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

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

I feel there should be some warning here that things will be escalated a bit from last chapter. I will reiterate that nothing bad is going to happen to anyone and both characters will be happy all the way through. I have been careful to avoid being too graphic, but there should be no doubt about what is going on. Feel free to skip this chapter if you're at all timid.

Color, Magic Color

Chapter 5

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

They sprawled across the bed, loosely spooned, with her leg draped over his hip, and her face nuzzled into the back of his neck. Cuddled in the warmth of each other's bodies, they both drowsed in the afternoon sun that fell across the rumpled, smudged and colorful sheets.

They were dressed in nothing but smears of color. Pink lipstick coated their mouths and throats, and traced through their hair. Pink kiss prints randomly adorned the lengths of both their bodies from head to toe. She had blue and green eye shadow covering most of her chest, throat and stomach, the sides of her face, and her eyelids, save where his kisses had blurred and removed the blue and green colors, replacing them with pink. Smears of blue and green were on his mouth, one side of his face and in his hair. Glittering blue nail polish covered his fingernails and toenails. Red nail polish adorned her nails. Orange cheese puff powder was everywhere; on the sheets, on their bodies and in their hair, while a generous helping of golden glitter was sprinkled over everything. A clearly defined set of his boot prints marked the sheets.

She rolled onto her back. Putting her arms over her head and pointing her toes, she stretched out, pulling every muscle tight and then relaxing with a satisfied groan. She flung her arm out to the side and hit something that crackled and crunched.

She lifted her head to see the cheese puff bag, still containing quite a few cheese puffs. She grabbed it and made to toss it off the bed. Sadly, the bag was open and her efforts only managed to launch the remaining cheese puffs and orange cheesy powder from the bag and scatter the orange debris over both of them.

"Oh, nuts!" she snapped, wiping ineffectively at the mess.

"Gah! What did you do?" he said, rousing up to find cheesy powder and random puffs scattered over him. "Why do you have cheese puffs in the bed, anyway?" he griped. "This is revolting."

"Didn't hear you complaining earlier," she said, "besides, a little cheese puff powder isn't going to hurt you."

"Bollocks," he grumbled.

"Yeah, I think it's time these sheets were changed," she said, "and you look like a crayon box exploded on you. You could use a bath."

"I think we could both use a good scrub, my grubby little Queen," he remarked, his good humor suddenly restored. He arose from the bed, tossed the entangling sheet onto the floor, and struck a pose for her. He was clad in nothing more than his own colorfully daubed skin and an attitude of smug satisfaction.

She gave him a narrow glare and then scrambled out of the bed and made a grab for him. He shuffled backward, eluding her grasp. His retreat ended when he backed into the wall next to the bathroom door. She opened the door and grabbed his slender waist to turn him around.

He was grinning from ear to ear as she pushed him into the bathroom, her hands seeming to be all over him, her breath warm on his neck, her body warm against him. Her touch glided down his back to gather double handfuls of his sleek behind.

"Haven't you had enough?" he said with mock indignation. "I'm fairly worn out from your assaults upon my person."

"Just get the sheets changed, Your Royal Hiney," she said and after an extra squeeze, let go of him. She was carefully hiding her desire and excitement, full of a secret plan waiting to unfold.

While he summoned a crystal and sent it off to the maid with instructions for sheet changing, she wandered around the corner to the necessary. She quickly did her business and flushed. When she came back around the corner, she found him leaning against the wall and humming, waiting his turn.

She pulled a washcloth from a brass wire shelf loaded with cloths and towels, and began to peruse the assortment of soap cakes artfully arranged in a basket. She looked up to find he was already back. She wondered, for the umpteenth time, why he was so much faster, and concluded it must have something to do with standing instead of sitting. She selected a nice soap cake and turned to the shower room.

The bath was a sizable room with surprisingly modern conveniences, gleaming white porcelain fixtures with copper and brass fittings, steamy warm water, even completely separate, conservation-minded drain lines for the fixtures. While the necessary, for instance, drained into the Bog, the shower drain irrigated the castle flower gardens. A nice long shower wasn't decadent, it was a nice way of watering the roses, or so Sarah told herself those times she lounged about under the water until her fingers wrinkled. The shower was a room in and of itself, approximately six feet by six feet, with four polished white quartz walls, accessed through an arched opening. Gleaming brass handles controlled the water that fell from a slotted panel in the middle of the shower room. A small nozzle next to the handles allowed a user to select the perfect temperature before turning on the overhead shower. Beneath the brass fixtures, a quartz stone bench lined the wall and soft lighting gleamed from frosted panels in all four walls.

She walked into the shower room carrying her washcloth and happily sniffing a lovely sandalwood soap cake. He followed her, holding a bottle of pricey shampoo acquired on a trip Above. She made a sound of annoyance when she suddenly dropped her washcloth and the soap onto the floor.

"Oh, fiddle," she muttered.

He sat the pricey shampoo bottle on the stone bench, and gallantly saying "Allow me," he reached for the dropped soap.

In that moment while he was reaching for the slippery quarry, while her heart was hammering with excitement and anticipation, she took her right index finger, the finger with the short, ground-down, smooth, sparkling red fingernail and wantonly touched herself in an indiscreet place, a place hot and wet with thrilled excitement. She grasped his shoulder with her left hand and then took her wetly anointed finger coated with desire and touched him, in a new place, a place most unexpected, and gently pushed.

He jolted forward in surprise and nearly smacked his skull into the stone wall of the shower. If she hadn't placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, he might have done himself an injury. They both froze in place. He was still bent over. She still held his shoulder with her left hand, and her right hand was in a far more intimate place.

"I promise I'll be careful, but I won't do this if you don't want it," she said quietly.

He was speechless and seemed completely dumbfounded by this unexpected turn of events.

"You have to say the right words, Jareth. No, if you want me to stop. Yes, if you want me to continue," she said. She hesitated a moment and then bent over him and whispered into his ear, "I'll do whatever you want."

He turned his head and looked at her with stunned blue eyes. He was bewildered as to what she might intend and how far she might take this enticing, frightening, tempting, scary act. He was beyond excited by the sudden prospect of this new game, but also a little skittish. Her enthusiasm still occasionally exceeded her expertise and he most sincerely did not want to be bruised there.

However, he was a clever and observant sort, and although he had refrained from mentioning it, the one particularly short and smooth, red fingernail on her hand had not escaped his attention. He was beginning to grasp that she had been planning this. She had been thinking of him and making plans; plans to do something sexy to him. A delightful feeling of being CARED FOR tingled through him.

She could still surprise him when she did things just for him, just because, without requiring anything from him in bargain. He was getting used to the idea, but she could still surprise him, and he felt, in that moment, that she had hung the moon and moved the stars just for him. He had been King of the Unwanted and the Wished Away for so long, but now he was wanted. She wanted him. She stood in the center of his universe. He would kill for her. He would die for her.

And at this moment, he really, really hoped she would be careful.

His libido shored up his courage and they both toddled off to kick his brain back into gear. Finally in a soft, nearly inaudible voice, he said "yes."

She kissed him on his shoulder and softly instructed him to place his hands on the wall in front of him and spread his feet apart a bit. He held her glance and complied.

"Have you been reading your scandalous books again, Sarah?" he asked in an unsteady voice.

"Nah," she said. "I just look at the pictures."

He gasped out a short laugh and then hung his head when she ran her left hand down his back and underneath to his stomach.

"Relax, Jareth," she soothed. She leaned over him and kissed his nape and then began to rub his stomach slowly and smoothly. She continued to kiss and snuggle against him, whispering things into his ear, telling secrets, and making promises. She held her right hand perfectly still until she could feel his muscles begin to loosen.

"That's better," she said. "I want to make you feel good." Her words breathed hot against his skin and he quivered. "I want to make you happy," she whispered.

She began to gently, slowly press into him with her smooth, wetly slick, carefully prepared index finger while rubbing his sleek tummy with her left hand. She rubbed her cheek against the bunching muscles on his smooth shoulders. He was warm and he smelled good and when she touched his skin with her tongue, she could taste the tang of his sweat. His shaggy, yellow mop of unkempt hair was damp with perspiration and clinging to his back. She regarded his slender physique with possessive satisfaction. He really was magnificent to look at and lovely to touch. She slid her left hand lower and when she grasped him, she found that he was extremely excited by her game. She began to caress and stroke. As the moments passed, he began to rock back and forth with the slow motion of her left hand.

"Do you like this?" she asked, turning her right hand a tiny bit. "I'm not hurting, am I?" she said, pushing forward a tiny bit more. As her welcome invasion gradually advanced, and sometimes retreated, as she gently bent and oh, so carefully, twirled her finger, she alternated between kissing him and purring sweet lovelies to him. "Do you want more?" She kissed and nuzzled, "Does this feel good?" She murmured soft, enticing whispers while she licked the hot flesh covering his spine.

His half-incoherent, moaning answers attempted to assure her that she wasn't hurting him and that he was, in fact, enjoying her attentions very much.

Judging from his impressive response, her left hand had a pretty good idea of what her right hand was doing. He was breathing heavily, his teeth biting his lower lip, eyes closed, with a soft moan rumbling in his throat. She gently continued pushing until she could go no farther. While he shivered and panted, she carefully turned her right palm downward and then gently, but firmly flexed her finger. His reaction was immediate and shocking. She was thoroughly pleased when he bucked and thrust but was completely astounded when he actually screamed in release.

She held his trembling body while he regained his breath. Her careful withdrawal elicited a soft breathy sigh from him. She was nearly bursting with suppressed glee and her own heated desire. She licked her lips with satisfaction and a great deal of personal pride. From his delicious and startling response, there could be no doubt that she had just rocked his glittery world.

Let's hear it for the Queen and her scandalous books, she thought.

She gently pulled him upright and kissed his soft lips, smiling into his sparkling, tear-blurred eyes. He stood docilely, wearing a foolish smile as she turned on the copper tap and adjusted the temperature. When she was satisfied with the steamy warmth, she turned a brass fitting and water sluiced from a slotted panel in the low shower ceiling. As the water softly rained down over their heads, she knelt and snagged the errant soap cake from the floor along with the washcloth she had deliberately dropped. She draped the washcloth over her shoulder, gazing into his eyes with a cheeky grin, as she carefully soaped and washed her right hand, flexing and turning her smoothly short-nailed index finger, holding it up for his inspection and making wicked little circles in the air. He leaned against the wall and let the warm water roll down his weary flesh as he regarded her with doe-eyed worship. She pulled the washcloth from her shoulder, worked up a soapy lather with it and then slowly and lovingly soaped him up, supplying tender kisses all the while.

She brushed his wet hair out of his eyes. "Did I please you?" she breathed into his ear.

"Yes," he said simply, too awash in feeling to elaborate. He quietly submitted to her attentions with the sudsy washcloth, bemused by events. He believed that she had certainly done her homework this time.

He had endless fun teasing her about her reading material, but he was aware that she was seeking more than mere titillation. He knew that she was researching, looking for ways to please him. He was humbly and gratefully awed by that fact. His teasing was an attempt to deflect his own emotions concerning the matter. He feared that if he were ever to be completely honest with her about the tenderness of his feelings for her and the depth of his gratitude for her considerations, he would likely find himself lying in a puddle of his own tears, kissing her feet.

That hardly seemed dignified.

He bestirred himself to take a few steps and reached out of the shower to pull a fluffy washcloth from the adjacent shelf packed with towels, cloths, and a myriad of scented soaps. He moved back under the warm rain, took the lumpy soap cake from her hands and lathered up his cloth. He began to gently wash the green and blue eye shadow from her face and throat, pausing now and then to kiss or nuzzle her.

She clasped her hands together behind his neck and began to sway from side to side in a slow, slow dance, humming softly. He started to hum and moved along with her, his smooth baritone harmonizing an octave lower. He gently washed the pink from her face and the blue and green from her torso, taking great care and enjoyment in doing so. He was very thorough, carefully making sure the color was completely removed from her breasts, and then making sure again. She stopped her humming as her breathing became a bit unsteady.

He, on the other hand, began to sing softly to her; a familiar song, a song he had made just for her, a soft song filled with gentle, tender, loving words, a song he only ever sang for her. He moved his washcloth considerably lower and concentrated his efforts in a smaller area. He rubbed the cloth on her with his palm, while his fingers… slipped in.

She breathed in sharply and bit her lower lip. He put his arm around her waist to hold her up and, still singing, began to work on her in earnest. She was still rather excited from her triumphant success of a few minutes before, and his touch felt like the sweet reward for her efforts. His fingers teased while his voice vibrated through her, setting her nerve endings to humming like tightly strung wires. The fire quickly flared up and burned through her in moments. He was a bit surprised at how quickly it was all over. He paused for a moment in his singing to kiss her sweet face as she panted on his shoulder. He sang the last verse softly into her ear, holding her up and swaying gently from side to side.

When she had caught her breath, and he had finished his song, he reapplied soap and rinsed, casually this time, with no other intent than cleanliness. She stood quietly, eyes closed, with her head tilted back, letting the water run over her face and down her back, rinsing the soap bubbles away.

She opened her eyes and reached for the pricey shampoo and popped the lid open. It smelled of strawberries. She poured a generous amount into her palm and then offered the bottle to him. He simply held his palm up and she poured an equal amount into his hand and recapped and placed the bottle back on the bench.

He began to swirl the shampoo into her silky brown hair, gently massaging her scalp and the back of her neck. He bent his head down so she could do the same for him. She worked the shampoo into his wet hair and gently scratched with her nails over his head. He uttered a long, low groan of pleasure and ran his hands down over her slender shoulders as the warm, warm water rinsed the shampoo from their hair.

"You like that?" she teased.

"You seriously have to ask?" he said with an amused chuckle.

"I think I've got all the orange stuff out of your hair," she said.

"That's a relief," he said. "I don't think it's my color."

"I love you," she said.

"I love you more," he replied.

"I love you most," she answered.

"Always have to win, don't you?" he sighed.

He wrapped his arms around her and she snuggled into him, placing her head on his shoulder. He leaned his cheek against her head and sighed contentedly as warmth rained down over them. They stood in companionable silence as the water rinsed the tinted, sudsy remnants of their play from their bodies.

"You know," he said. "I'm getting rather hungry."

"We've had nothing but cheese puffs," she murmured. "I'm a little hungry, myself."

"I'd like to cover you with chicken salad and lick it off," he mused.

She snorted with laughter. "That's not as sexy as you think it is."

"Of course it is," he said. "Because we'll have to take another shower."

"Did you like your shower today?" she asked.

He growled and hugged her tight. She wore a serenely triumphant smile as she snuggled into his embrace. The last of the glitter rinsed out of their hair and down their backs with the warm water.

Pastel hues swirled and shimmered on the soap bubbles as the warm water gurgled around their feet. The pigments sluiced down the drain, through the pipes and out into the irrigation ditches of the castle flower garden wildly blooming with color, magic color.

The End

Jareth&Loves&Sarah&Loves&Jareth&Loves&Sarah&Loves&Jareth&Loves&Sarah

This was a writing exercise. My intent was to depict a loving, consensual, humorous, established relationship between two adult characters; a relationship with affection, a little silliness and some different and interesting quirks (heh). I have attempted to describe the activities herein in a manner that leaves no question about what is going on, but is not vulgar or particularly graphic. I am more interested in what is going on in the emotional landscape, rather than the physical, and have tried to describe this without being overly sweet. My goal was to establish tone and mood, adhere to a theme, work with characterization and maintain continuity across five chapters.

This concludes my writing exercise. If you believe that I have (or have not) accomplished my objectives in writing this story, please let me know. All constructive criticism is appreciated.

Reviews are as lovely as the castle flower garden in full bloom.