Curious Cat

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/33500818.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Labyrinth (1986)
Relationship: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Character: Sarah Williams (Labyrinth), Jareth (Labyrinth)
Additional Tags: BACK ON MY BULLSHIT, Erotica, Dark Jareth (Labyrinth), more like,
Trickster Jareth (Labyrinth), you tell me - Freeform, Smut, Sarah's age
is left vague, Power Dynamics, Older Man/Younger Woman, Mildly
Dubious Consent, Masturbation
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2021-08-26 Words: 4472

Curious Cat
by crownjrose (rosesnblueberries)

Summary

She stopped saying the words some time ago. Now, she just watches him back. The creature
in her room, her visitor in the night.

Notes

I started this a few weeks ago and just finished it off yesterday. I don't even know honestly
what the heck this is but I hope you enjoy!

See the end of the work for more notes

You caught some small death

When you were sleepwalking

Only Skin, Joanna Newsom

And the legendary curtains are drawn 'round Baby Bankrupt

Who sucks you while you're sleeping

Her head is heavy. Her eyelids, too. What wakes her is the creaking of the floorboards. An eeeeh-
ah under the weight of something, cutting off sharply. She is slow to react, limbs limp around her
and not quite feeling her own body. Her eyes slide open and the room is fuzzy-colored. Grainy and
blurred in the darkness and the sleep she’s still half in. Vaguely, her eyes track over her room, the
curtains that blow in the breeze. The open window.

Did she leave it open before bed?

She shifts to her back, throwing the blanket down round her waist. It’s warm in the room and her
eyes fall shut. Her breathing stays deep. It’s like floating on clouds, the half-asleepness. Aware but
not, alive but not.

When her eyes open again, it takes her a second. By the window there’s a dark figure, barely seen.

There’s a seizing in her chest and she flings herself up to sit, scrambling sideways, reaching for the
lamp.

She clicks it on.

The lamp is weak, a puttering old light bulb that she really ought to change. It hardly lit the room.
It was just enough to see, but not enough to be safe.

She pushes herself as far back against the headboard as she can go, knees protectively bent in front
of her body, hands clutching into the sheets. All as she stares wide-eyed at he who watches back.

It is not the first time.

At first, she thought it was all dreams... Those vague sorts of images and sounds that flashed in the
dark only when the eyes blurrily blinked open, still heavy and paralyzed and wanting to stay shut.
The rustling of feathers, the opened window that was always locked before bed, the scraping of a
boot, the breathing of someone else… All of it, easy to dismiss. Only dreams, she knew. What
more could they be, she told herself.

But, now…. Now she understands. Seeing his face in her room that first night. He’s real, he’s
there. She’s awake.

She licks her lips nervously. There are beads of sweat pooling in her collarbone, her armpits,
dotting her upper lip. She’s burning hot all of the sudden, but she drags her blanket up past her
nose.

The lamp light is so dim that he’s still mostly in darkness. Just sitting there, perched on the sill of
the open window. One leg bent and the other stretched out to the floor. He is tall enough that his
boot touches the ground. He does nothing with his hands except to clasp them over his belly. The
only part of his face she can really see is the gleam of his eyes. They never leave her.

Just like she had every other night like this, she tries her words. “You have no power over me,” she
says, voice wavering.

And just like he had every other night she’d said this, he does not react. Eyes just there, sticking.
She can’t quite make out his expression. She wonders whether he is angry.

Sarah swallows, the sound filling the silence between them. “Are you deaf?” she says, a tremble
tugging at her words. “I said-- I said you have no power over me.”
He ignores her. But she thinks she sees a gleam of teeth. A smile.

She lowers her blanket down to her neck so slowly as if the sight of her face would provoke him to
attack.

“What do you want?” she tries, not for the first time.

He doesn’t answer. But she knows already.

There is something in her that knows, it just knows. That it is her that he wants.

When he will show up, there is no way of knowing. It sets her on edge at night. Her jaw clenches
tight, she checks the window lock two, wait five, no seven times. Each time she checks it, it’s
locked. There was a foolish moment one night where she almost left her bedroom door wide open,
so that maybe her daddy would hear anything strange in the night. But then she thought: what
happens if he does hear something and he comes and he sees this… creature in her room and he
gets mad and he gets hurt and he dies because who knows what the creature would do to him
because the creature wants Sarah Williams, that much she knows.

It makes her dread going to sleep, to wake up to that panic in the night, not knowing what he would
do.

And yet… he never does anything, except sit there. His position changes sometimes. He’ll lean
against the sill, legs crossed at the ankles. Or he’ll sit straight, one leg slung over the other like a
woman. Or he’ll come further in the room and he’ll sit in her desk chair.

She tries her words every time, no matter what. They never work. He never leaves. He always
comes back.

The first time she hears his voice, it’s because she asks something new: “Are you going to hurt
me?” she says, laying on her side, blanket tucked up around her chin. She doesn’t expect him to
respond. Her eyes could barely stay open.

She is almost asleep when he responds. “Do you think I’ll hurt you?”

And she breathes in sharply. The lamp light is out. She is almost used to him now. In the darkness,
she frowns. She wishes she could see his face. “I-- I don’t know,” she whispers, “... I think you
could.”

He hums.

She watches him more curiously after that. She gets a better light bulb. Now, she can see him. The
features that make up his face, his clothes, him. When she blinks it on for the first time, she
realizes it means he can see her better too. And she blushes, feeling his eyes on her skin, over her
nightgown, the teddy bear clutched still in her hand.

One night, even, she dares to get out of her bed. Swinging her legs over the edge, tucking her feet
into her slippers, standing up. She takes one step toward him, his curious eyes following her every
move. She pauses, heart thundering. It is like the approach of an animal, the one that will tear off
your face if you make one wrong move. That is how she feels.
She changes her mind, turning on her heel and skittering off to the bathroom, a rustling of pajama
pants around her. Locking the door behind her, she half-collapses on the sink counter. She looks at
herself, catches her own eye. She stays there long enough that she begins to look alien, a creature
thing. Is this what a human is?

It brings about a flush to her face, to her chest. She notices her breasts, the curve of them in the
thin, pale tank top. She can see her nipples through the shirt, the dark pink splotch of them just
barely. She steps back. She turns this way and that. She admires herself. Her waist, her wrists, her
collarbone. The long, thick braid down her back. Her finger comes up to touch her lips.

She shakes herself out of it and she brushes her teeth for the second time that night for there is a
strange taste in her mouth. Then she goes to pee.

Walking back into her room is frightening. Her steps are inching. She is embarrassed but she is not
really sure why. There’s just this heat building up inside her. She thinks she’s scared of his eyes, of
their knowledge.

But when she creaks open the door, the window is shut, the curtains are still. He is gone.

A shiver in her spine, she curls back up into bed. She finds that a pout has crept onto her lips.

He’s in her dreams and he’s out of them. Everywhere, and yet… nowhere. Just out of reach.

In the dreams, he speaks to her. He whispers in her ear, he tells her things. Though she can never
remember what when she wakes again. But her body always recalls the way he touches her in the
dreams, all over and unending. Kisses and teases and licks and hits.

She wakes up from more and more of them as the time passes. And he is there more and more,
there to see her. To catch her in the shameful act. She is consumed by him in a way that she never
was before, not even when he was her figment come to life. Larger than life and real, real, real for
the first time ever.

She wakes up one night so hot, hotter than ever before. It was a choppy dream, the one that made
her this way. The details are already bleeding from her mind, escaping through the ears and the
nostrils and the mouth. It was the ballroom, empty. Filled up with no one. Just her. She ran,
searching. Where was he, where was he? Then, he was there and so was everyone else. A single
blink and it was all different. She stared up at him and then she was outside of her body, seeing
him and her. An observer of her own body. There was clamoring around them, naked grunting.
Masked creatures twisted and lurched. Dancing? No. There was a smell in the air.

She grew scared, stepping forward into him, clutching at his arm. He smiled down at her. It
comforted. And then they were on the ground. Her dress hiked up. She couldn’t see anything, but
she felt it. She was inside her own body now, and so was he. It was so wet, she reached down to
touch where they joined and it was like a river, flowing all around them. He thrust and he thrust
and the river began to drown her, pooling. It soaked her dress, it went higher than her elbows, it
bathed at her neck. All she could see was him, his eyes, his teeth. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t
breathe.

Her own moan wakes her up. It is loud and drawn out and completely involuntary. There is a
spasming feeling between her legs. Her knees shake and her hips jolt, chasing, chasing, wanting.

The ache is back. And so is he. She lays, dumbstruck, on her back. Knocked out flat, gasping for
breath. She places her hand on her heaving chest, her head turned just enough to see him.

She throws the covers off of her, too hot and still laying, she fumbles under her nightgown. Lifting
her knees up in the air, she grabs the waistband of her panties and she pulls them down her legs.
They are too wet to wear.

She lets them dangle from one finger before throwing them to the floor. And she drops her feet
back to the bed, knees splaying wide at just the right angle that there’s nothing for him to see. The
early morning breeze against her pulsing flesh does nothing to cool her down. It teases her with
touches that she gets from no one else. If she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine that it’s him
blowing air against her, breathing so close, about to…

Her eyes peel open. She sighs.

When she wakes up the next morning, the panties are gone. A peach sits juicily on her nightstand
table.

She’s laying on her bed, over the covers. Hands are at her knees. They frog them down to either
side of her. Her legs make a diamond, heels pointing toward the deep ache at the center of her.
There he is, above her. He’s watching her, eyes all over. He looks between her legs, she feels his
warm palms skate over her naked thighs. Oh, she’s not wearing any clothes? She looks down at
herself. She isn’t. Her breasts fall sideways like her knees. The cool air of the room caresses damp
skin.

She looks back up at him, at his bared teeth of a smile. He leans in and there’s a scrape of cloth
against her belly. His tongue peeks out, it dabs against her lips. He draws a line there. He pulls
back. He looks at her, watches her. He touches her.

Sarah wakes up, gasping panting breaths. Her mind races. She peeks across the room, mortified.

By the window, there he is. Perched lazily against the sill. He watches her.

She stopped saying the words some time ago. There was no use. Now, she just watches him back.
The creature in her room, her visitor in the night.

Her skin is damp with sweat, her whole body is flushed with feeling. She presses her thighs close
together, her hips spasm involuntarily at the feeling.

Her face burns hot but she doesn’t look away. She huddles up closer under her blankets, she curls
onto her side, fully awake, watching. There’s a deep ache within her, it begs to be seen to. Her heart
beats fast in her chest, a thrumming rhythm.

Under the covers, she can’t help herself. The shaking of her fingers doesn’t stop her. It’s an
awkward, sticky slide. Her hand finds its way down the front of her panties. The heat builds and
builds. She is on fire, the sweat of her pressed-together legs and the drip of her desire soak up her
fingers. Her face is overhot, her eyes fixed. It is a furious pace. And she rubs and she rubs and she
trembles, shameless.

Her eyes never leave him. The moonlight colored chest, the curve of the leg, the leather glove tap
tapping away at his knee, the bright shine of his hair. The gleam of his eyes.

They see her, they watch.

The nights she tries to stay awake until he comes are the nights he never does. He knows. She
stops trying to wait for him because it means she won’t see him. He is all-consuming. She is
lacking sleep and reason. And it is all because of him.

Burning hot one night from a dream, she whispers across the room to him, “I’m cold.”

All he does is laugh. This high, chiming noise. It mixes with the wind. Her attempts are silly,
foolish, girlish, and useless. He doesn’t come to warm her up.

“Sarah,” Karen tuts, “Aren’t you getting any sleep? You look like death. You better not be staying
up late reading, young lady!”

Her skin is slick with sweat, her breath coming short. Her head is turned on her pillow even as her
chest heaves. She keeps the lamp light off but she sits up. The ache inside her is so much. It kills.

The moonlight shines on his hair. On her. She gets up from her bed, walks to the closet. With her
back turned to him, she grabs the hem of her shirt and she pulls it up. The cool night air hits her
bare skin. She takes another shirt and puts it on. Her heart thumps throughout, fast and hard and
daring.

When she turns back around he is smirking at her. And she flushes. But still, she wonders, did he
like what he saw?

He has her on her knees. A hand on her shoulder and a hand round the back of her neck. Something
heavy rests on her tongue. She looks up at him, but his face is dark. They are in her room. He is in
her mouth. He thrusts.

She wakes up and her fingers fly to her lips. She slides two of them into her mouth. The pads of
them press against her tongue. She pretends it’s him. She gets them wet and she watches that she
doesn’t scrape them with her teeth. She sucks. She pushes them far enough that it makes her want
to gag.

When she pulls her fingers away, they glint in the moonlight. Saliva and desire and desperation.
She looks to the window; she traces wet fingers over her lips.

“Jareth,” she tries, whispering. Nothing happens. Frustrated, she huffs, “What do you want?”

He tilts his head.

“Please,” she says, desperate. Foolish. “Don’t you want me?”

Her fingers dive down into her shorts. And this time she doesn’t hide beneath the covers. Her eyes
clench shut but her legs fall wide open. She can hear her wetness and she can feel it. She cries out,
“Jareth, Jareth, Jareth…”

He smiles.
.

She is brave one night, crawling out of her bed, crossing the room to him. She is slow, hesitant, for
his eyes remain on her like a predator observing prey. She must not turn her back, she must not
show her teeth, she must not make any sudden movements.

When she is only two feet away, she pauses, wavering. He has not moved an inch. She swallows;
her hand reaches out. A trembling thing.

It is impossible to breathe but she is courageous enough. She closes the distance. Her eyes are wide
in her face as her fingers skate over his. The leather of his glove under her fingertips is cool.

Her eyes find his and it is the closest she’s been to him since he danced with her. Close enough to
smell him, to hear his faint breathing. To see the lines of his face and the pupils of his eyes. Almost
absently, her fingers dance over his hand, down his wrist. They follow the line of his arm, his
shoulder.

When she runs her fingers over her chest, his hand flashes out. He catches her wrist. She jumps, her
lips part. She wets them. She has no idea what he’s thinking. His eyes are so strange. Creature
things.

“What do you wish for?” he says, and his voice makes her toes curl. Makes her mouth drop open.
His hand is an iron cuff round her wrist.

Swallowing again, her voice is dy sounding. “I-I don’t know.”

He looks at her, skin around the eyes crinkling. Lips curving. “You do.”

She stares at him, flush on her chest and her ears and the back of her neck and between her legs.
“N-no--”

He releases her wrist. And she snaps it back to her chest, clutching it tight into the safety of her.

He grins at her. “If you say so.”

She takes a half step back. He scares her. But more than that, he intrigues her.

It is not long before it becomes too much. Waking soaking wet and writhing and panting and
crying. She reaches her breaking point. Her legs trembling from nothing, her heart fluttering from
nothing, her pussy clenching round nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. She wanted something, already.

It is on a night that he isn’t there that she admits to herself what she wishes for.

“Goblin King,” she whispers out, for once alone in her own room. “Goblin King. I wish you would
have me.”

The room is silent the rest of the night, even as she fights her eyes from closing. Tears prick her
eyes as she falls back into her sleep.

The next night she wakes, she is overhot and confused. She gasps, twisting quickly around on her
side but she is stilled. A body is curled up around hers. Hot and burning. Firm hands hold her.
Something hard is pressed against her bottom.

Sarah’s mouth gapes open, she flushes bright red. She squirms.

“Sarah, Sarah, Sarah…” he tuts, mouth right by her ear. She shivers, stilling. “I heard your wish,”
he says. His voice is delighted. She can’t see his grin, but she can feel it. She knows of it.

“Oh?” her voice trembles.

“Oh,” he says, voice exaggeratedly disappointed, “Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it.”

His hand draws patterns on her belly. Her insides jolt. She’s never been this close to a man. To
anyone. It’s unlike anything; he burns against her.

“I- I did mean it.”

He’s playful. “I know you did,” he sings. His fingers piano over her belly once, twice. He presses
his mouth to the side of her neck. Her eyes go wide, her spine goes ram-rod straight.

He laughs against her. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid now.” His hand flattens over her stomach, he
fans his fingers wide. “After you’ve invited me in your bed and everything.”

“N-no-”

His hand trails down, down. Sarah holds her breath. The tips of his fingers brush against the hem
of her pajama shorts. The ache inside her is aware of him. It feels him nearby, just there. It is an
unconscious action, the way her hips shift. Angling just so. She imagines there are no layers
between them.

He exhales sharply in her ear and he laughs. “Not afraid. That’s my Champion.” He sounds
pleased. He rocks his hips back into her. Sarah gasps, her hands clenching uselessly into the sheets.

Two of his fingers pluck at the hem of her shorts. Pulling it away and letting it snap back. She
flinches. Then, without a word, his hand grips the hem of her shorts and yanks them down past her
bottom. Sarah gasps, jerking away, but he stills her. The shorts bind her legs together just above her
knees.

He caresses over the cotton cloth of her hip. Of her bottom. When his hand goes skating over the
hem of the panties, dipping just in between the juts of her hip bones, her belly sucks in, caving,
overwhelmed. It’s only now that she notices his hands are bare. In the moonlight, she sees the
slenderness of his fingers, the largeness of them against her body.

She has no time to react. He drags her panties down past her hips. A shocked squeal escapes her
lips. Her thighs press tight together, protecting, staving away…

His fingers trace over the triangle where her legs meet, not quite touching, but not quite not. Sarah
swallows and her legs lock together as tight as can be. Now there are two less layers between them.

“I’m going to have you now,” he sings. Sarah is flushed all over. Her heart beats faster than ever
before. “Are you going to have me back, Sarah Williams?”

She’s panting, staring wide and blank eyed at the wall opposite. She can’t see him but she can feel
him. All over.
He pianos his fingers once again. On the triangle crease of her legs. She jolts, gasping out a breath.
“Well?” he says, mouth at her neck again. He licks there, a hot, wet stripe on her burning, desiring
skin.

Her back arches. And she cries, “Yes! Yes!”

That high, chiming laugh.

It is a rush as he flips her over, rips her shorts and panties down over her feet, wedges a hand
between her locked legs and drags them apart, and settles himself between them as sure as can be.

When he is still again, Sarah is laid out upon her back, staring up at him, stunned. His weight is as
real as anything and she sees his face for the first time that night, that grin. And he lowers himself
closer so that their noses are almost touching and he rocks against her and she realizes that now
there are no layers between them for his very strange, very bare, very burning hot, very male body
is poised just against her pulsing, aching cunt. Her hands fly up to clutch at his shoulders.

She can’t breathe, her breath gone paralyzed in her chest. Her knees tighten around his hips and is
it to push him away or to drag him closer? She can feel her heartbeat in her throat and her chest
begins to heave as he just stares down upon her. Watching, observing like he always has done.

He leans down far enough. He kisses the tip of her nose. He pulls back; grins with so much teeth.
“You’re mine, now.” he says matter-of-factly, and he reaches between them. He slides so slickly
against her making her shake.

And, and…

Sarah’s back bows with the feeling of it all. As he drives right into her. It hurts, it aches, it burns
and it feels so good. So right. Finally, finally. She gasps out, moaning, crying, scrabbling at his
shoulders to hold on. Her eyes snap shut, she surrenders. He uses her, he has her.

“I have you,” he sings in between wet, open-mouthed kisses placed upon her lips. In between rocks
of the hips and sucks on the tongue. Sarah is present but she is not for all her mind is on is the
feeling between her legs, the shiver of her whole body. “I have you!”

When she wakes up next it is not to her own room. It is somewhere else. Unfamiliar but not. It is
not a dream, that much she knows. She looks around her. At the large ornate bed, the tapestries,
and the stone walls.

She is naked and she is so sore and she is sticky and she is satisfied. But she is scared. And she is
dreading. A hand is tracing patterns over her side and she knows what has happened even before
she turns to see the Goblin King laying beside her.

She flings herself to sit up and his hand falls away from her so casually. He just watches her. Eyes
fixed, curious, knowing. Amused and pleased.

Horrified, she searches for her words, “You- you-” have no power over me! But she can’t find
them. They are gone. Unable to be said.

“What did you do?” she cries, scrambling to kneel. She is nude but she can’t find it in herself to
care. “What have you done?”

“What do you mean, what have I done?” he says, smiling. “You know exactly what I’ve done.”
 Sarah stares, wide-eyed. She falls back onto her bottom. She sees between her legs. The sticky
mess and sore blushing flesh.

Her stomach rolls. Her voice is distant to her own ears. “You have me…”

He is delighted. He rolls over to her, grabs her by the knees. He kisses her there, just on the knobby
cap of it. “I have you,” he hums, he gloats, “And you gave yourself so freely to me. It took such
little effort.”

He pushes her onto her back, he kisses up the inside of her thigh. “I should thank you Sarah
Williams.” He smiles up at her, too much teeth. “For meaning it.”

He frogs out her legs and this time it is not a dream, this much she knows. But her belly jolts all the
same and that ache comes back and that shiver courses through her.

He has her.

End Notes

As they say... curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction brought it back. Hehe. Though I
really don't know if I like that title. We shall seeee.

Also, please let me know if I missed any tags. I was a little unsure over this one.

Thank you so much for reading! I'd absolutely love to hear what you thought if you've got
the time <3

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!