This came tumbling out and I couldn't stop it. It's shaping up to be very fluffy, quite silly, and hopefully, light-hearted fun. I'm not sure how many chapters there'll be or how often I will be able to update. For what it's worth, here it is.

I do not own Labyrinth or anything therein. I suppose I own the new characters I've created, but none of them will be anywhere near as glorious as David Bowie's Jareth or Jennifer Connelly's Sarah or any of the Jim Henson and Co creature creations.

Please do leave a review and let me know what you think, thank you.

The Great Goblin Revolt

Chapter 1

The goblins are revolting...

Sarah Williams leaned back against the door, her eyes wide with shock and her mouth hanging open. The persistent knocking continued on the other side as she wilfully attempted to ignore it.

"No," she muttered to herself shaking her head in denial, "The Goblin King did not just show up on my doorstep talking nonsense about goblin revolutions and demanding asylum after thirteen years without so much as an owl hoot."

"Open the door and invite me in or I shall be forced to take up residence in the hallway," he threatened letting her know he most definitely was there and he planned on staying.

Sarah risked a glimpse through the keyhole only to see him wink at her as if he was watching her every movement. She turned away huffing and stamping her foot in vexation.

The Goblin King's voice was low and seductive as he pressed himself up against the door. "As you may recall, I have no power over you. If you would be so kind as to let me in, I promise I shall be on my very best behaviour," he purred.

Whatever would the neighbours make of him? Sarah fretted. It was a good thing Mrs Abbott from across the hall appeared to be out for the evening. There was no plausible way she could explain the presence of a being whose hair, makeup, and outfit were so outlandish. Maybe it would have been acceptable in the eighties — no one would have batted an eyelid when the New Romantic look was all the rage. But it was the late nineties. Ruffled poet's shirts, leather waistcoats, sinfully tight pants, knee-high suede boots, and crazy fright-wig hair with lip gloss were not typical daywear in the Upper West Side.

"Go away," Sarah shrieked worried that if he didn't she might succumb to temptation.

It was probably her own fault for wondering if her day could possibly get any worse, she mused. Her morning began later than it should have when her alarm clock failed to go off. By the time she arrived at her office — soaking wet from getting caught in the rain and without an umbrella — the pile of manuscripts on her desk demanding attention appeared to be twice as high as it was when she'd left the night before. To top it all, she was stuck editing the worst romance novel she'd ever read. It wasn't as if being a copy editor was her childhood dream, but she had to pay the bills somehow.

The knocking recommenced and the Goblin King seemed now to be purposely pounding out some kind of rhythm. It didn't look like he planned on leaving anytime soon, and Mrs Abbott could return home at any second.

Sinking to the floor, Sarah groaned and put her head in her hands. Why couldn't he just go away? Things with her boyfriend were already on rocky ground — mountainous, even. It was terrible timing for an old teenage crush to show up uninvited. And most disconcerting of all, he hadn't aged a day and looked twice as gorgeous as she remembered. Her old fantasies of him came flooding back and her cheeks took on a crimson bloom at the thought of how he had been single-handedly responsible for her sexual awakening. Whenever she pictured him gazing seductively at her in the labyrinth tunnels, it always tipped her over the edge and got her bell ringing. Even now, it turned her on to think about it.

Sarah hated herself for what she was about to do. She knew it was a very bad idea but she couldn't seem to help herself. Alongside her lustful thoughts, there was a tiny needle of guilt pricking at her conscience. Not that she had anything to feel guilty about — yet. If the goblins were revolting and their king was forced to flee his castle, well, it was probably his own fault for being a useless ruler. But then, hadn't she been secretly wishing for a little magic and excitement in her life? Not that she'd wished it out loud. That had been one lesson she did learn all those years ago.

"OK, you can come in for five minutes — an hour, tops. But you're not staying," Sarah announced in a rush as she flung the door open.

She loved her snug, rent-controlled, one-bedroom apartment, and didn't need the landlord getting antsy over rowdy, uninvited visitors.

The Goblin King brushed past her wearing his most charming smile. Before Sarah could set any ground rules, he draped himself over her practical-but-stylish brown leather couch, apparently intending to take a nap.

"Hey," she protested eyeing him warily, "Don't I get an explanation?" There was no need to fear him now, she assured herself. As he said, he had no power over her and she had no babies for him to spirit away this time. "I'm not running a shelter for down-and-outs here," she added for extra sass.

"The goblins have been in open revolt since you solved my labyrinth," the Goblin King wearily informed her, "And I'm quite exhausted with the whole affair."

Sarah frowned with confusion. "They've been revolting for thirteen years?" she questioned wondering how he'd managed to withstand it for so long.

"The goblins have always been revolting, in one way or the other," he grimaced with distaste at the mention of his errant subjects. Then, his strange blue eyes flew open and he regarded her with a long lingering gaze. "Thirteen years, you say?"

Sarah nodded, nonplussed.

Although it was by design and not error that the Goblin King had chosen to approach her again as an adult, he had been aiming for ten years. In some ways, he surmised, thirteen was even better.

"Time is a curious thing in my world," he explained. "It can be every time at once or no time at all. A day passed there could be a hundred years here. In this case, it has been thirteen years for you and only three days for me."

The girl who ate the peach and didn't quite forget everything was all grown up. And how deliciously she'd matured, he observed with obvious appreciation. In a mint green blouse, open at the neck, and a black pencil skirt with matching pantyhose and stilettos, she was ravishing. Those sage green eyes of hers were no longer filled with innocence and yet were somehow even more beguiling. Her luscious dark chocolate tresses were a touch shorter than he recalled, but the length only served to highlight her ample bosom. The bold red lipstick she wore accentuated her provocative pout. The Goblin King imagined kissing her, and more.

As she tried to ignore his lascivious stare, Sarah puzzled over the information he'd imparted about the time differences between their respective worlds. Her memory of wishing Toby away and winning him back had grown somewhat dim over the years. Perhaps it was regret that made her not want to dwell too much on it, or shame over almost losing her brother forever. Whatever the reason, it was something she had consigned to history, along with her teenage ambition to be a world famous actress like her mother.

"Wow, well — I still can't quite believe you're actually here, so I'm gonna go make some tea," Sarah rambled on as she wandered into her kitchen shaking her head over the surreal nature of the sitùation. "Maybe this is a crazy dream and I'll wake up on the subway having missed my stop again or something." She cast a mistrustful glance in the direction of the couch to find the Goblin King smirking back at her. It was most unsettling. What was his name again? She pondered sure that Hoggle had once mentioned it. The reminder of her old friend gave her a sad pang of longing to see him again. Her experience in the Labyrinth had been magical and, in retrospect, she wouldn't have missed it for the world. "How do you take your tea, Your Majesty?" she inquired hedging her bets by addressing him formally.

He sprang to his feet and followed her into the small kitchen. "The British know how to brew a decent cup of tea," he said as he threw her a sceptical glance before opening her refrigerator and peering inside. "Americans, in my experience, do not."

"And what is your experience, Mr. High and Mighty?" Sarah sneered as undeterred, she filled up her kettle and reached for the tea bags.

"You, my dear, may call me Jareth," he simpered as he pulled out a carton of milk and began to examine it. "If you possess a suitable drinking vessel, I shall have some of this," he informed her.

Ah, yes, she remembered now, Hoggle had said "Let's go and find that rat who calls himself Jareth."

"Fine," Sarah said reaching in the cupboard for a glass and then slamming it down on the counter. "Can I get you anything else, Your Highness?"

It had been a long and trying day. She hadn't arrived home until after seven that evening and she'd planned nothing more than a microwave meal, a hot bath, and then bed. Entertaining her teenage nemesis, and secret crush, had not been on that list.

The Goblin King was merrily rifling through her cupboards with a mixture of curiosity, bafflement, and occasional disapproval. His tight pants showed off his pert royal seat to perfection, not that Sarah would admit paying attention to such details. The kettle boiled with a shrill whistle which made her jump and she hastily diverted her gaze.

"Sarah, sweet thing," Jareth drawled seductively smirking at her attempts to covertly ogle his assets, "None of these comestibles look fit to eat."

"You'll have to go hungry then, won't you?" she huffed with exasperation as she set about pouring the freshly boiled water into her mug. "I'm fresh out of caviar and foie gras. But it can't all be fine dining at your place, I wouldn't have thought the goblins were gourmets." The ones she'd encountered definitely were not.

"Goblins eat anything and everything, they're worse than goats!" Jareth wrinkled his nose in revulsion at the idea. "My kind have much more refined tastes," he said.

"And what kind would that be?" Sarah inquired with interest.

The Goblin King adopted a prideful pose, his mesmerising blue eyes twinkling with mischief as he replied, "Why, my dear, I am Fae, of course."

Her knowledge of his powers had led her to suspect as much. There were different kinds, she'd once read in a book about folklore and mythical creatures. She even had the misfortune to be bitten by one of the lower orders of fairies when she'd first met Hoggle.

Ushering Jareth back to the couch, Sarah took a seat across from him on her old Barcalounger. "My friends," she began uncertainly, "How are they?"

In thirteen years, she'd never once called on them after her return from the Labyrinth. There was no small amount of guilt on her part over it, but she'd done a lot of growing up after that night. As everyone had been leaving her victory party, the Wiseman told her that sometimes to need is to let go, and so that's what she did. Piece by piece, her childhood was packed up or given away until only a few precious keepsakes remained.

Jareth finished sipping at his milk and leaned back on the couch. "If by friends you mean the dwarf, the monster, and that flea-bitten, bog-dwelling dog, they have not dared to show their faces to me since your escapades." He watched with fascination as she kicked off her black high-heeled shoes and admired her shapely legs. "In light of your generous hospitality, I may yet spare them a dip in the Bog of Eternal Stench."

Of course, Sarah was reminded, only three days had passed in their world. They probably hadn't even had the chance to miss her yet. The whole thing was mind-bending. "You'd better spare them or else you can leave right now, goblin revolt or not," she warned with a harsh glare.

"You're no longer afraid of me," the Goblin King observed as he leaned forward slightly, his odd gaze raking slowly over her.

As Sarah shivered involuntarily, she wasn't sure about that. Something told her he was dangerous enough to be wary of, and yet, his intentions didn't appear to be nefarious. Perhaps he wanted to do bad things to her or with her, his smouldering look certainly suggested as much. His shirt hung open quite low down his chest exposing an enticing expanse of smooth alabaster skin. Around his neck, he wore a sickle-shaped amulet and she was momentarily entranced by it.

"Sarah, sweet thing," Jareth teased, "Why don't you come over here to save straining your eyes?"

"Oh, I don't think so, Your Majesty. Besides, I have a boyfriend," she informed him determined to dissuade him, and herself, from acting on any mutual attraction they might be harbouring. Richard Davenport might be a vainglorious pretentious fop who was unnecessarily rude to those he considered beneath him, but they hadn't officially broken up.

"I see." The Goblin King's smoulder turned to ice. "It is a good thing I didn't come here to offer myself to you again, isn't it?"

Sarah's eyes widened at the suggestion that might have been his true intention. The exact wording of his final declaration to her in the ruins of the Escher room eluded her now, but she did recall talk of loving him and fearing him in return for which he would be her slave. If she'd been twenty-eight back then instead of fifteen, things might have ended a whole lot differently.

Jareth determined to act nonchalantly as if he didn't care. He certainly didn't intend to ask her about this supposed boyfriend. There was probably no such person, he reasoned. It had all the hallmarks of a deflection tactic and he wasn't one to be thrown off course so easily.

"Why won't you call me Jareth?" he questioned. "You let me into your home and agreed to grant me asylum so why the formality?"

Sarah glared at him with suspicion. "Firstly, I haven't granted you anything, I said you could stay for an hour, tops," she insisted. "Anyway, for all I know there is no goblin revolt. I've only got your word for it and you, Jareth, are one tricky son-of-a-bitch."

The Goblin King sprang to his feet and held out his hand to her. "If you dont believe me, come with me and see for yourself," he challenged her. "Oh, and as my mother is the High Queen of Faerie, I must ask that you not refer to her as a female dog."

His stern rebuke made her blush with shame. "I'm sorry, it was you I meant to insult, not your mother," she said, inwardly cringing at her ham-fisted apology. "What I mean is — I'm not going anywhere with you." He was crazy if he thought for one second she would let him take her back to the Underground.

"What's the matter Sarah, don't you trust me?" he asked his velvet tones as smooth as melted chocolate.

She let out a snort of laughter in retort.

"But you invited me into your home," Jareth purred. "How could you be sure I did not intend to have my wicked way with you?"

From the sinful glint in his eyes, Sarah couldn't be certain that wasn't part of his scheme. A shiver of excitement went through her at the prospect. "I said you could stay for an hour," she reminded him again. "And your time is almost up."

The faster she could get him out of there, the better. Jareth was seductive; it was in his nature to be so. She feared it would be all too easy to fall under his spell. It wasn't as if she saw any kind of future with Richard. They had been dating for just over six months and the sex was pedestrian to say the least. Cringing inwardly, Sarah realised much of her attraction to Richard was based on the fact he was English and it was his accent that turned her on. She certainly didn't love him.

The two of them had first met when she edited his book 'Table Manners' the previous year. After renewing their acquaintance at the annual Christmas party thrown by the publishing company Sarah worked for, he'd asked her out. Richard was a food-critic and he wrote scathing reviews of local restaurants for The New York Times. When she thought about it and after their most recent row, she could practically class herself as single. That didn't mean jumping into bed with the Goblin King was a good idea. It might be an appealing notion, but not a wise one.

Jareth had already sprawled back on the couch. "As you are largely responsible for what I'm calling The Great Goblin Revolt, I shall be staying put here until the little wretches have got it out of their systems. I think a week or so should do it," he informed her.

"No," Sarah jumped up, "Uh-uh, absolutely not," she said shaking her head.

She grabbed him roughly by the arm and tried unsuccessfully to haul him off the couch. During the tug-of-war that ensued, he let her believe she was gaining the upper-hand before pulling back and overbalancing her which caused her to fall down on top of him. For one tantalising moment, their eyes burned into each other.

Was he always so damn kissable? Sarah pondered. The next thing she knew she was fisting her hands in his hair and lowering her face closer to his. Their lips hovered dangerously close together, almost touching, but not quite. The momentary pause allowed her to take note of their reflection in the glass of the nearby coffee table and it brought her back to her senses.

"What the hell am I doing?" she questioned with disbelief as she broke free from his embrace.

As she sprung back to her feet with her blouse coming unbuttoned and half untucked from her skirt, she attempted to regain her composure.

Jareth wore a smug expression as he watched her squirm with embarrassment. "No need be so coy," he rebuked as he stretched out cat-like on her couch. "You are no longer a child," he drawled, "And I am no longer your adversary."

"I want you to leave, right now," Sarah demanded as her sage eyes burned with ire.

"No." He was adamant taunting her with a sharp-toothed grin.

She opened her mouth to argue when a loud knock at the door froze her to the spot.

"Sarah, snookums, it's Dicky dum-dums."