Sarah didn't know what was worse about New Year's Eve: staying home alone and feeling like a loser with no friends, or going to a party and feeling like a loser with no boyfriend.

Currently, she was in favor of the latter. Because, honestly, Sarah was not a party person, and dragging herself to Ella's New Year's bash out of dread of the former friendless feeling now appeared to be a very bad decision.

Sarah seemed to recall having this same dilemma last year. And falling for the same reasoning. In fact, this sort of logic seemed to have plagued her ever since her friends started throwing New Year's shindigs. How pathetic.

Sarah decided to make a New Year's resolution to not be persuaded to attend a New Year's party next year.

To escape a gossiping circle of newly-made acquaintances, Sarah had excused herself to the balcony of Ella's high-end, high-fashioned apartment, claiming to be in dire need of "fresh air." Presently, she was leaning on the edge of the balcony, alcohol in hand, breath coming in little clouds, staring first at the sky, and then at the ground. She contemplated of what would happen if she jumped, or fell. Not that she planned to; her life was perfectly fine, save for the lack of a boyfriend to kiss tonight at midnight. No, her life was peachy, but that did not prevent her from thinking of what would happen if she fell of the balcony. Would anyone see, or react? Certainly, her friends would miss her when she was reported dead. But would anyone here, now, at this party even notice if she went plunging towards her demise? Sarah doubted it.

Continuing her contemplating, Sarah wondered what it would be like to free fall like that. After she got over her panic and the fear of the pain when she hit the ground, she would probably be halfway down, and could spend the second half just enjoying the feeling of falling. Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, imagining what it would be like.

A drunken laugh to her left broke her train of thought, and Sarah moved farther away from the blonde bimbo obnoxiously plastering herself to her male counterpart. A string of insults flew through Sarah's mind, a few even said out loud under her breath. But thankfully it wasn't long until the man led his wanton and wasted date inside.

The balcony relatively peaceful once again, Sarah turned her gaze to the night sky, imagining stars where the city lights faded them out. She watched the moon, tracing the craters and imagining little men walking the surface, leaving footprints never to be erased by wind or rain.

She did not hear the door to the balcony open, but she did feel a presence behind her, before her peripheral vision caught a person standing next to her. Her eyes flitted over a moment to see who it was, only to double back again at the windswept blonde hair, mismatched eyes, and deliciously sinister smirk, all facing her direction.

Lovely.

Sarah raised her chin in defiance. "What do you want, Goblin King?"

He tilted his head. "I want a good many things, Sarah, but that is not why I am here."

Her chin lifted a bit more. "Then why–?"

"I am here to grant a wish."

Sarah eyed him suspiciously. "Oh? For whom?"

"You."

"Me?" Sarah wracked her brain and came up empty. Maybe the blonde floozy who had disrupted her solitude? Well if it was, Sarah wasn't going to run for her, the tart. "But I didn't wish anyone away."

"I grant more than just wished-away children, you know."

"Then what–"

"What did you wish for? Do you not recall?" He flashed her a feral open-mouthed smile, then moved until his arms were on either side of her, trapping her and bending her back against the edge of the balcony. "Precious thing," he purred, "you wished for someone to kiss at midnight. And here I am."

Sarah was finding it hard to breathe. "No I didn't. You must be mistaken."

"I am never mistaken," he said, his breath fanning over her face. Oh goodness, he smelled good. Distantly, her brain registered the beginning countdown.

Ten. His entire body was now pressed against hers. Sarah gulped.

Nine. His face leaned in closer and closer to hers. Sarah couldn't breathe.

Eight. She looked into his eyes, and saw them glowing with mirth and desire.

Seven. His eyes dropped to her lips as they parted breathlessly.

Six. She closed her eyes as he moved towards her neck.

Five. His breath left goosebumps along her skin.

Four. His lips skated over her jawline, barely touching.

Three. He was at her mouth now, barely touching the corner.

Two. "Sarah." His breath was ragged.

One. Cheers erupted from inside as he pressed his lips to hers. Sparks of electricity (or was it magic?) began at where their lips met and spread throughout her body. The heat radiating from him felt delicious as her body pressed back against his. Only one thought could form in her brain: More.

And then he pulled away, and she was left wanting. Desperately. She was panting, and only had time to briefly realize (and enjoy) that he was breathing heavy, too, before she grabbed the collar of his leather jacket and pulled him back. This time, their mouths moved, and so did their hands. Hers curled in his hair as his ran along her back. He lifted her shirt a little to place his hands on her bare skin, and the combination of the hot leather and cold night air made her gasp. Taking advantage, he pressed his tongue to hers, and she gave a sort of half-moan into his mouth, causing him to growl and kiss her all the more passionately.

Sarah was nearly about to faint when he finally pulled away. His right hand cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. She leaned into his hand, eventually opening her eyes to watch him. "Precious thing," he whispered. Then his eyes glowed mischievously, and he bent to murmur in her ear.

And then he was gone, the only trace of his appearance being the large amount of glitter covering her hair and clothes. Some of it blew away in the breeze, swirling through the air in sparkling spirals. Sarah raised a hand to her lips, a dazed look on her face. His last words seemed to echo in her brain, and she graced them with a brief, secretive smile.

"'Til Valentine's Day."

A/N: Welp, this is my first Labyrinth fic, and I don't like it very much. Just a quick one-shot, not very well thought out. I think I should just stick with reading these.

And, question: does anyone else feel like this about New Year's? Cause I sure as heck do. The first eight sentences of this story sum up my situation. In fact, that's the whole reason why I even wrote this story, because last night I wished for some devilishly attractive fae to kiss me at midnight, and it didn't work. So, pent-up frustration and all that.

Labyrinth belongs to Henson, et al.

Happy MMXI!