'm sorry," she whispered, tracing the firm line of his mouth with careful fingers, "so sorry."
Taking her fingers in his, Jareth placed a courtly kiss on the back of her hand. "Shhh," despite her refusal, there was mirth in the wordless sound, and tender comfort. "I'll wait. Compared to forever, your years are no time at all." Reaching out, he caught her silent tears on the soft velvet of his glove. "If you trust me in nothing else," swift as the owl whose form he sometimes took, the Goblin King bent to whisper in her ear, his tone dark and heated, "believe that forever is worth the wait."
Stepping away he sketched a bow, once again a figure of magic and mockery. "When you're ready, my offer will stand. You have only to call my name, and I will hear." His mouth twisted wryly. "But next time, sweeting, I want to hear the syllables fall from your lips. It really is cheating to read your mind." When Sarah gasped, mildly outraged at the way he'd manipulated her, he bowed again, his slender form already beginning to shimmer in the air. "Remember..." his voice seemed to echo as he faded from view, "...whenever you need me."
Beck and Call
Prologue ~ Whenever You Need Me
Ensconced in the warm safety of her bed, Sarah listened as the clock downstairs softly proclaimed the time with four ponderous notes. The house was otherwise quiet, her family asleep and her friends from the Labyrinth long since returned to their own world, but she found herself restless still, filled with a tense, almost anxious sense of waiting.
Or longing.
Closing her eyes and burrowing further into her pillow, she struggled to ignore the feeling, to dismiss the thought. Her yearning was neither unfamiliar nor unexpected, but now the emptiness had a name, one she feared to speak lest the simple syllables conjure his presence.
Jareth.
It should be impossible to miss someone she scarcely knew, much less one who had intimidated her at every turn... and yet she did. She felt no pride, no triumph in having said the words which ended their contest and proclaimed her the winner... only regret. For all that he frightened her, she had not wished to reject him. Knowing it was the right thing to do – that she could not sacrifice Toby in a single moment of petty spite, or even for the promise of fulfilling her dreams – was small consolation. His anguished cry as he tossed the crystal into the air had mingled sorrow, pain, and injured ego, and her own cheeks had been wet with bitter tears to have wounded him so.
Jareth.
Languorous excitement began to curl in her stomach at the memory of other emotions the Goblin King had evoked, the way his elegant features captured her with their cruel intensity. How the palpable sense of power in his slender frame awakened her body to the desire she'd seen in his eyes, heard in his voice. Those dangerously sensuous tones played through her mind, their cadence causing her pulse to accelerate, even as the ache inside encouraged her to relax into his keeping.
Jareth!
Eyes flying open, frightened of how a mere recollection had stirred her senses, Sarah turned onto her back to stare at the canopy above. There was nothing remotely sensual in its sturdy structure or candy-apple color, and under such mundane influences her fantasy began to fade.
"Have you need of me, Sarah?"
Heart beating frantically in her throat, she tried to tell herself that the voice was in her head, a lingering, foolish wish; reason knew better, the words far too warm, too close, to be anything but real. Swallowing, supporting herself on a trembling hand, she shifted onto her hip and leaned around the bed curtain to peek at the window seat.
Lounging at his ease, long legs stretched before him, boots crossed at the ankles, Jareth inclined his head in greeting. Gone were the tattered clothes he'd worn during their last confrontation, replaced with a richly embroidered waistcoat and dove gray poet's shirt. He smiled, chuckling softly at her shocked expression. "Good... morning, is it?"
"How did you get in here?" the question came out as a shuddering whisper, her nervousness only making his smile the wider.
"Now, Sarah, is that any way to welcome someone who's come in response to your call?" Adjusting the fit of his gloves he shook his head scoldingly. "Sweeting, I'm hurt."
His gently mocking tone dispelled some of her awkwardness, enough to straighten her spine and strengthen her voice. "I didn't call you."
"Oh but you did," he assured her, rising gracefully to his feet and strolling smoothly toward the bed, "three times, to be exact. And so wonderfully insistent that last time." Towering above her, one arm braced against the canopy, he reached down to stroke velvet-clad fingers along the curve of her chin, the arch of her throat. Eyes drifting closed under the heavy weight of his seduction, she tilted her head into his caress as his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "The question is, why? What do you want from me, my precious thing?"
"Wh... why would I need you?" Sarah faltered over the words, shivering as he bent closer, his breath dancing along her nape, dipping to caress the well of her throat – almost but not quite touching. One small part of her insisted she should be frightened, that she should try to send him away; a greater part cried out for his presence like dry soil for rain, his soul the sun that could make her blossom. The book had been right about so much else; why shouldn't it be right about his feelings for her?
Jareth laughed again, the sound joyful rather than sarcastic, but still filled with male superiority. "That was the question, sweet. Do you know the answer?" He brushed his lips along her collarbone, paused to consider her reaction. "Or are you still too young to understand?"
Blushing pink, Sarah gazed up into his handsome features, distantly surprised by his hopeful, yearning expression. I know what I want, she thought, but not what it means, where it may lead. The Goblin King was as unpredictable as he was entrancing, his motives and strengths outside the strictures of the game impossible to gauge. Even now, he was different – more relaxed, more natural, as if his role before had been rehearsed. Staged for her benefit. What was real, and what was pretense? Could he be trusted?
"No," he murmured, watching her face, disappointment reflected in his mismatched eyes, "not too young to understand, but still too young to accept. You're not yet ready to embrace what I offer, are you, love?"
Finding her throat suddenly tight with tears, she shook her head, uncertain whether the movement signaled agreement or denial. "I'm sorry," she whispered, tracing the firm line of his mouth with careful fingers, "so sorry."
Taking her fingers in his, Jareth placed a courtly kiss on the back of her hand. "Shhh," despite her refusal, there was mirth in the wordless sound, and tender comfort. "I'll wait. Compared to forever, your years are no time at all." Reaching out, he caught her silent tears on the soft velvet of his glove. "If you trust me in nothing else," swift as the owl whose form he sometimes took, the Goblin King bent to whisper in her ear, his tone dark and heated, "believe that forever is worth the wait."
Stepping away he sketched a bow, once again a figure of magic and mockery. "When you're ready, my offer will stand. You have only to call my name, and I will hear." His mouth twisted wryly. "But next time, sweeting, I want to hear the syllables fall from your lips. It really is cheating to read your mind." When Sarah gasped, mildly outraged at the way he'd manipulated her, he bowed again, his slender form already beginning to shimmer in the air. "Remember..." his voice seemed to echo as he faded from view, "...whenever you need me."
