This is a Labyrinth fanfic. All characters belong to Henson, et al.

THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR MATURE READERS DUE TO LEMONY GOODNESS.

Author's Note and General Warning:There isn't much plot happening here; just a fun and lazy day off. Nothing bad is going to happen to anyone. Everything depicted is (very) consensual and friendly between two grownup characters. This will be quite tame to start with and then slowly get more involved. This content is not intended to be graphic, but it will be fairly clear about what is going on. I am more interested in depicting the emotional landscape and character interaction.

This is a writing exercise.I am trying to establish tone and mood, adhere to a theme, work with characterization and maintain continuity across five chapters. Your reward for reading this writing exercise is a healthy dollop of smoochin', foolin' around,' and gettin' it on.

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Color, Magic Color

Chapter 1

Lipstick and Nail Polish

Eyes gleamed in the darkness behind her.

She sat cross-legged and unaware on the rumpled, white, unmade bed, quietly filing her freshly cleaned nails. She was comfortably lounging in a soft white cotton tank top and grey drawstring pajama bottoms, barefoot, relaxed and smelling of strawberries from the scented shampoo of her still damp, dark, silky hair. A litter of makeup and pillows surrounded her. A bag intended to hold the cosmetics lay open, spilling tubes and bottles of color and glitter on the bed. She paused and closely inspected her right index finger. The nail was nearly down to the quick. She wrinkled her nose and narrowed her emerald eyes at the offending fingernail. It would have to do. Her other nails were an attractive length and perfectly coated with a glittering deep red polish. This nail would just have to be really short for a while, she supposed. She was determined that it would be perfectly smooth, though, and she busily ground down a nearly imperceptible roughness from the tip of the nail.

Behind her, a dark shape silently stalked closer in the velvet shadows. The moving darkness resolved itself into a slender, draped figure with strange blue eyes peering through a soft golden drift of feathery hair. The figure silently removed a dark cape, allowing it to fall soundlessly to the floor. Slender, long-fingered, artist's hands gloved in buttery-soft leather rolled up the sleeves of a loose, white shirt as if preparing for a task; or perhaps a battle. He stepped behind her, his boots never making a sound on the stone floor. Thighs clad in clinging grey breeches tensed as he gathered himself to pounce.

When he abruptly laid hands on her, she dropped the nail file and gasped in air, making ready to shriek in surprise, but his mouth immediately covered hers before she could make a sound. He had leapt onto the bed and was crouching over her, with his hands clasping her face, kissing the breath right out of her. He pushed her onto her back and rocked forward onto his knees, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her head. His mouth never left hers. He nibbled her lower lip, slid his tongue across her upper lip and then into her mouth. He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest, as she captured and conquered his tongue with her own.

He jumped when she slapped his behind. He raised his head and grinned into her smiling face.

"Shouldn't you be in the throne room by now?" she said.

"There isn't anything there that requires my attention at the moment," he replied as he rolled off his knees and sat down on the bed.

She sat up and had started to look for her nail file when she saw the boot prints. Her eyebrows went up and green eyes sparked with annoyance.

"Jareth!"

He startled, looking confused.

"No boots on the bed! You've got dirty boot prints all over the sheets. Again!" Her hands were on her hips and she glared at him in exasperation. "Get the boots off the bed."

He crossed his arms and glared right back at her. "So what?" he testily replied. "There are plenty of sheets. I don't care much for your tone either. I think I ought to be receiving a little more respect around here because…"

She held up a bottle of dark blue iridescent nail polish. His favorite. "I'll do your nails," she coaxed.

Boots and sheets became completely irrelevant as he fixed on the shimmering polish. Oh, yeah, he was all about the nail polish. Without another word, he began pulling boots and socks off.

She smiled to herself. Her high maintenance darling loved nail polish. She presumed that the whimsical trait had something to do with his somewhat inhuman, shape-shifting barn owl nature, but she was happy to indulge him. She loved to pet and cosset him just as much as she loved to tease and squabble with him.

Even if she had bothered to ask Jareth, he probably would not have given her a straight answer as to why he liked the nail polish so much. In truth, it really didn't have that much to do with the actual nail polish. He did, of course, like the glittery stuff, and it was quite a turn on for him to watch his dark blue sparkling fingernails drifting across her milky skin, slipping in and out of secret places. He liked to have his toenails polished as well, even though he seldom went about barefoot. The real reason that he liked nail polish so much, was that he craved the attention he received when she applied the polish. He particularly enjoyed having her intently focusing on any part of him, but he also liked the entire process, the preparation of cleaning and drying the nails, the filing and buffing, the actual application, being waited on while the polish dried, and in addition to all that, he really, really liked having his feet caressed. He feigned ineptitude at all times regarding nail polish and thus far, had never applied any himself and likely never would. She always did his nails, and always without any magical assistance.

He had told her early on that he preferred to do everything "by hand" in the bedchamber, oh tingling happy thought, and she fully agreed, having experienced the advantages of doing so. He was adamant about this and never did one of his abracadabra wardrobe changes there, preferring to manipulate buttons and ties by hand, and he would walk out the door before performing any magical transport. He would summon crystals in the dressing room, the bath room, on the balcony and even in the clothes closet, but never in the bed chamber. When the boot printed sheets were finally changed, it would be done by the little goblin linen maid without the use of magic. In all of his magical kingdom, this was the one place where spells were not cast. Only the normal and quite wonderful magic of lovers took place here.

"Magic is built on illusion and glamour." he had said to her on their first night together, "In this room, things will be real."

She remembered his words as she watched him mutter curses and struggle with the extremely snug leather boots that had likely been magically donned in the dressing room.

While he divested himself of his footwear, she grabbed a tube of hot pink color and began to liberally apply it to her lips. She had the wicked thought that he could use a little extra color in addition to the nail polish. She put the lipstick down and cheerfully ogled him as if he were a particularly delectable confection.

Happily oblivious, he tossed boots and socks onto the floor behind him and removed his gloves, folding the supple leather and placing the gloves carefully out of harm's way. He turned to her with an innocent smile and pleasant thoughts of sweet, sweet attention. His eyes widened as he saw her intent and he braced himself for impact.

This time he ended up on his back with her leaning over him. She kissed him firmly on the mouth leaving a pink smudge on his lips and then moved her attentions to his neck. He attempted to put his arms around her but she told hold of his wrists and pinned them on either side of his head. He laughed softly as she nibbled a hot pink path up his throat and then he yelped and bit his lip when she gently fastened her teeth on his earlobe, smearing color on his ear. She continued to manipulate his lobe with her tongue as she stretched her body against his, sliding her thigh into position between his legs and let her weight bear upon him. He hissed air through his teeth when she gently but deliberately rolled her hips and pushed her warmth against him. When she released his wrists, his hands remained where she had placed them as if he were helpless to move them. She drew back, pulled his shirt apart and paused to take in his beautiful face. He was looking at her as if she held his life in her hands.

"Say my name," he pleaded.

"Jareth," she said softly. "Jaaaaarrrrreth," she stretched the word into a soft and low invitation, spoken with gentle humor and not-so-gentle lust. Her eyes met his, her hair falling lightly onto his chest. "My Jareth." Her voice trailed off into a murmur as he closed his eyes and rolled his head to the side as if he could not bear the delight of his name on her lips. "Mine," she whispered. At that moment, she felt giddy with the power she held over him and at the same time, was taken with a desire to soothe and protect him against that power.

She took hold of his chin and tilted his head back toward her.

"Look at me," she said.

He obediently watched as she lifted the hem of her tank top up to her throat, exposing her fair skin to him. A tiny smile curled on his lips. Laying down full length on him, she met flesh with flesh and wriggled just enough to extract a small murmur from him. Taking her sweet time about it, she began to place small, delicate pink kisses all over his face, his brow, his cheeks, his eyelids, his temples, his jawline, his mouth… When she reclaimed his mouth, she thrust her tongue between his lips and bore down on him with a growl deep in her throat, pushing his head roughly into the mattress, then she backed off and became gentle again. With the lightest of touches, she tenderly slicked and tickled every part of the inside of his mouth with her tongue while she pressed and moved against him with her entire body. Her kiss was long and thorough and the full body caress to which she was subjecting him became more emphatic and rhythmic. She became aware that he was making an almost imperceptible soft humming whimper every time he breathed out.

She lifted her head and gazed at her beloved's face. He was flushed and panting and his strange blue eyes were glazed with pleasure. Smears of pink mixed with light beads of sweat. She could feel his need hard against her abdomen. She sat up, tugged the hem of her tank top into a more modest arrangement, crossed her legs and reached for the hand mirror.

He sat up, looking dazed and disheveled and feeling a frustrated discomfort in his nether regions. With great satisfaction, she held up the mirror so he could see her handiwork. He looked upon the hot pink mess that was himself and snorted in amusement. His face, throat and chest were smudged and printed with pink. There were even traces of pink in his hair.

He made to reach for her but she leaned away and shook her finger at him.

"Ah, ah, ah," she said, "I have to do your nails, first."

"Sarah, you are remarkably and unsurprisingly cruel," he sighed, and leaning back into the pillows, he placed a foot on her lap.

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Boots on the bed. Every Laby fanfic writer knows that Jareth NEVER takes his boots off the bed unless Sarah gripes at him first.

Reviews are as welcome as smudgy pink kisses.