Chapter 1: Wished away
Chapter Text
New Orleans, Louisiana, November 1990:
It was after a show when it happened.
Bret wasn’t expecting it to happen. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that happened during Poison’s last show that would have struck him as ominous or a signal to foreshadow an impending sense of doom to follow.
But alas, maybe the bandana-clad, glam rock singer should have known what he was in for when he ended up with his ass planted at a stool in a bar with a highly drugged out blonde guitarist by his side.
It wasn’t any surprise that the ever-boisterous CC was blasted out of his tree, and Bret wouldn’t have expected anything less.
A sober CC?
That would have been something out of the ordinary. But a drunk and coked out CC? That was, unfortunately, a normal occurrence.
The truth was that Bret really should have known this was coming.
Over the last few months — years even — tension between Bret and CC had grown to a tremendous, nearly unbearable level.
The singer and guitarist were known to have a strained, somewhat turbulent relationship, and this erratic, almost hostile chemistry, in a lot of ways, made the band.
It became a full-blown characteristic of their personas on stage and off, where Poison performances would lack without it.
However, the tension had now reached such a point where the moments that the two were around each other inevitably turned sour, in ways worse than ever before.
Touring excessively had begun to truly take its toll on the two musicians, but initially, this hostility stemmed from both musicians having huge personalities and a desire to be first.
To be in control.
Well, the sad reality was that it wasn’t possible to have two monarchs.
Two people couldn’t be first, and for both Bret and CC to have been forced into succumbing to that simple rule of life.… It had caused more problems than one.
Not only were there major personality conflicts brewing between the two musicians but also the platinum blonde guitarist’s horrifying rapid decline into the pitfalls of Hell through excessive booze and blow.
Cocaine.
The entire band partied hard and experimented with a plethora of substances, but CC’s level of indulgence was extreme.
It had passed the point of casual and social a long time ago.
The days and nights of snorting just a few lines at an afterparty to celebrate or doing a bump or two before a show to pump himself up, were far gone.
What was once the epitome of glam rock glitz and glamour steadily shifted into a detriment; one that found the Brooklyn axe man in a constant state of artificial euphoria, agitation, and hostility.
Instead of embracing the party drug the way most would, it’d bring him to a dark place, not only figuratively, but literally.
The number of times CC had mysteriously gone missing while the band was coincidentally scheduled for gigs or interviews were astounding, and utterly terrifying.
More than half the time, these instances resulted in not just one, but two of the members of Poison tagging along with the tour manager to attempt to hunt the guitarist down.
The chances of finding CC in a sound state of mind were almost always slim, and the impending doom never neglected to follow the trail back to the tour bus, especially since it was no secret to anyone involved that the drugs had completely taken over.
They latched on and took total control of the flamboyant shredder, and as a helpless outsider, Bret had no choice but to watch the heartbreaking deterioration of his best friend. While hurt and scared for CC, the singer was also frustrated.
He was aggravated that the guitarist’s unspoken issues were taking a toll on Poison’s reputation and quality of touring.
He was annoyed that whenever CC was around, the tension between them grew immensely, and he was utterly pissed that CC seemed to not give two shits about how his behaviour impacted not only himself, but everyone around him.
Touring was supposed to be enjoyable and fulfilling, and it was for Bret, at least in the beginning, before the newfound chaos erupted.
He knew it would feel a lot more meaningful if he and CC weren’t at each other’s throats constantly.
If he and the tour manager weren’t obligated to search for CC every other night because he was locked up in a drug hut in the middle of nowhere, the experience would have been proven blissful.
But instead of being able to absorb the full positive feelings from the road, all Bret could do was spectate the tornado of destruction that whirled around him while he tried his absolute hardest to keep the band together.
It seemed like the only times he and the guitarist felt at ease with each other were during the actual performances when the four members were on stage for the night, selling their souls to the crowds of cheering fans.
But even then, Bret couldn’t ignore the mess the guitarist was truly in, especially when he had no choice but to listen to the discombobulated collection of sounds that CC called a guitar solo every single night.
He knew if the guitarist could get his shit together that he would probably get a lot more respect for his craft.
He knew there was a good person hidden inside the broken, contaminated, coke and booze filled soul…. but he rarely got to see him.
He hardly ever got to converse with the CC he first met five years ago before becoming a prisoner to the synthetic white powder.
However, despite the persistent chaos and turbulence, there were some decent moments between the two rock icons where their strong-willed, stubborn, and chaotic chemistry brought them closer together.… and tonight seemed like it would be one of them.
Seemed.
When it came to Bret and CC, things could be great for one minute — Real great. But the moment something got set off and things turned sour, they’d go completely downhill.… fast.
When they got along, they really got along.
When they didn’t, they didn’t.
And tonight, they didn’t.
It was after another sold out show when Bret found himself sitting at a stool in a New Orleans bar, chatting it up with his bombastic partner in crime.
They had bullshitted and cracked jokes over more than a few drinks. Everything was great, and the singer was glad to cherish the well-needed bonding time with the crazy blonde.
But inevitably, at some point in the night, something happened to set one of them off, and from there, pure disaster struck.
Bret wasn’t sure what it was exactly that set the two aflame, but the abrupt transition from happy-go-lucky best friends, bullshitting over drinks, to bitter enemies, throwing punches at each other like two spawns of Satan, was almost instant.
“Oh, ya wanna fight?” CC screeched, eyes wide and rabid as he threw both arms in the air. “All right, bring it on, Bret! Mix it up!!!!”
Bret shook his head with a sarcastic snarl while his eyes threatened to roll through the back of his head.
“You can’t fight a goddamn thing when you’re wasted, Cec!” he deadpanned, but not without intentionally raising his voice to a dangerously snarky level. “So, yeah, try me!”
“Ya know what? Fuck you!” the befuzzled New Yorker bellowed back in defence while he abruptly stood up and grabbed a hold of the singer’s shirt, throwing him off guard. “I don’t wanna hear anotha’ friggin’....“
Before the guitarist could say another word, Bret pushed his hand off his chest, sent one of his own fists directly to his enemy, and allowed it to collide with CC’s jaw.
Not once, not twice, but three times, with each punch holding more strength and force than the previous.
Nothing but incoherent muffled noises emulated from CC’s big mouth as the singer continuously threw blows at his target.
With every new punch, Bret watched CC’s unsteady, obnoxious, self-attempt to duck, but the singer knew well enough that he’d get absolutely nowhere in the state he was in.
"He can’t hold his freaking liquor, and he knows it," Bret thought with an eyeroll as he watched the bleach blonde idiot stumble backwards off the stool and onto the grungy bar floor.
The nearly pitiful visual only enhanced the singer’s provocations and without hesitation, he continued to throw hostile blows at the Brooklyn loudmouth, who somehow managed to gift Bret with a few lethal punches of his own, despite failing to keep himself upright from the ground.
“Lemme up!” CC drunkenly squawked from his beaten down position on the floor, eyes wide and arms flailing dramatically. “I’m gonna kick your asss—-“
All Bret could do was smirk while the explosion of vexation burst out of his tissues, which only sent more intense urges to punch the guitarist in the face aflame.
So that’s exactly what he did.
There was no way in Hell that the singer was going to let CC win this one.
The persistent blows, snarky threats, and dramatic screams exchanged between the two rockers continued without pause while various innocent spectating patrons seated around the bar watched with a mixture of amusement and horror.
Nonstop chaos erupted through the entire room with intensity hardly short of what would be reminiscent of a thousand bombs exploding simultaneously in the middle of an apocalyptic catastrophe.
Nothing could truly scream disaster more than the scene playing out in the rustic Bourbon Street Bar.
Another ten minutes passed before, eventually, the two musicians were successfully broken apart by security at the bar but not without a boatload of resistance, swearing, and various blood stains that emulated the style of Van Gogh’s ear after it was infamously sliced off by the tortured artist.
Bret was left with a few chipped teeth and a bruised jaw, while CC had a broken nose as his memento, but neither of the two were strangers to self-inflicted injuries.
This wouldn’t have been the first time the quarrelling turned violent, and Bret was sure it wouldn’t be the last.
Despite the clear tension, radiating off the two that was more than palpable, Bret and CC managed to make it back to the hotel where the band was staying for the night without any more incidents.
That was until the next morning, when both musicians found themselves in the same part of the hallway near the same elevator to return back to the tour bus.
Unfortunately, coming face to face with one another after the blowout the night prior became a sudden catalyst, and before anyone could take a single breath, the two were at it once again.
All it took was a single glance at one another to fully ignite the primal energy.
The seed had been planted, and there was nothing that could put a stop to the chaos from reinvigorating.
This time, the rest of Poison and their crew were around to witness the debacle, and inevitably, the poor outsiders were given the deed of breaking up the argument.
Their drummer, Rikki, and bassist, Bobby, had no choice but to help the tour manager drag the two hotheads onto their bus while making sure neither one of them killed each other.
It was a task labelled more than arduous, indeed, but even in the midst of the battle, both Bret and CC were well aware that their bandmates weren’t the least bit surprised at the near combustive behaviour that unfolded before them.
In fact, they were certain that at that point in time, none of the tiffs between singer and guitarist would faze the two.… until the four members were back in close quarters.
Once tightly knitted and thrown in the middle of the tour bus, CC’s mouth began running incessantly, again, and to the dismay of Bret, and the rest of the band, it had taken a turn for the worse.
Just when Bret thought CC had used his big mouth enough, he was proven wrong, and it was clear that Bobby and Rikki were both drowning in mere doom.
The expressions pasted on each of their faces held nothing but impatience and utter exasperation as the stubborn New Yorker obnoxiously blathered on, which created more than enough strain to undulate around the near claustrophobic confines.
Everyone knew pure disaster was brewing, as if it hadn’t already done so, but this was bad.
This was lethal, and Bret truly felt half a second away from grabbing CC by his dishevelled rat’s nest and slamming his unruly mess of a friend into the nearest wall.
From the looks of it, he wasn’t the only one on the bus with those types of thoughts stewing.
But what did come to his surprise was when Bobby, the long-lived mediator of the band, took a stand.
Typically, the quiet one of the bunch, the bassist, was rarely one to assert himself.
Unless a business matter arose, Bobby usually kept himself out of personal battles, so when Bret watched the brunette lock his oddly stern gaze on CC, he was more than taken aback.
“Jesus Christ, Cec!” Bobby snapped, with his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and a hefty load of exasperation in his tone. “You gotta get a fucking hold of yourself— “
Not another word could be spoken before CC bit back with the intensity of a wild piranha, seeking out its prey.
“Ya tellin’ me that when he started this goddamn shit?” he shrieked with a scratchy rasp flying out of his aggravating mouth, which Bret really wanted to duct tape shut at the moment. “That’s hysterical, Bob! Why don’t ya go afta’ who the real problem is here!
"The real problem?!" Bret thought, as his insides bubbled up with uncontrollable vexation. "Says the one who’s screwing the band up ‘cause he can’t go a minute without getting fucked up! To hell with that! He doesn’t know who the fuck he’s messing with!"
The false accusation from CC induced a wave of hot-blooded aggravation to surge through Bret’s entire body, and without hesitation, he threw his hands up incredulously, his jaw clenched like a rabid animal, while locking frustrated eyes on the guitarist.
“Me?” the singer barked viciously, “Bob knows who really started this freakin’ thing and.... “
Without a beat skipped, CC lashed back with his hands flailing around.
“Oh, would ya shut up?”
The deafening, and obnoxiously lamenting, rebuttal from the guitarist was so loud that it didn’t fail to reverberate off every wall of the tour bus, which inevitably created pulsating vibrations throughout the tiny area.
CC’s wide, bulging but unfocused eyes looked like they were a millisecond away from popping out of their sockets as he shot out one pathetically adamant defence after another.
“Lemme guess, it's time to blame Cec for everything allll ova’ again ‘cause what else is friggin’ new around here?!?!?”
Bret shook his head, dangerously slow, as the aggravation persistently brewed within before pointing a finger directly at the blonde.
“Well, if you got your shit together, we wouldn’t have to blame you for everything! This goddamn band is falling apart, but you and your inflated ego don’t seem to give a shit!”
“Oh, that’s hilarious!” CC shot back in an even higher octave than a moment ago, which proceeded to emulate a glass shattering sensation to ring through the singer’s eardrums as he inched closer to Bret. “Like ya don’t do wrong, Bret! Oh, nooo, of course not! It’s always Cec screw-in’ things up— “
“For the love of God— “
“Don’t! Shut up! SHUT UP BRET— “
“Okay, that’s enough!”
The abrupt and no-bullshit sounding interjection from none other than Bobby cut through the escalated quarrel as the bassist gestured a halting motion with both arms directly in the middle of the two riled up rockers.
“You,” he pointed to CC with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes as his voice vibrated with livid irritation, “You stop talking, Cec. Cut it. I’ve had enough.”
To Bret’s dismay, the guitarist made no effort to listen to the bassist’s blunt demand and instead proceeded to fire back with a vengeance.
“What are ya, my father, Bob?!” he screeched through gritted teeth and an entirely new level of abhorrence. “Stop treatin’ me like some friggin’ incapacitated kid!”
“Well, you’re acting like one!” Bobby threw his hands in the air and snapped. “When you’re fucked up like this you act like a child, and I’m getting so sick of this crap.“
“You’re getting sick of it?” Bret seethed while he darted his gaze to the bassist with incredulity. “How do you think I feel?! I’m the one who has to deal with his bullshit the most.“
CC’s loud mouth cut through the singer’s desperate plea, again.
“Oh yup! Here we friggin’ go! Cec is the problem!!!!!!”
“Guys, come on!”
Now it was Rikki’s turn to try to salvage the catastrophe. Bret’s heart skipped a beat as the redhead, who had been quiet the entire time, raised his pleading voice with a woeful grimace.
“We don’t have to end every day and night like this!”
He shook his head urgently with a forced attempt at a hopeful grin.
“This tour is supposed to be fun.“
The poor drummer was swiftly cut off by another predictable verbal blow by the guitarist.
“Yeah, well, maybe it’d be fun if we weren’t dealing with this— “
Now Bret had absolutely hit his wit’s end, and as CC opened his mouth for what felt like the two-thousandth time, he stopped trying to restrain himself.
Within a second, he was ready to send a hearty blow to the lunatic’s face.
Well, he would have hit the guy if Bobby hadn’t forcefully pulled the livid singer away with a grip on his arms that felt nothing short of a sturdy pair of steel handcuffs.
“Ya wanna do it again, Bret?” CC bellowed continuous provocations from the opposite side of the aisle with psychotic eyes. “Let's do it again! I ain’t scared of ya! Ya wanna start trouble? Fine! Come on! Ya think I’m outta my tree?!“
It took Bret an insane amount of inner strength to keep himself from pouncing on the maniac in front of him, but thanks to the bassist’s unfaltering latch on him, it became almost manageable.
Barely.
All he wanted to do was jump at CC and spew every choice word that existed out at the guy while throwing punch after punch after punch just to get him to shut his cocky, ego-filled trap, but he didn’t.
He stayed completely still, locked in Bobby’s grip, and watched with a clenched jaw, balled up fists, and knotted stomach as the guitarist babbled on.
From the booth next to him, Rikki sat donning a defeated and nearly pitiful expression while his head shook in what Bret could only perceive as mere powerlessness.
A strained titter slipped from the drummer’s lips. “Guess we’re doin’ this again then.”
A long, frustrated sigh from Bobby followed the sad attempt to lighten the situation, and Bret knew that nothing screamed get me out of this place more than the forced amusement that the redhead brought to the debacle.
“Well, of course, we’re doin’ it again, Rikki!“ CC spat, this time practically jumping out of his small, jittery, coked out body, shutting down the drummer once again. “Whaddaya not used to this yet? Til someone stops puttin’ the blame on me, this ain’t stoppin’.“
“For the love of God, Cec! You’re fucking relentless!”
“And you’re a friggin’ asshole, Bret.“
“FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” Bobby ferociously interjected once again while his grip tightened on the livid singer. “BOTH OF YOU, SHUT IT!!!”
There was a moment of much needed but utterly uncharacteristic dead silence after the bassist’s command.
“I am not playing fucking games,” he hissed through gritted teeth while slowly pointing fingers at both, Bret, and CC, which accidentally let the singer free from the hold. “I’m not staying on this bus if you two are gonna fight the entire goddamn ride. Do you understand?!”
Bret and CC stood silent, but it didn’t take long for the singer’s impulses to shoot up again now that he was finally free of any restraint.
He locked his glaring gaze on Bobby before allowing it to dart over to CC as his jaw stiffened once again.
“You wouldn't have to if this one would just shut his mouth.“
“Bret!“
“No! I don't wanna hear it.“
“Okay, that’s it!”
Bobby’s domineering no-bullshit tone shot through the resumed quarrel in a flash, and before Bret could even bat an eye, the bassist was up on his feet, heading toward the front of the vehicle.
“Stop the fuckin’ bus!” he called with his head peeking through the curtain that separated the mid area from the driver’s seat. “Excuse me! Hey, you, can you stop the bus please.“
“Hey now!” Rikki piped up with a nervous laugh as his eyes darted around the small area, “We don’t need to stop the bus, Bob— “
“Hell, we do!” Bret snapped, coming to a sudden realization that brought him a skewed sense of alleviation. “Can you blame Bob for being fed up? You’re fine dealin’ with this Rik? ‘Cause I’m not!”
CC immediately snarled, heightening his already scratchy voice up a notch as he locked his crazed eyes on Bret, “What? Ya wanna throw me off? Ya, why don’t ya try that— “
“Well, I’m not gonna sit here and deal with any more of your goddamn bullshit, Cec!“ the singer shot back with an overload of venom and impatience. “I’m done!”
“What’s the problem here? You want me to stop in the middle of nowhere? We’re driving through a swamp.”
“Well, he’s starting fights with everyone, and I can’t take any more of it, dammit!”
“You’re not the only one, Bob, trust me. I’ve been your driver long enough to know how these fights pan out.”
“I’m at my wits end. The two need to be separated. I can’t do this— “
The muffled chatter between Bob and the bus driver swam through the closed quarters, and all Bret could do was tremble with rage, while CC still refused to shut his big troublemaking mouth.
“Whaddaya done with, huh, Bret?” the guitarist inched closer to the singer and squawked. “You’re always done with somethin! Always done with.... “
“All right! Break it up! Break it up!”
Before CC could say another word, the bus came to an abrupt halt, and the driver, along with Bobby, re-entered the middle aisle where the chaos was erupting.
“You two have been fighting for far too long,” the driver stated with a poker face, “and a decision has been made.”
A split second of silence followed the anticipatory remark before Bob spit out in an eerily calm manner, “CC, get off.”
And Bret could have sworn that the New Yorker’s eyes tripled in size just as the instruction slipped from the bassist’s lips.
“He’s being serious, Cec,” the singer spat through gritted teeth as he watched CC’s body visibly stiffen like a wildcat about to attack, “Don’t fucking say a damn word.“
“Try me, Bret— “
“No!” Bret snapped, once again succumbing to unrestrained explosion while cutting the guitarist off swiftly with rage because he had had it. “I am fucking done! You’re out! Get off the bus! Get off the goddamn bus!”
“Oh, wow, boo fuckin’ hoo, Bret— “
“Cec, I swear to God— “
Not another word escaped the guitarist's mouth before Bret took it upon himself to physically grab onto the relentless, hyperactive menace, only to push him towards the bus exit and ultimately out the door, which revealed nothing but a swampy area in the middle of civilization.
“Are ya fuckin’ serious?” CC blabbered nonsensically after taking one look at the grungy, disgusting landscape. “You’re gonna leave me here in the middle of fuckin’ East fuckin’ Bumblefuck?“
“Well, if you’d shut your goddamn mouth, you wouldn't end up here!” Bret seethed with a snarl and shook his head dominantly, secretly satisfied at the guitarist’s newfound fate, “Maybe it’ll teach you a goddamn lesson!”
With that, the enraged singer slammed the bus door shut, and it only took a second for the ride to resume on without Poison’s flamboyant shredder.
“Goddammit,” Bret hissed under his breath as he held his head in his hands, “I wish some goblin or creature from up above would fall to the Earth and take that lunatic away for good. I’m over this.”
He let go of a deep sigh and rested his empty eyes onto the passing landscape while absentmindedly re-mumbling his wish.
"I wish the goblins would come and take him away, right now."
Those were the last words the singer said before he took a seat back in the quarters alongside Bobby and Rikki.
He never looked back at the decrepit desolate swamp where CC was left stranded to watch the befuddled guitarist disappear into thin air.
**********************************************
We hope you enjoyed this first, quite chaotic chapter and got an insight into our main character's mind and personality. This is just the warmup, as things will really rev up in the next chapter with Jareth making his appearance, and he is not pleased to put it lightly. CC will prove to be more than a handful.
Any kudos❤️a nd comments are highly appreciated. Thank you all so much for reading.
Chapter 2: Taken
Summary:
CC has been wished away, and his befuddled band members are about to meet an irate Goblin King, who is so not amused over their actions as it interferes with his honeymoon.
Notes:
Hey, it's Livdonna! I just want to let you guys know, I'm truly in awe of all the positive feedback we've received on the first chapter of this story. Given that Jareth wasn't in it, and many of you may not be familiar with Poison, I can't express how grateful I am for your willingness to dive in and give the story a chance! It means the world to me and helps challenge the pesky insecurities I hold onto regarding my writing! Thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart!! XOXO
Hi, this is RMBiehl. Thank you to all of my readers for supporting this story. It means so much to me and Livdonna. I do want to give a SHOUT OUT to our commenters form the first chapter: IncrediblyCurious, Red Wolf, Certainlittlesmile, GinniferFlowers, Ivanabangchan, auntie_kat, and Fating. Thank you all so very much for putting smiles onto our faces.
I'll quit boring you with our notes now, as we go to the Castle beyond the Goblin City and look in on our favourite Goblin King and his antics.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jareth felt giddy and excited, his heart near explosion from joy.
It wasn't often the Goblin King felt such tremendous exhilaration coursing through his being, maybe with the exception of a solid bogging of an unruly goblin.
Few things rivalled a splendid bogging session, but this extraordinary feeling residing inside his heart right now surpassed even a communal bogging, coupled with a month-long stay inside a dark and damp oubliette.
He was officially married to Sarah, his Sarah, the woman he had pined over for years and had painstakingly befriended after her running of his Labyrinth and had successfully wooed and courted into a marriage with him.
He still could remember the night he appeared in her mirror, making the first timid contact with her on the behest of Sir Didymus, and to some degree, Hoggle, his head gardener and gatekeeper.
That very first attempt at making amends turned into a second conversation, then a third, and a fourth.
Within months, they had become fast friends, and he began wooing her, asking her out on dates, and bringing her small tokens of his affection.
They soon became lovers, and when he asked her to become his betrothed three years later at her 18th birthday, she had acquiesced in his request.
It was that night they had made love for the very first time.
That had been a little over a year ago, and they had only four days earlier tied the knot of perpetual bliss.
No grander wedding had ever been held in the Underground.
Having spent the past three days in their marital chamber, or more precisely, their marriage bed, it was time to make preparations for the honeymoon.
Sarah wanted to go to the Isle of Pixy, a favourite vacation destination for lovers and newlyweds in his realm, and he had just the exact location picked out.
A secluded serene beach of fine pink sand with a calm, azure sea, a cosy yet luxurious bamboo hut, and all the libations and fine dishes she could handle.
They planned to spend three weeks there in complete isolation, and he could barely contain his exuberance.
He was married, and he was going on his honeymoon!!!
Three weeks of lovemaking!!!
He thought his mind was going to short circuit over the thought as he envisioned a sparsely clad, no, make that a complete dishabille, Sarah, strolling hand in hand with him along the shore and flicking him inviting gazes.
He had to palm his erection and winced lightly over the painful strain in his breeches.
"Oh, for crying out loud, Jareth, again? We just got done making love for like the twelfth time."
The half-amused and half-scolding voice of Sarah was followed up with an entertained snort and shake of her head.
"You're so predictable, my love," she whispered into his ear with a low, seductive drawl as she passed him oh so close on her way to her armoire to retrieve her clothes, she planned to take along.
"I can't help it, Love. Just the mere thought of your…. loveliness gets me excited."
"Then think of something else," came the snickered suggestion.
"You know, we could do it one more time before we head out. A 'one for the road' sort of thing, as you mortals like to say."
"Former mortal," she reminded him with a snicker about her newly acquired immortality.
"Right, my love, you are fae now, just like me."
He stepped into her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tightly against his heated body and bumping his aroused loins playfully into her tempting behind.
His lips found the side of her exposed neck and blazed a trail of searing butterfly kisses against her skin.
She leaned her head back to grant him easier access, and a knowing smile curled itself around his anticipatory lips.
He had her right where he wanted.
"Jareth," she moaned and allowed him to cup her breasts over her gossamer gown. "We really should get going."
"Oh, I'm going, all right," he whispered back and pivoted her in his arms. "Feel my desire for you going full steam?"
She tried to remonstrate weakly over his advances, but her attempts were for show at best.
Her hands interlocked behind his neck and before any of them knew, their lips were locked, and their tongues engaged into a heated battle of dominance.
"Okay, I think we have time for a quickie," came her declaration of defeat, and he swiftly guided her towards the rumpled bed without breaking his kiss.
He smiled broadly into his osculation and began to recline her when he felt the oh so familiar prickling sensation coursing through his body.
"No, no, no, not now…. Oh, for Danu's sake, not now,'" he cried out with oncoming agony and, without conscious intent, let go of Sarah, who fell backwards onto the floor, having suddenly lost the support of his hold.
"Ouch, what the hell, Jareth."
She tossed him a flummoxed glance before her eyes widened with a sad realization.
Before her stood no longer the scantily clad Jareth with the bare chest and feet, dressed in nothing but his tightest pair of breeches, but the mighty, battle-regalia-wearing Goblin King.
His erection was still quite prominent but began to wilt away like an uncared for and neglected flower in the desert heat, starved of any and all water.
In his case, it was the deprivation of physical love that had him shrivel away into horrifying limpness.
"A bloody, damned wisher," he hissed through his gritted teeth, and Sarah thought he may start crying at any moment, judging by his tormented visage.
She collected herself off the floor and laid a compassionate hand against his chest.
"I don't want to go," he whined like a spoiled little six-year-old, refusing to go to school. "Please, don't make me go."
"It's only a wisher, Jareth. Just have your goblins retrieve the child, offer him or her their dreams, and come back to me."
Jareth sniffled.
"What if the wisher doesn't accept my offer and instead chooses to run?"
He didn't dare to delve his thoughts any further into such a horrible scenario.
It would mean he would have to play nanny for thirteen hours instead of making passionate love to his new wife, his wife, and go on their honeymoon, which promised a ton of more lovemaking.
Lovemaking!!!
A naked Sarah!!!
Her nipples perky from rolling around in the refreshing surf, washing against their naked intertwined bodies.
For a moment, his cock felt a surge of renewed energy over the visions and raised its head momentarily, only to flop back into a flaccid state of disheartened torpor.
"If they take the challenge, then we'll just wait another day before we leave if we have to."
Why did Sarah's words ring so cruel in his mind?
"I wanna go on our honeymoon now, not tomorrow," he remonstrated with more whine in his voice.
"I know, Honey, but you don't have a choice."
"Why am I being punished so cruelly?" he lamented, and Sarah, for a split second, thought she saw a lonely tear escaping his eye.
"It's your duty, not a punishment. Now quit whining and get going."
She patted his chest with an obvious lack of compassion and empathy, in his eyes.
"Get going," she re-emphasized and waved her hands as if shooing away a stray cat.
He felt deeply hurt by her callus gesture.
"Fine, I'm going. But take notice of my protest over this."
While Sarah rolled her eyes over his petulant behaviour, he slowly began to dissipate before her eyes.
"Make them take their dreams," she shouted after him, not sure her words had reached him.
*********************************************
Jareth looked around as his surroundings became more focused and into view.
To his surprise, he found himself seated on a moving contraption that he recognized as a human engineered vehicle, called a bus.
Him and Sarah had ridden on them occasionally when she showed him around her town and wanted him to become more acquainted with mortal transportation.
He shrieked like a startled owl and flailed his arms like flapping wings, scrambling out of his seat, when he noticed three mortal men of mature age sitting across from him, staring as if they were seeing a ghost.
"Who are you?" he asked, blinking his eyes in confusion. "And why am I on a bus? I should be in someone's room."
His bewildered eyes wandered from person to person, a look of utter incredulity painting his flummoxed visage.
"Who the fuck are you?" came the equally startled accusative words of the nearest guy, sporting long, golden-blonde hair and a prominent bandana wrapped around his forehead.
Jareth regarded the lithe young man with hooded eyes. The mortal had a certain flair of débonnaire surrounding him, despite his crude and vulgar language.
"What the hell are you doing on our bus?"
This second mortal didn't look any happier than the first. His wild, strawberry- blonde hair reminded Jareth vaguely of his own mane, except it was nowhere near as regal or as perfect as his.
The open leather jacket, the human wore, exposing his flat, nicely shaped chest and abs, had Jareth sneer with derision.
His own torso was much more refined and flawless than this human peasant's.
"How the fuck did you get here?"
The third guy, sporting a black slouch hat, pulled down tight over his long dark hair, and wearing a black tank top that exposed his tattoo of a naked woman on his right upper arm, jumped up with such surprised gusto, it knocked all the beverages on the small table over and spilled them over the first one, who now, likewise, catapulted himself out of his seat with a look of sheer disgust over having been doused with lukewarm beer.
"Geez, Bob, watch it! You’re as bad as Cec. Fuck."
"Where in all the Underground am I?" Jareth breathed bewildered. "Am I in hell?"
Considering the long, wild hairdos, unconventional leather clothes, and multitude of bodily tattoos, he had to be in some hellish alternate universe.
He's never seen any mortals such as these three.
Bret, Bobby, and Rikki could only stare at Jareth with gawping mouths.
"Who did you say you were?" Bret found the courage to ask again, a tad more polite this time.
"I am the mighty and all-powerful Goblin King, and one of you idiots apparently summoned me."
His eyes meticulously scanned the group of three with a judging gaze.
Yes, they truly looked like complete imbeciles. This would be a piece of cake to get one of them to accept the dream crystal.
They all three appeared equally daft.
"Fuck, it worked."
"What the fuck is a Goblin King?"
"Who the hell are you, calling us idiots, Idiot."
"What the fuck are you talking about Bret? What worked?"
Bobby looked at a frozen-in-place Bret, as if he had lost his mind.
His eyes were as round and wide as dinner plates as they stared wildly at this weirdly dressed stranger.
Then again, they couldn't really judge him on his anachronistic outfit if they themselves preferred atypical, eclectic garments.
"Bret?"
Bobby's voice held a growing concern for his bandmate as he stared at the bandana clad blonde with a sceptical stare.
Bret only stared back, clearly dumbfounded and caught off guard.
“I didn’t think it would actually work!” he stammered incredulously with furrowed brows and a hefty load of surprise. “I just mumbled some freakin’ bullshit ‘cause I was pissed but.... “
“Woah, wait!” Rikki piped up, cutting Bret off in his tracks, with wide eyes. “So, when you muttered that you wanted goblins to take Cec away.…”
His voice trailed off before reigniting with a burst of what Jareth could only perceive as childlike enthusiasm.
“Holy crap! Fairy tales are real?”
From his seat on the booth, Bobby shook his head with an expression of mere doom as the conversation continued before him. It was obvious that the bassist was not having it.
"You heard me mutter that?" Bret wondered aloud and raised his brows at Rikki in surprise.
"Well, yeah, Dude," Rikki replied with a forced amused grimace, and shrugged his shoulders. "You’re not necessarily quiet when you’re pissed."
"Just when I thought I'd dealt with enough…." Bobby grunted under his breath and rolled his eyes with clear annoyance.
Rikki stood with a slightly infatuated gaze at Jareth, the dude knew how to rock a style, before his eyes travelled back to Bret.
"So, you summoned the Goblin King? The one from those stories?"
"Did you snort some of CC’s blow, Rik?" Bret scoffed exasperated, refusing to accept the possibility that he had actually summoned the mighty but also supposed to be imaginary Goblin King.
This was insanity at its best. Somebody had to be playing a joke on them.
"There's no way this is actually real," he grunted with a dismissive sneer and handwave.
"So, you still believe this is all but what, a dream? Do you take me for an illusion?"
Jareth stepped closer to Bret, wearing a devilish grin on his now predatory countenance.
"Well, are you?"
The Goblin King let go of a derisive snort over Bret's continuous denial of the truth.
This was getting old, and he needed to speed things up, so he could return to more pleasurable activities.
"Let me assure you, Boy, I am no dream nor an illusion. I am very much real. I am the Goblin King, and my goblins have taken the one you wished away to me. Now which one of you imbeciles did such a foolish thing?"
Jareth's eyes held their lock on Bret's. He may have asked a question, but the answer lay in his stark gaze.
It was clear the king knew the answer to his query.
"It was you, Boy, wasn't it? Ah, yes, I can see it in your eyes. The guilt over your deed is shining through them like brightly blinking beacons in the night."
Jareth raked his eyes up and down this aberrant looking mortal.
He appeared young and brash, like an ingénue, and his eyes were glossed over from the consumption of too much alcohol.
He knew that look. It was the same look his goblins tossed him after downing a keg of ale, or two.
"How do you know it was me?" Bret stammered and flicked an imploring gaze at his two compadres. "Help me out here, dudes."
His answer to his entreaty came in the form of Bobby and Rikki stepping back with awkward smirks on their faces, denying they had anything to do with this.
The king scared them.
"They won't help you, Boy," Jareth grinned with victory, noticing the now worried and lightly mortified looks on the faces of the three mortals.
"Quit calling me Boy," Bret somehow found the courage to object.
"You look like a boy to me, a very stupid and insolent one at that," the king drawled and conjured a crystal on his fingertips, which he began to juggle expertly across the back of his hand.
All three gasped.
Bret's face lightly contorted with fear, whereas Rikki's was awash with revered awe, and Bobby's still held some lingering doubt.
Jareth enjoyed his torture.
It was this ingrate's fault that he was here on this atrocious hippy bus instead of making his wife happy with his magic love wand right now.
"Well, where the f.… where is Cec?" Bobby wondered aloud and rubbed his chin.
Bret was still frozen with fear, and Rikki quietly popped open another bottle, his eyes never leaving the mesmerizing display of the juggling crystal.
This situation required more booze.
"He's in my castle beyond the Goblin City."
"Whoa, you got a castle?" Rikki spouted out without thinking and took a big swallow of his freshly opened bottle. "That's so rad," he added and earned himself a slap upside his head by Bobby.
"Shut the fuck up, Rik."
"Stop hitting me."
"You deserved it."
"What the hell for? I think it's cool he has a castle."
"He's a fucking king. Why wouldn't he have a castle?"
Bobby and Rikki stared each other down in a silent standoff, while Bret still stood frozen, his befuddled mind trying feverishly to figure out what the holy hell was going on here.
Did he have a rancid beer by any chance?
"Silence, you imbeciles. I am the fucking Goblin King, and, yes, I have a fucking castle," Jareth spat incensed over the foul language of these mortals.
They had absolutely no decorum.
"The one you wished away is in my castle beyond the Goblin City inside the Labyrinth."
"A Labyrinth? Dude, that's so r…."
This earned Rikki his second slap of the day by Bobby.
By now, Bret nearly hyperventilated. What he would give for that beer in Rikki's hand.
He truly had CC wished into the clutches of this glamour rockstar Goblin King of some far away fairy land.
"I was just pissed when I muttered that! I didn't actually mean it! We kicked him off the bus in the middle of a swamp already, dammit! Now you’re telling me he’s stuck in some other realm?"
"Oh, you didn't mean it? You sound like my wife from four years ago," Jareth snorted and kept juggling the crystal.
"What is going to happen to him?" Bret found the nerves to ask, drawing another deviant smirk from the king.
"I'll keep him, of course. He's mine now, to do with as I please."
Rikki moved his gaze towards Bret and grimaced, again.
“Well…. Now you must be really happy then! You’ll be granted all the peace you want!”
Despite the amusement in his tone, it was clear that the redhead was forcing it. The underlying horror was prominent.
“You know.… it's what you wanted!!!!”
Bret only narrowed his eyes and shot a glare at the drummer.
“Yeah. It’ll all be fun and games until tomorrow’s show comes, and we don’t have him here for it, Rik! Then what are we supposed to do?!”
The redhead only grimaced, again, with shrugged shoulders.
“I mean.… This wouldn’t be the first time the guy’s gone missing, and we’ve had to find him!"
There was a pregnant pause before the drummer’s attempt at lightening the situation escalated.
"And plus, he was already thrown off the bus, so either way, we’d have no choice but to seek him out anyway…. right?"
“Rikki…. you are not helping,” Bret hissed through gritted teeth.
“Christ,” Bobby muttered under his breath in frustration, “maybe I’m the one who snorted CC’s blow…”
Jareth had listened with growing impatience to the continuous and ever-increasing squabbling between the three mortals.
He needed to put an end to this tomfoolery, or he would be discussing this into the night, and he had a honeymoon to go to.
How he wished he could just turn these three ingrates into goblins, alas, he was not allowed to do so.
He would file a protest with the Labyrinth council after this and demand a rule change.
"Forget about this…. CC. I have something much better for you in return."
He extended his hand, with the crystal rolling rapidly across the back of it, mesmerizing their gazes and effectively cutting off their quarrelling.
"Look what I have for you."
He bore his eyes into Bret's, who stood as if bespelled.
Rikki took another swallow from his beer. The anticipation nearly killed him.
"It's anything you want it to be. It's your dream. Take it and forget about the babe."
Rikki and Bobby wondered why the king would call CC a babe. This called for another swallow, along with a snort of amusement from the drummer.
Bret merely stood glued to the spot, imprisoned in his own small world of torment.
“Babe?” the bandana clad rocker asked with raised brows and a hint of dismay. “Really?”
"What will it be?" Jareth doubled down. "Take your dream now. I don't have much time to linger."
Jareth knew this was a blatant lie, but he really wanted to get this done and over with.
“What dream, Man?” Bret blurted out exasperated with his hands now thrown into the air. “None of this makes any freaking sense! I accidentally summoned you and now you’re telling me to dream. Dream of what? And what does any of this have to do with CC being trapped in your realm?”
"I can honestly declare you are the densest mortal I have ever come across," Jareth retorted with a sneer. "I didn't tell you to dream, you dolt. I told you, whatever you want to wish for can be yours. Decide now or watch me leave."
“If he makes a wish, does that mean you’ll bring CC back?” Bobby asked.
"No," Jareth huffed amused.
This mortal was clever, unlike his other two daft companions.
“I never wanted him stuck in some damn castle, Man!” Bret cried. “Throwing him in the middle of a swamp is one thing. At least, I knew he would find his way back somehow, but in another universe? C’mon, Man! You’re making this impossible!”
Rikki muttered under his breath, suddenly ditching his mask of forced humour.
“If we don’t get him back by tomorrow, we’re screwed.”
"So, you wish to retrieve this CC?"
Jareth perused the pleading mortal with calculating eyes and growled internally.
This was not what he had in mind. It was supposed to be a quick in and out.
He had already wasted too much time and now this plank of a pillock wanted the wished-away back?
Jareth saw his honeymoon melting away into the depth of the malodorous bog.
The three musicians exchanged glances with one another in silence before Bret spoke up with a heavy sigh.
“He's a pain in the ass, but we need him back on Earth, at least,” he mumbled, seemingly regretful. “Even if he ends up back at the stupid swamp. As long as he’s on this planet, that’ll be better than.…”
His voice trailed off, and he never finished the statement. Instead, he locked his desperate eyes onto Jareth, whereas Rikki and Bobby stayed silent.
Jareth was momentarily stumped. What was it with these guys, blathering about some swamp?
Had they been to his bog?
Did they own their own bog?
It sounded as if they wanted the wished-away to be dumped into a bog.
Peculiar indeed.
He had never heard of such a thing and was now thoroughly confused.
“Fuck, this was a terrible decision,” the singer spoke again with a burst of urgency while shaking his head. “Yes, we want him back!”
"All right, it is your dream you are forfeiting here."
Jareth bore his cold eyes into Bret and threw the crystal at him.
It imploded on impact against his forehead as a conjured beer bottle and splashed its content all over his entire face.
Bret stood befuddled, spitting beer out of his mouth, and wiped the malty residue from his stunned visage.
"What the fuck was that for?"
Rikki snickered at his friend’s unfortunate fate, but quickly stopped another from escaping, instead daring to ponder the near future, which at this point seemed to be heading downhill faster with every moment that passed.
“So…. how do we get our guitarist back?” he wondered, lifting his bottle to the king.
"Simple. The one who wished away the babe must try and win him back by defeating my Labyrinth and make it to the castle within thirteen hours. If you manage, the babe is yours, and you can bring him back to your swamp. If not, he'll be turned into one of us and belongs to me for all times, and neither one of you will receive a wish for your dreams."
Jareth tilted his head and let go of his best maniacal laugh he could conjure at seeing the horrified faces staring back at him.
“Heh,” Rikki muttered with a titter, completely disregarding the vital information, “Babe.”
Bret narrowed his eyes.
“Wait,” he mused, “so, you’re telling me that I’m gonna be sent to your realm to run through some maze?”
"How perceptive of you."
A depressive silence overtook the tour bus as Jareth stood, awaiting their decision.
The singer shook his head, clearly struggling to absorb this newfound reality.
“This is insane,” he lamented incredulously with his head in his hands. “Could anything else have fuckin’ gone wrong today?”
"Is this a rhetorical question?" Jareth snickered. "I cannot help you with that, but it's the only option you have available to you."
Bobby, who had stayed mostly quiet throughout the debacle, spoke up.
“If it's the only choice we have, then I think you gotta do it, Bret.”
From his seat, Rikki nodded in agreement at Bobby’s remark, while eyeing Bret’s prominently agitated demeanour.
His beer bottle had long been emptied, yet he clung on to it as if it would protect him against being chosen for the challenge.
“Bob’s right, Dude,” the drummer said, “It’s the only way.”
"So, it is settled then," Jareth cheered and stepped forward, taking hold of Bret's arm. "Time to go, Boy."
In a blinding flash, both disappeared from sight and only a few glitter specks descended onto the floor after whirling enchantingly in midair.
"Whoa, that was…."
"If you say rad again, Rikki, I swear I'm going to smack you all the way to this castle beyond the Goblin City."
Bobby was not in the mood for any of Rikki’s shit right now. Not that it stopped the drummer.
"Damn, look at that. Glitter! And it sticks."
He swiped his finger across Bobby's cheek, leaving a trail of shimmering glitter in the wake of his fingertip.
Inevitably, that earned the drummer a hearty third smack from the bassist, this time without any restraint, which sent a few specks of the magnificence onto Rikki’s face to match Bobby’s.
Despite the redhead’s persistent annoyance, the bassist’s lips curled into a subtle smirk at the blasphemy, and the expression did not fail to slip Rikki’s mind.
Notes:
We hope you enjoyed this chapter and the banter back and forth amongst everyone. Things will only heat up on the humour metre as Bret will enter a whole new world, and CC meets the goblins and the mighty Goblin King along with a very googly-eyed Sarah.
Chapter 3: CC, you are not in Kansas any more
Summary:
CC finds himself in the Goblin Castle surrounded by strange creatures, and Jareth meets the new wished-away for the first time.
Notes:
Thank you to all of our readers, who have supported this little crazy fic of ours. We so appreciate all of your kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subs. Please keep them coming.
A SHOUT OUT goes out to the commenters form the last chapter: Certainlittlesmile, Red Wolf, IncrediblyCurious, and Fating. Thank you, guys so much. Your emails made us smile for days.
We won't bore you with lengthy notes, so enjoy this chapter of craziness where CC finally gets to meet the mighty Goblin King.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The party in the clamorous throne room was in full force.
Three kegs of the latest ale from the Dwarf Kingdom had been rolled out, and the queue for it was stretching all around the dais.
Loud rock music blared from nowhere, and the crooned lyrics of, 'I need a hero, I'm holding out for hero till the end of the night', echoed in the tallest crevices of the domed ceiling.
Several plaster pieces rained down on the congregation for singing along as loud and as off key as possible.
The grating sounds of the out-of-tune choir would give any normal person the shivers. To the goblins, however, they were harmoniously ringing bells.
A game of 'shoot the chicken' was being played, and the participants took turns blowing spit balls through hollow straws at the poor poultry that squawked and flailed, trying to avoid the projectiles.
It finally defenestrated itself and disappeared in a storm of feathers out the window.
Without delay, another chicken was brought in, and the game continued.
It didn't hurt the fowl, but it was rather annoying, nevertheless.
The sudden appearance of the retrieval goblins with their collected 'babe' in tow, stopped the rambunctious activities dead in their tracks.
Even the music had come to literal screeching halt.
What kind of abominations had they brought back with them?
This was not a cuddly babe, but a…. well, they rightly didn't know what he was, and they slowly made their way towards the wished-away with silent, stunned faces.
The group of four retrieval goblins stood in a circle and scratched their bald, black, leathery heads.
Their wizened faces with long snouts, lined with razor sharp teeth and enormous batlike ears, displayed a look of sheer bamboozlement.
Their pitch black, pupil-less eyes reflected the vague image of the wished-away.
It wasn't pretty to behold.
Before them hunkered an owl-eyed, fully-grown mortal man with crazed, steely blue eyes, long, platinum blonde hair that were in such disarray that they wondered if he had been hit by lightning during his transport.
It did somewhat resemble the king's hair, but His Majesty's was regally styled, and each strand was meticulously placed into position.
This mortal's hair, however, was nothing short of an anathema with its unruly wildness and spikiness.
Despite the fact that half the goblin population sported equally horrendous hairdos, they, nevertheless, cringed and shied back at the view.
"What's that thing?" one remarked with a look of disgust and an overflowing chalice of ale in his hand, pointing it at the wished-away with a bit too much gusto, spilling a good helping of the precious beverage all over his bare forearm.
"You sure you picked up wished-away?" a second mentioned with a doubting gaze and wrinkled his nose at the appalling sight.
"Looks nothing like a babe."
"Go kick it and see what it does."
"Look at clothes. Ugly Thing stole Kingy's clothes."
A collective gasp washed through the horde as their horrified eyes beheld the light blue, glittery trousers, and the black eclectic jacket with the silvery swirling pattern.
Only the king was allowed to wear shiny trousers and decorated jackets.
"Noo, not glittery trousers," came the mournful wail from a goblin in the front row as he fell onto his knees in sorrow and sniffled into the palms of his hands.
"And Kingy's make-up," came the additional observation from Bonkers. "Ugly Thing is a thief."
"Ooh, Kingy won't be pleased."
"If Kingy not pleased, Kingy throw goblins into bog."
"Let's throw brought back Ugly Thing, wearing Kingy's clothes and lipstick, into bog, so Kingy won't know."
A sudden rumble of approval rolled through the assembly after talking over each other.
"Yes, let's dump Ugly Thing into bog before Kingy gets back."
Seeing the nods from his fellow goblins, Bonkers moved towards the wished-away, along with a few other brave goblins, and reached towards the trembling and on his haunches sitting mortal man.
"Stop it this instant, you pillocks."
One of the retrieval goblins stood up straight and positioned himself in front of the surging crowd.
"We have not made a mistake, and this is the wished-away."
"But it's not a babe, Pickpurse," Bonkers retorted but stopped his attempt to reach for the wished-away.
"Nowhere does it say the wished-away must be a babe," Pickpurse informed him, and his three companions nodded in agreement.
At least the four retrieval goblins had some workable brains, which could not be said for the rest of the horde.
"But Ugly Thing stole Kingy's clothes…"
"And make-up…."
"And his hair."
The accusations flew like frantic, wing-flapping, and loudly squawking chickens through the air.
"He stole nothing, you ingrates."
The bellowed voice from Pickpurse overtook the loudest of protests.
"Ugly Thing…. damn you all," the guard cringed over his chosen words, "the wished-away had them on when we went to retrieve him."
"So, no bogging of Ugly Thing?" a gruff voice shouted from somewhere inside the masses.
"No bogging. The king will decide on what to do with him," Pickpurse reiterated with an adamant head bob.
"No fun," came the grumbling replies from the revellers, as one by one, they returned to their previous activities.
The music resumed its blaring, with the goblins singing along, "beat it, beat it, get yourself an egg and heat it, have some more slugs, have some more worms, it doesn’t matter, as long as it squirms, just beat iiiiiit, beat iiiiiit."
That the lyrics were completely wrong did not concern them in the least.
The chicken game resumed, and the queue to the ale barrel was no longer an orderly line but a fist-punching, throat-grabbing, and snout-twisting melee, with goblins piled on top of each other.
Half of the retrieval goblins decided their duty was done and joined the mass of goblins at the barrel.
Only Pickpurse and Bonkers remained by the wished-away, who yet had to move or utter a single word.
Pickpurse tapped him lightly with his foot to assure himself they hadn't retrieved a dead wished-away.
Satisfied that Ugly Thing was still alive, he too turned his attention to the barrels.
Instead of joining the brawl at barrel one, he went straight to barrel two and filled his chalice.
Sometimes his fellow goblins could truly be veritably asinine and denser than the densest piece of lignum vitae.
********************************************
CC was confused.
Utterly confused.
Anything else would be an understatement.
Now CC was no stranger to finding himself in weird, unknown places with little to no recollection of how he ended up there, but he was more than certain of the events that preceded this.
The last thing the guitarist was aware of was being thrown off the tour bus by his bandmates for, at least according to him, no reason at all.
He was left stranded in the middle of nowhere near a disgusting swamp with the guys driving off.
That debacle in itself was confusing enough, considering that he still wasn’t completely sure of any reason why he was thrown off, besides being a smart-ass.
He was sure the guys should have expected that kind of behaviour from him, but clearly, no matter how much he acted obnoxious and unruly, he knew Bret, Bobby, and Rikki weren’t willing to take it any longer.
Obviously, since he was booted off the damn vehicle and left in the middle of absolutely nowhere with no other option than to somehow find his own way back.
It was a quizzical situation at best, and the New Yorker honestly thought it was impossible for things to get even more bewildering.
Well, he was wrong.
Instead of being forced to hitchhike his way back to the rest of his band in the centre of East Bumblefuck, CC found himself standing smack in the middle of a room that looked nothing short of something he would have read in a fairy-tale story as a kid.
A twisted one, that was.
His startled eyes beheld a large, circular room made from solid stone, the rounded wall containing many uneven ledges, each holding several of these strange creatures, which seemed to come in all shapes and sizes.
Some had wings, some sported long reptilian tails, while others were tall and skinny, short, and rotund, or resembled more a two-legged dog than anything.
All of them were blackish green in colour with unruly masses of hair on their heads, wearing some of the most ridiculous clothes he had ever seen.
CC wasn't sure whether to be intrigued, freaked, or to just play it cool.
His eyes wandered along the room and noticed a tall dais in the middle with stairs leading up to a strangely shaped chair, seemingly made from twisted wood and strangely coiled horns.
"Whoa, Vikings?" he mumbled in stupefied awe.
Some of the creatures did wear helmets that could qualify as Viking.
A large pit was at the end of the dais, remnants of straw littering the bottom and containing several heavily snoring occupants.
He raised his gaze and beheld the pile of goblins around some barrels, still zealously engaged in some sort of brawl.
CC blinked his eyes at the crazy, surreal scene.
The rowdy guitarist could have sworn he stayed clean this morning and didn’t remember snorting any blow, but now he was questioning his whittling sanity — not that he had any in the first place — but this was on an entirely new level, even for him.
This was past the point of insanity, and that truly said something.
“I gotta be fucked off my ass,” he thought as his eyes scanned at the flock of deranged, rowdy little creatures before him, along with the blaring music reverberating off of every wall. “I’m trippin! I’m friggin’ trippin!”
He shook his head, nonsensically, while his whole body trembled with immense agitation.
A mixture of panic and curiosity overtook his discombobulated mind, and he truly felt one second away from jumping out of his skin.
What the hell had he gotten himself into?
First, it was the blowout at the bar with Bret the night before, which CC didn’t remember half of, then being thrown off the tour bus, and now this.
Maybe it was his fault that things were falling apart, fast.
“Oh, whaddaya talkin’ about? That’s ridiculous!” his inner monologue shot back at the thought. “Ya know it’s not always ‘cause of ya that things go to shit! They’ll just neva’ own up to their shit!”
He shook his head, almost hoping that the jerking movement would somehow snap him back to whatever reality he was in before this one.… Not that he would have rather been stuck at the swamp with no way back to the tour bus.… but this….
Wherever the hell he was now didn’t seem much better…. Except.
Through his overwhelming disorientation, CC noticed one of the oddly looking creatures — the one who had been latching onto him for a good amount of time now — hanging around a barrel with a chalice in hand.
“Friggin’ hell, there’s booze here?” was the only thought that zapped through the boisterous guitarist’s mind as his now clear-as-day gaze locked onto the plethora of barrels around the chaotic area.
His focus only stood on one thing, and that was the fact that maybe he’d still be able to get fucked up in this place.
A place where none of his bandmates could tell him otherwise or give him any unnecessary grief about it.
While his lips slowly curled into a shit-eating smirk and his nasal passages were met with the strong whiff of the heavenly toxic concoctions that the wild man lived for, CC nearly bolted toward the closest barrel, suddenly no longer caring about how or why he was stuck in some royal territory.
None of those things mattered when there was a life supply of liquor waiting for him.
Nothing could possibly top that.
Well, maybe if he found some blow that would, but booze would do for now.
His crazed eyes practically popped out of their sockets as he approached the goblin, or whatever the hell that damn thing was, who was leaning by the prized barrel.
For a split second, CC wondered how much trouble he’d get himself in for entertaining the idea of trespassing these strangers for the alcohol, but that concern quickly dissipated.
He’d found himself in more than enough encounters over the last few months where he ended up in some real shit, like his recent arrest in Louisville Kentucky just a week or so prior after jumping on the bonnet of a random car while intoxicated off his ass.
It was before a performance at Freedom Hall when the crazed shredder was in the mood for some fun.
While hanging at a lounge not too far from the venue, the blonde had chugged a few too many drinks — maybe snorted a few too many lines of blow too — ran outside and sprawled himself onto someone’s car.
He then proceeded to eat a few roses that were handed to him in a bouquet by a fan.
CC had no problem with any of his antics, but unfortunately, everyone around him had.
The guitarist was jailed for seven hours with charges of alcohol intoxication and criminal mischief.
Poison’s band manager was forced to assure the victim of the car’s destruction that the band would pay for the damages brought on by the unrestrained New Yorker.
Despite the lack of detailed recollection from that night, CC still thought the entire fiasco was hilarious, and he let a snicker slip at the distant memory.
“I’ve gotten in trouble for worse things! What’s a little more booze gonna do?” was the exact reasoning the guitarist led with while he made his grand greeting to the perceived hallucination in front of him.
“Hey, you!” the bombastic mess of a human squawked loudly, with both arms in the air, and his hazy gaze glued to the creature while he made sure to accentuate his infamous extravagant energy. “You, ova’ there! Ya look like ya got a helluva lotta booze!”
Without letting the unique, chalice holding gremlin open its mouth to respond, CC blabbered again, this time with an unrelenting burst of euphoric determination.
“Gimme some of that shit that’s in that barrel—”
********************************************
Once the swirling of his surroundings stopped and came into clear view, Bret found himself standing on top of a sandy hill, occupied by only him, a dead tree, and a not so cheery looking Goblin King.
"This is my Labyrinth," Jareth snarled from behind into his ear with a demonic grin and anticipating eyes that perused him as if he were the main course selection for dinner. "And way back there in the distance is my castle."
Bret's bewildered but also curious eyes followed Jareth's outstretched arm, pointing at the tiny buildings in the vast distance.
Sure enough, it looked like a real castle with real towers and towering walls all around it.
Speaking of walls. All he could see were walls, tall solid stone walls going in all directions with no apparent rhyme or reason.
The impressive edifice seemed to go on forever, interspersed with a vast forest to the west and a multitude of green hedges to the east.
"Your friend is there, in my castle."
"Is that this Goblin City?" Bret awed his question, noticing an amalgamation of colourful gabled roofs with thin trails of smoke rising into the intense orange tinted sky.
"Whoa, orange sky," he remarked like a gobsmacked tourist on a tour of the Acropolis.
He had seen his fair share of breathtaking sights while on the road with Poison, but nothing compared to what was before him now.
"You have thirteen hours to get there."
Jareth pointed at the clock that had appeared in the dead tree with thirteen numbers on its face, the hands on the clock rotating anticlockwise at an enormous rate of speed before both coming to a halt at the top number.
"Freaking awesome, Man," Bret exclaimed with obvious approval, staring with mesmerized eyes at the clock.
Jareth rolled his eyes over the childish exuberance displayed by a so-called adult. He had to be at least Sarah's age if not older.
"Mortals," he groaned with a scoff under his breath. "Let's see how.... awesome you'll do."
Jareth laughed and dissolved before Bret’s stunned eyes, his brows nearly disappearing into his bandana.
"Freakin' cool. Wish I could do that."
He bobbed his head and grinned widely like a complete ingrate, his hands in his trouser pockets.
"As much as I appreciate your evident approval of my Labyrinth, I suggest you quit your admiration and get going. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock," came the jeering, disembodied voice of Jareth.
"Yeah, cool, Man. I'm going right now."
He removed his hands from his pockets and began to wend his way down the hill and towards the impressive structure of the outer wall.
********************************************
Jareth reappeared in his throne room on top of the dais and emitted a deep sigh. Whether it was born from frustration or relief was anyone's guess, even Jareth's.
He just about had it with the unwanted nuisances for today.
Unfortunately, for him, he was well aware that everything he encountered thus far was only the beginning.
There was always potential for circumstances to deteriorate further.
This was proven true by the sight before the Goblin King.
What surprised him the most weren’t the rowdy clan of goblins, scurrying around the area, nor the blaring tunes that reverberated off every wall.
Those were predictable.
Expected.
In fact, the entire visual was nothing that struck him as unordinary.
“Oh, hell yeah, Baby!”
Only once a wildly screeching, highly obnoxious, glass-shattering sound echoed throughout the room, mixed in with the gleeful cheers from the clan of goblins, did Jareth bat an eye.
This noise, at a level so unpalatable, that Jareth never heard before, pierced the king’s eardrums like a pair of razor-sharp scissors.
Nothing could have possibly felt more excruciating.
Maybe with the exception of the wailing sound by a mating bog weasel.
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
The king’s inpatient gaze followed the near agonizing squawk, and eventually met the unbelievable scene that unfolded before him.
He nearly fell right back out of his throne after having just reclined himself and was about to assume his usual pose, resting his upper body against the back with one leg slouched over the armrest, and the other planted solidly on the ground while his riding crop tapped rhythmically against the leather of his high-heeled black boots.
"What in all seven hells is this?" he screeched, preventing his tumble by clinging to his armrest with both hands.
"Ehem, Your Majesty, this the ba…. wished-away, Pickpurse has brought with him.”
Bureau, his goblin advisor and counsellor, cleared his scrawny throat and shrugged his shoulders at seeing his king's panic-stricken eyes.
"That's the…. this ingrate over there…. that's the…. wished-away?"
Jareth's voice failed him at this moment, and he sat himself back onto his throne. To stand up now would only overload his weakened, shock-riddled knees.
"What have I done to deserve this?" he nearly cried into his hand, in which he rested his forehead.
Peeking his chary eyes through his splayed fingers, he observed the wild blonde with the super loud mouth, ridiculously crazy hair that made no sense to him at all, for they lacked all sophistication in proper wild mane management, and garish, in his eyes, clothes.
"Who matches light blue with black and silver," he thought to himself, gnashing his teeth to keep control over his fast-approaching eruption of his ire.
That he had a quite similar outfit of his own escaped his frazzled mind for the moment.
He felt distraught and a toxic brew of mixed emotions began to swirl in his innards: chagrin, annoyance, self-pity, repulsion, loathing, disgust, more self-pity.
So, that was the wished-away, the so-called CC, conversing with the already unruly tribe of goblins.
Not only was the utterly bombastic blonde engaged with each of the cretins, but he had also gotten a hold of the ale and was downing the amber liquid in enormous quantities while slurred, incoherent blather spewed from his mouth.
Overpowered by a sudden wave of doom, Jareth groaned and held his head in his hands, moaning in distraughtness once more.
The goblins and their unruly antics were enough to deal with daily, but now, with the addition of this cretin, this enabler, Jareth was sure he was about to lose his mind.
Fast.
"Thirteen hours of this. I can't handle thirteen hours of this belligerent, twinkle-toed, over the top blathering nincompoop. Look at him."
Jareth sent a pleading gaze at Bureau, but his counsellor just heaved a deep sigh.
He felt his monarch's pain.
"Well, here goes nothing," Jareth tried to calm his mind and briefly closed his eyes before refocusing them on this apparently unaware-of-his-presence disaster of a mortal git.
"YOU," he bellowed, as intimidating and regal as he could make himself heard, from the top of his throne and raised himself out of his seat.
“Ya talkin’ to me?!?!”
"Who else would I talk to, Boy?"
Jareth's visage darkened as he slowly and calculatedly stepped down the dais.
Every goblin held his tongue, and the room became eerily quiet, not that CC seemed to be aware of this change in mood.
Bowie's rocking rendition of "cha…. cha…. cha…. changes…." kept blaring in the background until Jareth shut it off with the flick of his wrist, seemingly agitated.
The goblins parted and made room for their passing monarch, who finally had reached the ale barrel where CC clung to it with all his life, trying to stay upright.
“Heh!”
The blonde lunatic let out a titter, seemingly unfazed by the king’s threatening demeanour before he proceeded to blabber enthusiastically.
“I dunno who the hell ya are or what this place is, but I just gotta tell ya.… these guys ova’ here know what good booze is!”
He waved his free arm around the goblins.
They had in the meantime stepped away from the barrel with laid back ears.
Their Kingy did not look happy.
"What is your name, Boy?" Jareth asked with treacle sweet venom lacing his voice, not that he already knew, but he needed to hear the affirmation from this apparently sloshed clown himself.
“The name’s CC, but ya can call me Cecil, DeVille, Lunatic, Corky, whateva’ ya wanna—“
"Hm, call you what I want? How about…. SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SIT IN THAT PIT OVER THERE BEFORE I SEND YOU STRAIGHT TO THE BOG.… Lunatic."
"Um, Kingy, his name is actually Ugly Thing."
Bonkers stood with a broad toothy smile and zealously bobbed his head up and down.
"Ugly Thing? How appropriate."
Jareth's smile turned feral, as if he had smelled blood on his victim.
“Who are ya callin’ ugly?!” CC blared with affront. “I take pride in my appearance! Ya know how many pussies I’ve gotten ‘cause of this?!“
He waved his arms in overly exaggerated, nonsensical circles over his garish outfit, and rat’s nest, just to make his point about his incredible looks.
Well, at least in his mind.
Jareth wrinkled his nose in disgust over his uncouth contumely.
He attracted females with this appalling attitude and dreadful looks?
What kind of females?
Trolls?
Swamp ogres?
He truly must be delusional in the first degree.
“Ya got no clue how many chicks pounce on me and bolt afta’ me backstage!! It's like ya gotta hide ya daughters, hide ya wives.… I’ve gotten a helluva lotta blow from those babes, and ya bet I’ve snorted that shit offa’ their—“
Jareth gave him another scrutinizing look over with glaring eyes, which surprisingly shut the loudmouth up.
Internally, he admired the glittery trousers, the retro jacket, and even the wild hair.
Why hadn't he thought of that combination yet?
Externally, he seethed with unbridled rage.
CC’s silence only lasted about half a second before his mouth began running again, although this time, not as brash.
In fact, the transition from boisterous and rowdy to childlike and almost.… endearing…. was surprisingly swift.
“Soooooo,” CC squeaked in an insanely high octave with a wide, toothy, psychotic grin full of curiosity, “who are yooooou?”
"I am about to be your worst nightmare…. Ugly Thing."
"No, Ugly Thing goblin given name. Kingy must find own name for wished-away."
Jareth glared down at Bonkers. Had his goblin gone bonkers to dare and correct him?
With the wave of his hand, Bonkers disappeared from the spot, his chalice falling onto the stone floor with a loud clunk and splashing valuable ale all around.
“Ya know,” CC bellowed with another cackle, completely oblivious over the goblin's sudden disappearance, “now that I think of it, I’ve been called a lotttt worse, trust me!”
Jareth's burning gaze landed right back at the source of all his ailments.
"You need to learn to keep your mouth shut, Lunatic."
Jareth’s remark instantly sent the crazed guitarist into an uncontrollable chortling fit, with cackles louder and more crow-like than moments ago.
Maybe hyena-like would be a better descriptor.
“Oh, Man, that’s hilarious!” CC choked out mid-cackles as he slapped his chalice-free hand on his thigh, “Me?! Shuttin’ up?! You’re too much!”
The irritating squealing sound of CC's voice grated on Jareth's last nerves. There was no talking to this thick-headed plank of a buffoon. More drastic measures would have to be implemented.
“My gawd, ya sound like Bret! Hell! Ya sound like just about everyone who’s eva’ talked to me!”
Jareth had enough. This insufferable ingrate would never shut up on his own.
With the wave of his hand, he cut off his speech capabilities.
Notes:
Well, that went rather smoothly, or not, depending on who you are. CC is finally muffled? That's a first. Let's see what Sarah says when she meets him. And believe it or not, as crazy as it sounds, the snippet about CC getting arrested for jumping onto the hood of a car and eating plants, IS in fact TRUE. So, tune in for more craziness next Sunday.
Chapter 4: Gurl crush, bane of the Goblin King
Summary:
Jareth is in for a big surprise when Sarah joins him in the throne room with the wished-away, and he's not amused.
Notes:
We want to extent our gratitude to all of our readers who have supported us in this wild story. THANK YOU so much.
A big SHOUT OUT goes out to our commenters from the last chapter: IncrediblyCurious, Red Wolf, and Fating. We so, so appreciate it.
So, Jareth and CC have met, and Jareth shut the glam rocker's mouth to keep him from spewing his drivel any longer. Let's see how Sarah is going to join them, but she has a completely different reaction, Jareth had not counted on. Enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
CC's eyes bulged out of his head when he realized that despite his best efforts, no words escaped his brash mouth.
He flailed his arms in wild dramatic gestures, pointing at his throat to no avail.
He even tossed his new drinking buddies imploring gazes, but they had turned their attentions back onto the ale barrels and no longer paid him any heed.
He was too obnoxious, even to them, and that was really saying something.
Jareth was pleased, relishing in the sound of silence for a fleeting serene moment before he flicked the insufferable mortal git a chuffed grin.
"Now that you seem more attentive, maybe I can explain a few things to you without you running your mouth as if it was infected with unstoppable explosive diarrhoea."
Since he could no longer voice his opinion, CC figured he could occupy his hands, and his mouth, with another helping of the ale.
He slowly sipped the cup with eyes trained on the enigmatic king in front of him, still not having a clue where he was or who this overwrought dude in front of him was.
“Thank heavens for the friggin booze!” he thought to himself. “It’s the least that could be goin’ for me at this point!”
He was sure another ale or two would settle him down, at least a little. He did seem a bit high-strung, even without snorting any blow.
Then again, wasn’t he always hyperactive?
"I am Jareth, ruling Goblin King of the Labyrinth, and you are in my castle. Do you know why you are here?"
CC shrugged his shoulders at the burning question and grimaced, half-amused and half-distraught.
"No? Well, let me enlighten you. Your friend, I believe Bret is his name, wished you to me. Apparently, he, too, had enough of your big mouth. Imagine that. Someone being so fed up with the blather you are spewing to wish you to me."
Jareth couldn't stop himself from emitting a devilish laugh, gesturing for his goblins to join him.
They wasted no time in mimicking their king with mocking cackles, including blowing a few spitballs in CC’s direction instead of the chicken, which was greatly relieved over the distraction.
For once, someone else took the brunt of their enjoyment.
Upon hearing Bret’s name, CC scowled, as his mind suddenly transported him back to being thrown off the godforsaken bus for no reason.
But apparently, there had been a reason.
He was thrown off, but Bret sent him.… here?
None of this made any sense.
Waves of bitterness and resentment flooded the guitarist's jittery body, but before he could bask in the sour feelings for any longer, he let another swig of booze course through him.
"So, you see, even your…. companions do not care for your company," Jareth couldn't help himself from adding with a flair of sated derision.
He found a deep satisfaction in the fact that this loudmouth, arrogant, blowhard mortal sat quiet for once and had a look of sheer agonizing disappointment painted across his tormented visage.
It served him right.
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know, ya bastard!” CC lamented to himself. “That ain’t news to me! What, is this fucka’ gonna ramble on about how I’m the big problem too?! ‘Cause hearin’ it from Bret, and the rest of the guys, just isn’t enough!!!!”
Jareth was about to go in for the kill and slap the half-empty ale chalice out of his hands that had begun travelling towards his mouth once more when the bright voice of Sarah rang out behind him.
"Love, you…. you have come…. here…. now," he stammered and spun around in surprise, disappointed he didn't have the additional seconds to really suck it to this buffoon.
But like the mischievous fae he was, he furtively wiggled his finger behind his back, and half of CC's face was instantly wrapped in duct tape.
Pink duct tape.
With little printed blue and yellow butterflies.
It put a broad smile of epicaricacy on his scheming visage and flooded his heart with a sense of chuffed redemption.
"Of course, I am here. It's my first time as your wife, and Goblin Queen if I may add, that you have a wished-away. I want to help. Call it on the job training."
Her innocent, beatific smile had his heart melting.
Just for a moment, he forgot about the insufferable lunatic behind him and felt the desire for her coursing with renewed force through his loins.
She had reached him by now and placed a soft kiss against his still grinning lips.
He hadn't expected the kiss, but he was not so out of his mind to not take advantage of the situation.
Instantly, he wrapped one arm around her waist and drew her flush against his aching body.
He took extra care to have her hips pressed against his growing bulge to convey to her what was on his mind.
Deepening the sensual kiss, their tongues began to play teasingly around each other.
She mewled into the osculation, and both nearly became lost in their own little world of heated desire when CC cleared his throat and began to grunt like a starving pig at the trough.
Being reminded of the mortal's aggravating presence, Jareth, with great reluctance, released Sarah's lips from his hold and let go of his one-armed embrace.
Sarah slowly fluttered open her eyes and looked at her husband with a half-lidded gaze of pure adoration.
A jerky movement and animalistic grunts behind her husband had her divert her glance towards the gesturing blonde.
"Is that the wished-away?" she enquired with quirked brows and a stunned mien on her countenance. "That's.... an adult, Jareth."
"I know he's an adult," Jareth snapped and immediately pinched his nose for being snippy with his beloved wife.
The constant yakety-yak of this lunatic had him all discombobulated and thrown off his usually 'cool as a cucumber' game.
"I'm sorry, Love. I didn't mean to be so brusque. This was a hard retrieval."
"It's all right," Sarah mumbled distracted as she narrowed her eyes and rounded her husband to take a closer look at this grown wished-away.
"Why is he wearing pink duct tape with blue and yellow butterflies around his mouth?"
She raised her brows at seeing the broad band of tape wrapped around the guy's entire lower face, going around the back of his head and ending in the front with…. a scintillating solid silver lock dangling from the tape.
"What in the Underground have you done to him?"
Her bewildered gaze turned briefly back onto a sheepishly smirking Goblin King, who did his best to keep his composure.
"You should ask what he has done to me, Love", he sighed in dramatic fashion.
Sarah flicked him a puzzled and confounded gaze.
"What do you mean?"
"It's a necessity, my dear. Do not concern yourself over it."
"But Jareth, the poor thing can't even mumble a word."
"As intended."
At this point, CC flicked her his most sincere and beguiling puppy dog eyes and, for good measure, cocked his head with a broad smile that unfortunately got lost underneath the roll of pink duct tape.
He didn’t hesitate to continue flailing his hands around extravagantly for extra good measure.
"He didn't know when to keep his foul mouth in check and needed to be taught a lesson in humility," Jareth stated matter-of-factly and tossed CC a quick derisive smirk when Sarah diverted her gaze back onto the muffled guitarist.
"Oh, Jareth, it could not have been that bad. Free him from your binding spell."
"Love, trust me when I say he fully deserved it," Jareth immediately justified his austere punishment. "You should have heard the contumely he spewed at me, and my goblins. They have fragile minds and should not be exposed to such language."
"Fragile minds?" Sarah snorted into her hand and shook her laughing face at him. "And for contumely, you have taught them just about every vulgar cuss word there is, in both English and Fae."
"Also in French, German, Spanish, Italian…." Strudel began ticking off the other languages taught before he garnered the dark gaze of his king and popped out of existence.
"Jareth, where did he go?"
"To a better place."
Jareth stuck his chin into the air and pressed his lips into a thin, drawn down line.
"Jareth, you mean the bog by better place, don't you? Bring him back. And where is Bonkers? I can't see him anywhere either."
Her head swivelled in all directions, but the goblin eluded her eyes.
"Jareth?"
"He's in a better place too. And well deserved, I may add."
"Bring them both back, right now."
"No."
"Now."
"Make me."
"Jaaaaareth."
"They both need to spend some time alone to think over their mistakes they committed."
Jareth underscored his statement with an adamant head bob.
"You can also spend some time alone to think if you don't bring them back right now ... beloved husband of mine. I heard a bed can get mighty lonely and cold at night."
Her veiled threat of abandoning their marriage sanctuary had Jareth pale with sudden fear.
His heart dropped into his overly tight breeches, suffocating any possible blood flow to his groin area.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
"But…. Love."
"Now, Jareth."
"Fine," he grumbled like a peevish five-year-old and knitted his brows. "But note, I'm doing this under duress."
Sarah rolled her eyes over his petulance. He snapped his fingers, and Strudel, along with Bonkers, reappeared with big eyes and shut mouths.
"Don't," Sarah motioned Strudel with an upheld hand at seeing his attempt to finish his lengthy list. "Go and get yourself more ale."
"Yes, Queenie," Strudel cheered and skipped off with a jovial disposition.
"You better go too, Bonkers," Sarah advised the half-sloshed goblin, who merely stared at her with adoring, crossed eyes.
"Yessssch, Queenie," he slurred and tottered back to the nearest ale barrel.
After this trip to the bog, he desperately needed a refill, or two, perhaps three or four, to make him forget.
"I greatly appreciate you having them cleaned off first," Sarah smiled gratefully at her husband and gently cupped his cheek.
She didn't give him the time to turn the tender gesture into another blazing, firing-up-the-loins kiss, as she already refocused her attention onto the wished-away.
"Now about this one."
She turned back towards CC, who had followed the occurrences with wide eyes, an endearing childlike gleam twinkling in his steely blue orbs.
"What about him?" Jareth played dumb and decided to study the lightly weaving cobwebs off to his side.
Maybe a good cleaning would do this room some good.
He made a mental note of scheduling it for next week while him and Sarah were away on their honeymoon, and he wouldn’t have to bear witness to a most predictable cleanup spectacle.
"Don't you play ignorant with me," Sarah growled her whisper at him and darkened her gaze. "Remove this hideous duct tape from his mouth and…. Why does he look so familiar?"
She stopped herself and closed in on a head-bobbing and quite animated CC.
"It is not advisable to give him back the ability to talk," Jareth held fast to his former refusal.
"I know this guy," she kept mumbling to herself and leaned forward.
CC intensified his swine-like grunts and gestured with his arms.
He mimicked playing an air guitar while churning and grinding his hips in quite a vulgar fashion.
Jareth expelled a sigh of frustration and facepalmed himself.
This yahoo truly was of the densest stock.
Sarah, slightly baffled over the blonde rocker's mimics, knitted her brows further.
"Yes, I do know this guy. Jareth, take off this stupid tape with the lock, right now, so I can see his entire face."
"Not advisable."
"There's a Queen's chamber on the opposite side of the royal wing", she smiled back in a promising predatory manner and batted her innocuous eyes at him.
"You are so cruel," he pouted and crossed his arms over his chest as a last sign of his opposition, which crumbled like a dried-out sandcastle beneath a blistering sun under her stark, frosty gaze.
"Just remember, you asked for it."
"Yadda, yadda, yadda, now get with it," she waved him off dismissively and directed her anticipating gaze back onto an eager, wild head-bobbing CC.
Yes, this guy looked and acted strangely familiar.
With a twitching sneer around his lips, Jareth flicked his wrist, and the pink duct tape and silver lock disappeared.
He speedily readied himself for the unavoidable and immediate fallout, counting the seconds to lift-off.
Three…. Two….
“Geez, it’s about fuckin’ time ya gave me my glorious voice back!”
"Is that….? He looks just like…. He sounds just like…. Is that really…. CC is that…. “
Sarah’s sentence was left unfinished as CC, ecstatic as could be with his big mouth’s capabilities back, jumped at the opportunity to blurt out his thoughts around the sexy chick in front of him, completely ignoring the mention of his own name.
“Well, would ya look at that!” he bellowed with an elated grin and flailed an arm around Sarah with overwhelming animation. “We got a stunna’ ova’ here!!!”
Sarah’s heart skipped several beats as the oh-so-familiar, vivacious Brooklyn rasp rang through her eardrums like an ethereal choir of angels.
Unlike Jareth’s evident distaste, the sound was music to the woman’s ears.
CC analysed Sarah’s striking features for about half a second before he took it upon himself to approach her with a sultry smirk adorning his lips.
“Hey, Sweet Cheeks!”
He shot Sarah a cheeky wink as he strutted towards her while Jareth stood frozen in incredulous shock over the plain to see overtures this scandalous knave threw at his wife.
HIS wife!!!
"Oh, my freaking Lord, that's Cecil DeVille," Sarah gasped and slapped Jareth with unbridled exuberance against his chest, a bright jubilant smile lighting up her face.
"Yeah, and so what?" Jareth shrugged his shoulders, bewildered over his wife's besotted face.
What in all seven hells was she so cheerful about?
This guy was nothing more than a foul-mouthed, vile, profanity-spewing malapert.
He was a bane.
His bane.
“Oh, yeah, it’s me, Baby!” CC bellowed enthusiastically, now well aware that this woman knew exactly who he was, and he refused to waste a moment to charm this fan once more.
He held his arms out in an overly welcoming gesture and squawked, “Come and give Daddy a big ol’ smooch— “
"Cecil DeVille," Sarah repeated her exuberantly shouted, no, squealed words and stepped into CC with open arms for a hug.
She wisely avoided his searching lips, knowing a touch could spell the end of CC DeVille as she currently knew him.
Jareth was beyond appalled over the outlandish scene unfolding in front of his horrified eyes.
Why was his wife, his wife, embracing this imbecilic loudmouth, as if they were the best of friends?
And what happened to her voice?
She sounded as if she had been afflicted with pixie fever, gasping for air, and squeaking in such a high-pitched octave, even he couldn't reach on his best days.
It put every whistling bog squirrel to shame, and they could expel some truly horrific high notes that were capable of cracking not just glass but solid rock.
And why were her cheeks all flushed, and her eyes glistening, as if she had just seen a God?
It was despicable.
It was ludicrous.
It was.... UNACCEPTABLE!!
"Sarah, remove yourself this instant from this lowly peasant. I demand it."
His royal decree went disregarded.
“Oh, my gosh!”
Sarah continued to emphasise her shock at one of her most favourite rock icons being in the same room as her, while CC basked in the blissful reality that he, indeed, had a fan in this mysterious Goblin City.
“It’s really you!”
The astonishment on her face was palpable.
“Of course, it’s me, Honey!” CC reiterated, his elation heightening with every passing moment as he squeezed the excited girl in his arms. “Who else would this crazy son-of-a-gun be?!”
“Eh-hem! Would you mind removing your filthy paws off my wife and quit calling her a pet name?" Jareth growled with hooded eyes, the fire in them quite visibly displayed.
"Ugly Thing, stop touching Queenie," came the not so helpful squawk from Strudel, who thought it necessary to assist his king.
It was his way of repaying his release from the bog.
Jareth sternly waved him off, and Strudel disappeared back into the barrel pile.
He was more than capable of fighting his own battles.
Sarah stayed in the New Yorker’s tight embrace until the hyperactive shredder nearly jumped out of his skin at Jareth’s stern grunt and hurtful words.
His beautiful musician hands were neither paws nor filthy.
He did, however, release a snicker at the uproar regarding his pet name since clearly, this dude was not in any way familiar with how the crazy axeman behaved on a daily basis.
The king had no clue that he called just about anyone ‘Sweetie’, ‘Babe’, or ‘Honey’, regardless of who they were.
“It’s a Brooklyn thing! He just doesn’t understand!” he thought to himself.
CC’s abrupt pause in blather was miniscule though, and he resumed his chit-chat with Sarah almost immediately.
“So, I take it that ya know a band called Poiiiiiiison?!”
The guitarist placed extra emphasis on his band’s name while Sarah nodded exuberantly, as her mind darted in a zigzag of directions that all led to one place.
HEAVEN!!!
“I…. oh, god…. do I….”
She fought the inner urge to squeal in glee, again, and instead reined her focus in on the Brooklyn axeman’s glorious glittery trousers while lyrics to Poison’s '“Nothing But A Good Time' played in her mind.
A sudden, very euphoric recollection of her first Poison concert invaded her.
It was March 20th, 1987, in Madison Square Garden. She'd never forget it, as it had been the very first concert she had been allowed to attend, but only because she went with a group of friends and was chaperoned by the mother of one of her classmates.
Little did her parents know that the chaperone ended up having to be chaperoned herself after nearly losing it during the performance of 'Talk Dirty To Me'.
Oh, she was talking dirty, all right.
It had been a sunny but crisp day with a light breeze and temperatures hovering in the mid 40's.
How she had become entranced with the entire rock concert atmosphere, the gorgeous looking guys up on stage, and the wild, headbanging music.
Next to David Bowie, these guys were her favourites, and she, especially, loved CC.
He was something special to behold.
"Sarah?"
Jareth became concerned over the glossed-over gazes, she kept tossing this lunatic, and who rambled on incoherently, spewing incessant nonsensical gibberish from his never-stopping piehole.
"Oh, Jareth, do you have any idea who this is?" she finally addressed her neglected husband and zealously interlocked her arm with his.
The gentle gesture soothed some of Jareth's chagrin.
"The goblins call him Ugly Thing. I call him Lunatic. Both names fit him," came his terse reply.
"Jareth, he's neither. This here is the world-famous, much adored band member of the band Poison. He plays lead guitar but also sings backup vocals."
"Adored by whom? Bog slugs?" Jareth wrinkled his nose. "I never heard of the band.… nor him."
"Backup singer. I'd put him somewhere in the back too," his jiving mind snickered to him.
He bore his judgmental eyes deeply into an unconcerned CC.
"Well, I have been a huuuuuge fan since that first concert. Oh, my god, Jareth. You should have seen them up on stage, in their wild outfits and hair, banging out this cool, rad music. It was soooooooo incredibly amazing."
She practically moaned into his arm at the recollection.
Jareth was incensed.
The only moaning she should be doing was in their bed, with him pleasuring her.
CC grinned widely with exuberant pride at the highly positive attention he was getting.
Somebody appreciated him.
If only Bret were here to witness it. That would surely show him how he was worthy of well-deserved validation.
Jareth wanted to gag.
"Wilder outfits and clothes than now? Do tell me how this is possible," he mocked with another sneer.
The adoration of his wife, his Sarah, of this…. this crazed buffoon did not sit well with him.
She was to adore and worship only HIM, not this…. fleabag.
"It was called the 'Look What The Cat Dragged In' tour and...."
"Dragged in just like now," Jareth cut her off and clenched his teeth. "Look what the goblins dragged in," he jeered like an insolent toddler.
"Stop it, Jareth. Be nice," she admonished him with a slap against his arm and re-immersed herself into a heated conversation with this deranged, head-spinning rocker.
“Heh,” CC let a loud cackle slip at the king’s unintended quip, “That was a good one!”
The shredder pointed to Jareth while he bellowed with hilarity, “this guy’s a pissa’!”
Jareth wanted to cry, no, he wanted to toss this psychotic vermin into the bog, next chance he got.
What did this 'I wanna be as hot as Jareth' imposter have he didn't?
NOTHING!
Ugly Thing's hair was overbleached and an utter catastrophe.
His own were styled meticulously in hourlong sessions and reeked of royal perfection.
The lunatic’s make-up was a slapdash job. His goblins could do better.
And who in all seven hells dressed this daft dork?
His blind Mama?
Jareth's eyes perused enviously over the scintillating blue trousers.
Ugly Thing had stolen his wardrobe ideas.
How uncouth.
He nowhere wore them as regally and magnificently as Jareth though.
His sulky eyes did light up with maniacal retribution at seeing the large tear on his knee.
Hah, torn trousers. That's all this miscreant could afford. Second hand throwaways.
CC's incessant talking tore him out of his jaundiced appraisal.
“So, ya saw us way early on, eh?!”
The guitarist asked with a burst of elated curiosity, his intrigued eyes planted on his newly discovered fan.
"Sure did," Sarah smiled adoringly at him.
Jareth stewed with crossed over arms.
“I’m tellin’ ya I almost pissed myself that night we played at the Garden! ‘Cause ya know your band’s made it big if ya got booked at a place like that!”
Jareth rolled his eyes and silently mock-mouthed CC’s words with clear disgust on his grimaced visage.
“Feels like yesterday when we just started out.… What a friggin’ trip!” CC rambled on, not paying any attention to Jareth. “It’s insanity, I tell ya…. Ya rememba’ the way Bret would hump the friggin’ stage floor?! Gawd, I gotta tell ya, I don’t rememba’ half of the shit we did, but those parties we had backstage…. Hell, those neva’ stopped—”
"CC, may I ask a question about how you ended up here? I mean, it’s quite unusual for an adult to be, well, wished away."
Sarah tossed him an imploring gaze full of wonder.
"It's a long story but if ya wanna know…."
"She doesn't," Jareth cut in and turned towards Sarah, hoping he'd be granted a few seconds to make his case.
"Love, this admired bloody pillock of yours was wished away by his own band member. Bret is his name. That's right, his own friends couldn't take his blathering spewing any longer. I was generous and had my goblins take him. I could have just left him in that swamp."
"Bret wished CC away?"
“Yeeeeeeahhhh….” CC cut in with a crooked grimace spread across his half-humiliated face, “I got kicked off the tour bus….”
Jareth looked as if he was about to go off in a cataclysmic eruption over the interruption.
There had to be a loophole somewhere that would allow him to submerse this miscreant into the bog right now over this egregious breach of protocol.
Sarah, blissfully ignorant over Jareth's inner turmoil, blinked her eyes in surprise and looked at CC, whose words suddenly died in his throat, keeping his big trap shut.
"Where is Bret now?"
"Running the Labyrinth for him. Idiot should have taken his dreams," Jareth snorted with amused derision.
"Bret is run…."
"Ah, boring, let's talk about the concerts," CC blurted out, aiming to divert the subject away from the embarrassment of the hours prior. “Have ya seen us more than once or only that time at the Garden?!”
"I've been to one more in 1989. I think it was the 'Open Up And Say Ah' tour at the Garden State Art Centre in Holmdel, New Jersey."
She flicked CC a beaming smile.
Jareth was now completely lost and stood with uncomprehending blinking eyes.
His wife had gone and seen this mongrel twice, out of her own free will?
Preposterous!
"I even managed to go backstage and see you guys," she now giggled and squealed in unison with CC.
"You did whaaat?” Jareth croaked with bulging eyes but was ignored by a tittering Sarah.
His wife had entered the cave of this lewd and obnoxious dumbass?
At the tender age of eighteen?
Where the hell had he been when all that happened?
“You’re kiddin!”
CC shook his head, elated.
“Ya know, funny thing ‘bout that tour. I rememba’ we had this groupie computa’, but I was so adamant about not usin’ it ‘cause I wanted to find my woman the old-fashioned way!”
He cackled at the memory of numerous interviews in Australia when he preached that he was seeking out a beautiful wife on the road.
“Clearly, that neva’ happened!!!!”
He shifted his attention back to Sarah, suddenly comprehending what she just said.
She met him before?
Talk about a delayed reaction.
“Wait…. You came backstage with us?!?!?”
"Definitely. A couple of friends of mine, we all piled into the car and came to the concert. And I think it was Ella who got drawn by your machine thing, but you guys allowed all three of us backstage.”
Another squeal followed the first, accompanied by rapid foot dribbling and hand waving.
Jareth really wanted to puke now.
“Holy smokes!" CC exclaimed, “I hope ya had the time of your life!!! Lord knows, I was probably fucked off my ass!”
"It was quite…. eye-opening," Sarah chuckled with a light blush colouring her cheeks.
"And pray tell, Love, where was I at that time?" Jareth injected himself into the hyper conversation.
"Stuck at the Troll Kingdom, trying to strike a deal over lumber exports. I had told you about the concert. I guess you didn't pay attention."
She looked slightly abashed.
Jareth had heard enough.
This imbecilic wanna-be star with the bad hairdo had tried for years to corrupt his sweet, innocent Sarah.
He had two options, ignore it and suffer in silence, or, better yet, exact his revenge, somehow.
He was about to send this womanizer, adolescent corruptor to his darkest oubliette when his scrying crystal buzzed.
"Rats, I forgot about the other pillock."
He tossed a furtive glance towards Sarah and this CC jerk, having their heads stuck together in intense conversations, and emitting childish giggles every so often, their hands often touching the other on the shoulder or arm in a playful manner.
"She won't even miss me," he sniffled under his breath with a pout on his crestfallen countenance, feeling a wave of self-pity wash over him.
“Did we have the Twister board out?!”
It was the last thing he heard before vanishing in a glitter tornado, afraid over the true meaning of this Twister board.
Notes:
Oh, no, another semi-cliffhanger. Poor Jareth. His disdain for this loudmouth is definitely not shared by his beloved Sarah. Whatever will he do about all of this?
A note about the concerts Sarah attended. Yes, Livdonna and I researched all the details, right down to the weather conditions. As crazy as things sound, the groupie computer to pick a wife for CC really existed, as did this mysterious Twister board he mentions at the end. Stay tuned for more craziness next Sunday as Jareth checks in on Brett and more hilarious surprises lay in wait. In the meantime, feel free to check out the many other stories each of us have written and posted individually. You won't be disappointed.
Chapter 5: How are you enjoying my Labyrinth?
Summary:
Jareth is forced to leave Sarah and CC alone as he checks in on his runner, Bret, who seems to be in some form of predicament.
Notes:
A huge THANK YOU goes out to all of our readers for your continuous support of our crazy little story, mashing together two fandoms in a hilarious crackfic. We so appreciate it.
We want to give a SHOUT OUT to our commenters form the last chapter: IncrediblyCurious, Red Wolf, and Fating. Thank you, guys, so very much. Your emails always make us smile and keep our writing spirit alive and fired up.
CC and Sarah will not show up in this chapter as we check in on Bret and see how he progresses through a very foreign Labyrinth that yet so familiar. The Labyrinth adjusts itself to the imagination and wishes of the runner. Let's see what Bret has going on in his mind.
Mild trigger warning for drug use.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bret stood before the immense, towering wall made from solid sandstone, and which seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions.
He was awestruck by the majestic edifice as his eyes trailed up the steep wall.
"Where the fuck is the gate? There's no damn entrance to this thing," he mumbled in soliloquy.
How was he supposed to get in if there was no gate?
"What are yer starin' at?"
The gruff voice drew his attention away from the impossible obstruction before him and onto the enormous visage of a rather short and stout creature with an oversized bulbous nose, and the fattest lips he's ever seen on anything or anyone, and he had seen some grossly inflated lips.
"How do I get in?" Bret enquired, tilting his head back up the wall. "There's no gate, and I'm not gonna climb this thing."
"Well, aren't yer ter smart one. First time anyone's ask ter right question right from ter start."
The dwarf gestured off to the side from Bret where an enormous wooden gate with huge solid metal hinges had appeared.
"That wasn't there before," Bret mumbled nonplussed and scratched his chin.
"It appears if yer ask ter right question. Don' yer feel like a winner?" the dwarf snarled with obvious sarcasm.
"Winner? What did I win? A free get out of jail card, go straight to the castle, and collect your award?" Bret grinned smartly.
"I don' know what yer jus' said, but yer may wanna hurry before ter gate closes again."
"Hurry, right," Bret mumbled his reply and hastily stepped through the gate.
"Well, I gots ter gets goin'," the dwarf grunted and was about to walk back out.
"Hey, Dude, what's your name?"
"Hoggle."
"Hey, yo, Huggle, ya think ya can help me on choosing the right direction?"
His helpless eyes scanned a long straight corridor without end, going in both directions.
"Yer needs help, do yer? Well, yer can go that way or that way," Hoggle replied and pointed in both directions simultaneously. "It's up ter yer."
"You call that help…. Higgle?"
"It's Hoggle," Hoggle rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh.
"Right, Woggle, my bad."
"It's Hoggle, yer plank."
Hoggle was incensed. Not only did he have to endure Jareth's constant jives in using a wrong name on purpose, now this mortal git seemed to do the same thing.
"Good luck."
The heavy gate slammed shut behind a departing Hoggle with a resounding boom, momentarily startling a musing Bret.
"Hey, you, Goggle dude, Hig… Hog…. whatever, come back!”
Only a deafening silence greeted his ears as he stood alone in the endless corridor.
"Shit," he mumbled frustrated and turned to his left.
At first, he trudged along slowly, looking around like an awestruck five-year-old, but soon the walk became tedious, tiring, and boring.
The glitter, covering nearly all surfaces, had intrigued him, and he had even smeared some on his lids in lieu of eyeshadow and ran his finger alongside his slightly parted lips to bring a sparkle to them.
He would die for a mirror right now.
Relishing in the hope that he looked absolutely amazing, he kept walking faster and faster.
Was there no end to this cursed corridor?
"What the fuck," he finally relented after running like an idiot for probably ten kilometres, it was closer to one half, and stopped with a heaving breath.
"Fuck, it's just going straight."
A bright ringing, female laughter from behind had him spin around so fast, he nearly lost his balance.
"You are funny. There are side corridors everywhere."
His at first baffled but soon morphing into a lecherous gaze beheld the vision of a gorgeous blonde with sky-blue eyes, and the most entrancing smile he had ever seen.
"Well, hello there," he croaked with intended sultriness that fell flat and forced him to clear his throat. "And who may you be?"
Another giggle greeted him.
"Serena. I'm the hallway monitor."
"The hallway monitor? You don't say."
Bret was smitten by her beauty and thrown into a lecherous whirl by the scantiness of her gossamer, see-through clothes.
Her short dress barely covered anything, and he meant anything.
He had to wipe the drool from his mouth. This corridor suddenly had lost its dullness.
"Side corridors? I can't see any side corridors," he declared absentmindedly without averting his enchanted eyes from this enigmatic beauty.
All the pretty groupies he's known through the years could not hold a candle to this ineffable goddess.
"They are all around you," Serena tittered and performed a twirl in front of him with raised arms like a ballerina.
Bret nearly choked at the clear display of her breasts. They were close enough to touch.
He swallowed hard and tried to regain his cool composure.
"Show me," he whispered with a drool and leaned himself against the wall.
It wasn't clear what he meant by his statement. Show him the side corridors or her breasts?
As soon as his back touched the wall, his lecherous smirk turned into a startled scream as he fell straight through the stones and into a new hallway.
"Told you," came the jiving reply from the dishabille beauty as she vaporized in front of his now mourning eyes.
"Nooooo, come back here," he pleaded, still wallowing around on the ground. “Don’t leave me here alone.”
His calls went unanswered.
His beautiful enchantress had vanished.
"Fuck, so close," he lamented as he collected himself off the ground. "At least I found another hallway."
Satisfied he was making progress, he straightened out his top and wandered down this new corridor.
Maybe it would lead to an entire harem of Serena's.
The thought alone had him experience a certain twitching in his trousers.
That he was here to win back his bandmate CC from the clutches of the Goblin King seemed to have temporarily escaped his sex-vision-filled brain.
Only the widening of the corridor, spilling out into a sunlit meadow of undulating hills, and a sea of colourful flowers, had him break from his salacious reveries.
"Whoa."
Before him lay an enchanted scenery straight from a fairy tale.
Tiny, peculiar winged humanoid creatures flittered amongst the unusual flowers that stood taller than him.
The aromatic scent of their blossoms intoxicated his mind and had him take a deep breath.
The winged creatures began to fly around him in circles, giggling with mirth.
They had beatific human faces, female faces with blonde hair and stark-blue eyes.
"Fairies," he whispered in near reverence. "Damn those tiny chicks are hot."
He smiled broadly back at them.
"Hey, there, little beauties. Wanna come to Papa Bret?"
His cheeky invite only increased their frolicking air acrobatics and giggles.
"Come with us," they chirped like songbirds with the sweetest of voices.
"Where are we going?"
"Would you like to see Serena again?" one asked temptingly and tipped him playfully on his nose.
"She's by the waterfall," a second chimed in with a wink.
"Taking a bath," another stated with the wiggling of her brows as she sat on his shoulder before taking flight with a chuckle.
"Naaaaaaked," came the seductively purred declaration into his ear.
Bret's eyes shot wide open and visions of an unclad Serena, standing under the spraying waters of the fall, the drops pearling seductively off her perfect skin and rosy nipples that stood erect, evoked certain physical reactions.
"Naaaaaaked," he replied with an enchanted drool and glossed-over eyes of lecherous intent.
His feet suddenly found their fifth gear, and he sprinted full steam towards the distant waterfall.
Yes, he could see a figure, a naked female figure, rubbing her hands all over herself, the water bouncing away from the perfectionism of her female body.
"I'm coming," he breathed heavily, like a dog in heat, as he stormed through the forest of flowers that had grown taller and taller.
He cared none.
All he saw was his fairy tale goddess waiting for him in au naturel perfection beneath this erotic waterfall.
There she was.
He could clearly see her as he burst through the edge of the flower forest.
She turned her head and smiled at him in a manner that meant only one thing.
Guaranteed sexual bliss awaited him.
"Don't forget your mission. You're supposed to free CC."
"Who the fuck is CC?"
"Your bandmate and best buddy "
"Never heard of him."
His libidinous mind had won over his logical reasoning as he opened his arms in anticipation of an embrace, shaking his hair seductively in the light breeze, and wearing the widest idiotic grin anyone could create.
It was as if time itself had slowed down, and he was floating on pure air, his feet barely touching the ground.
Only a couple more steps, and he would be in Elysium.
Crash!
Boom!
Darkness!
The only thing escaping his startled mouth was an elongated, drawn-out "fuuuuuuuuuuck" as he plummeted through a hole in the ground and fell into the pitch-black abyss.
The fall seemed endless, and fear began to invade his thoughts that this might be the end.
“What a screwed-up way to die,” he thought to himself, “Imagine having that written on your death certificate.”
His ruminations halted when he hit the bottom with a resounding plop, falling straight into a pile of straw that softened his landing.
“Ooof! Ouch! Fuck!”
For a moment, he laid confused on his back and stared inert at the tiny bright hole above him.
"Serena," he whimpered with realizing agony that he was now down here, and she was up there, still wet, and deliciously naked.
"Fuck you, Cec! This is all your damn fault," he growled as he worked himself out of the straw and took in his nearly complete dark environment.
The air was damp and brought a chill to his body.
Gone was the warm, freshly scented, aromatic air, as it had been replaced by a musky, wet hay smell, mixed with other unpleasant malodorous odours, he was afraid to identify.
"Where the fuck am I?" he grumbled and stood himself up, wiping the straw and dirt off his impeccable leather trousers.
He only hoped they weren't ruined.
"Yer in an oubliette," came the gruff voice of familiarity.
"An oub…. what now?"
His eyes tried to penetrate the darkness and could barely make out a moving shadow.
"Stay back; I know Karate," he immediately blurted out and took on a defence stance.
"Mortal fool," came the huffed reply, "yer fightin' skills are no match fer me magic."
A match was struck and a lantern lit.
Immediately, the wizened oversized face of the dwarf appeared in the dim flickering light of the lamp.
His eyes appeared judging.
“That Higgle, Guggle guy!” Bret thought with a slight wave of hopeful alleviation. “Damn, maybe he can give me some REAL tips this time!”
"Woggle…. Goggle…. Fooggley thing. You're back," he exclaimed with an accompanying laugh of sheer relief.
"It's Hoggle, yer daft ingrate. HOGGLE, HOGGLE, HOGGLE," Hoggle shouted and stomped his foot onto the ground.
The dwarf seemed perturbed for some reason.
Unfazed, Bret shrugged his shoulders with nonchalance and cheerfully slapped the dwarf on his.
It nearly toppled him over.
"Whatever. I'm glad you're here. Now let me out of this oubie…. hole."
"Oubliette," Hoggle corrected with an eyeroll and displeased grunt.
This mortal was ten times more exasperating as Jareth, and a hundred times more dense.
Why was he being tortured today?
He was still suffering a horrendous hangover from the wedding, and this cockwombling fool of a runner did not help in alleviating his splitting headache.
"Why should I help yer?" Hoggle asked and crossed his arms. "Yer've been nothin' but insultin' an' rude. An' yer've been goin' after me girl."
Bret’s eyes widened in shock.
Did he actually hear what he thought he heard?
"Going after…. your girl?” he asked, fighting an amused smirk, “Wait! What? Serena is…. your girl?"
"Been goin' steady fer two hundred years. An' now yer tryin' an' takes me Serena away."
"No, no, Dude, no. You got this all wrong!” he urgently spat out and held both arms up in defence. “I only wanted to ask her where the castle was, yeah, I just needed directions."
He shrugged his shoulders and grimaced his face, as if he found the accusations profoundly baseless.
"Yer promise?" Hoggle asked with unconvinced eyes.
"Promise what?"
Bret was momentarily caught in the envisioned arms of a naked Serena under the waterfall, rocking his world to kingdom come.
"Promise yer not after me Serena?" Hoggle doubled down, seeing the glazed-over look in the runner's eyes.
It effectively tore Bret out of his daydream, and Serena popped out of existence like a soap bubble before his inner eye.
"Promise, Dude, I promise," he declared with placating hands. "Just let me out of here."
"All right. But under protest. If I catch yer with me Serena…."
"Yeah, yeah, you'll bring me right back here."
"What gave yer that idea? No, I'll have ter rat dump yer into ter bog."
"Rat? What rat?"
"Jareth."
"Ah, the Goblin King."
"Like I said, ter rat. He enjoys boggin' folks."
Bret furrowed his brows. There was this mention of the bog again.
Before he could enquire further about this mysterious bog, he felt himself picked up and thrown through the air.
Everything swirled around him.
Another hard thud against his back told him he once again hit solid ground.
“Jesus Christ, what is it with this damn place and constantly falling on my ass?”
The brief aggravation dissipated once he blinked open his eyes and gazed charily up at the orange sky, small purple clouds drifting by every so often.
For a moment, he wished he could just stay here on his back and enjoy the warm, sunny weather and serenity of the chirping birds.
Thoughts of CC's predicament were nowhere to be found anywhere in his mind.
He expelled a deep, contented sigh and closed his eyes.
The sharp pain on his forearm, multiplying by the second and moving to other body parts, had him fling them back open, and jolting himself into an upright position.
"Ouch, what the fuck?"
Dozens of jeering fairies flittered around him.
This time, they were not quite as pretty and enchanting as before, as they continued to attack him and, quite frankly, bit the shit out him.
“Geez! Get the hell off of me!”
He tried to swat them away under loud protest, but to no avail.
“Dammit, CC is really gonna get it when I’m finished with this!”
When one attacked his crotch and tried to latch on with her needle-sharp teeth, he finally had enough and wrestled himself to a standing position, all the while flailing his arms and shouting obscenities at the swarm.
He had no choice but to run, run as fast as he could and seek shelter from the vicious attacks.
Not being in the best of shapes when it came to long distance running, he finally slowed to an exhausted trot and stopped with a heaving breath, his palms curling around his kneecaps as he bent over.
"Fucking shit. What kind of hellish world is this?"
He straightened himself after having slowed his rapid breath and heartbeat and took a long look around.
He was standing in the middle of a dense forest. All he could see were enormous ancient oak trees, moss-covered boulders the size of buses, and thick stands of ferns.
A newfound surge of curiosity overtook the singer.
"Whoa, what is this place?"
He twirled in place and tilted his head back to look up at the canopy. He could barely make out a sliver of the orange-tinted sky.
The forest was quiet, almost too quiet, and he stopped in his childlike admiration and perked his ears and focused his eyes.
Was that music he heard?
Like, really loud and wild rockin' music?
Just as a moth is drawn to the light, Bret was drawn to the sound of the rhythm and blues.
Folding back the ferns, he peeked out onto a small clearance with a large bonfire, surrounded by five shadowy creatures.
When did it become night all of a sudden?
He just now noticed that the orange sky had made way for stars and a silvery half-moon.
"What the fuck?" he murmured a bit too loud as the music stopped and five sets of red, glowing-in-the-dark eyes were trained on him.
"Hey, Dudes," he waved awkwardly, torn between approaching the creatures or making fast tracks through the midnight jungle.
No reply.
"Well, when in doubt, approach the natives with upheld hands and a broad, friendly smile."
He stepped out of the ferns and languorously strolled towards the campfire.
Still no reply.
Feeling sensations of panic and trepidations infiltrating his being, he began to whistle and quietly sing Poison's first tune to steady his frayed nerves.
"You gotta cry tough out on the streets. To make your dreams happen, you gotta cry out, out to the world, to make them all come true."
Hearing his nervously sung words, the shadowy creatures jumped to their feet, their heads literally floating in mid-air, and rushed towards him with cheerful chatter.
"Hey, music lovers… no, Poison lovers,” Bret grinned to himself and felt more confident as he belted out the chorus one more time and was, much to his surprise, joined by the five, yet to be identified, creatures.
They began to dance around him and started to sing the same song that had drawn him to them in the first place.
"When the sun goes down, and the bats are back to bed, the brothers come 'round, I get out of my dirty bed, I shake off my pretty little head…."
Bret started to bebop along, getting into the groove of the hallucinogenic beat and melody.
"Chilly down with the fire gang, think small with the fire gang, it's the only way…."
His eyes nearly popped out of his skull when all the sudden heads began to fly around him, over him, behind him, and all he could do was stand motionless like an idiot.
"What the…? Wiiiiicked."
"We are the Fireys, and we like to sing and toss our heads and limbs," one informed him right before throwing his head at his buddy, who caught it and used his own detached leg to knock the head into the fern bushes, as if he was teeing off a game of golf.
Bret stood speechless.
Was he tripping?
"Wanna play?"
"Let's rip your head off," another shouted, and Bret became concerned about his head and overall health.
He had to be tripping.
He struggled to free himself as he was being piled on and his legs and arms were being yanked out of their sockets.
He was wrong earlier in that oubie hole; this was the moment he would die for sure.
“Poison lead vocalist beheaded by deranged fairies… What a headline,” flew through his disarrayed mind.
"Help," he croaked with his last breath available.
The sounds of explosions had him look up, as the pressure on his head, and the pulling on his extremities, had ceased.
"Leave him be, or I'll have you as the main course for my next fancy state dinner. Lightly seared, twice baked Firey. How would you like that?"
Bret's bewildered eyes beheld the dark visage of an enraged Goblin King, scattering the strange, red-haired creatures into all directions by tossing exploding crystal balls at them.
It was the coolest thing he's ever witnessed.
"Dude, thanks, those things were about to rip me apart."
Jareth beheld him with hooded eyes and an inscrutable mien on his still countenance.
"You are welcome, Duuuude," he sneered mockingly over the uncouth manner of this mortal in addressing him properly. "Those were the Fireys, and you are lucky to be alive."
"That’s for damn sure,” Bret replied, relieved. “They did carry a great beat though."
Jareth rolled his eyes.
If this ingrate thought that was great, he surely did not know good music.
He only expelled a derisive huff and motioned Bret to sit with him by the fire.
"How are you enjoying my Labyrinth so far?"
The smirk around his teasing lips already told of his knowing the answer.
He had watched this mortal git's run-ins with the nymphomaniac wood nymph, Serena, and the biting fairies.
“It’s… Well…”
Bret wasn’t sure if he had the right words to describe this experience, so he settled on the first that came to mind.
“It’s… interesting.”
He truly never ventured into territory anywhere close to this.
No word would do the debacle justice.
"I need to talk to you, Boy. Sit!"
Bret lowered himself by the fire and flicked Jareth a worried gaze.
"What's up, Dude? Anything the Bret Meister can help you with?"
Jareth let go of another sigh and eyeroll. Dude? Bret Meister? The runner was a complete dolt.
He let it go. He had more important things to talk about.
"I have come here to help you out. I know you and your friends didn't really mean what you said about wishing your friend away, so I thought I'll give you a break, be generous if you will, and allow you to win back this…. CC friend of yours."
Jareth tossed him a winning smile with a cocked head, waiting patiently on Bret's answer.
A pregnant pause hung heavily over the fire as Bret and Jareth silently stared at each other.
The king's smile seemed to have frozen in place, while Bret’s lips curled into a shit-eating smirk.
"You want him gone, don't ya?” he asked with knowing eyes, “You want to get rid of CC. Can't stand him. Want his ass out of your hair.”
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jareth tried to obfuscate, but Bret was on to him.
The singer’s grin grew wider.
He knew exactly what that poor king was thinking.
"Ah come on, Man; you met CC.”
He shook his head with a snicker.
“You’re tired of his shit and want to get rid of him. Can't blame you, Man."
"I cannot take it any longer," Jareth suddenly wept into his cupped hands. "That guy never shuts up. Never. You ask him kindly to be quiet, and he just keeps going on and on like a never-ending waterfall after a torrential downpour. And now he's hitting on my wife too."
Despite the desperation lacing Jareth’s words, Bret couldn’t suppress the fit of chortles that threatened to burst.
“Clearly, you’ve never been forced to deal with CC,” flew through the singer’s amused mind.
He had to pity the guy; he really did. He had dealt with more than enough crap from CC himself to know the true pain of being in that spot, and Jareth’s woes surely screamed ‘helpless’ loud and clear.
“Well, that’s Cec for ya,” the singer acknowledged through laughs, “Welcome to my life.”
As much as Bret’s words rang true, the underlying adoration the singer held for the guitarist still hung strong.
Despite the constant fights, Bret cared about the guy wholeheartedly and those feelings never faltered, no matter how sour things got between them.
Losing CC would be equivalent to losing a brother.
Through the bittersweet rumination, Bret’s laughs died down. His heart suddenly weighed heavy with genuine concern over his bandmate.
"How have you managed to not commit murder of this ingrate," Jareth wondered and glanced at Bret with a look of near admiration over his perceived restraint to throttle the life out of that Brooklyn pest.
Anyone who survived more than a day with this CC had to be quite powerful…. or extremely dense.
Bret released a drawn-out sigh while sentimental tingles coerced through his body.
“Honestly, Man…. as much as a pain that the guy is, I love him like a brother.”
"I can tell you care for him. You see, in all my centuries of retrieving wished-aways, very few actually take the challenge to win back the one they wished away. My wife, Sarah, wished away her brother and took the challenge. Successfully, I may add."
Bret raised his brows, intrigued.
“Was he as bad as Cec?” he asked with a chuckle.
"You could say they were comparable in their development; her brother was one," Jareth snickered.
Bret joined in over the implication of CC being compared to a one-year-old toddler.
It really wasn't that far off the mark.
“Must be a sibling thing, Man. Me and Cec.… It’s a constant love-hate thing. Could be great for one minute and then next, we’ll be a moment away from killin’ each other. Crazy stuff, really, but under all of that, it’s love, Man. Brotherhood.”
"I never had a brother," Jareth declared out of the blue and looked almost sad when he flicked a cursory glance at Bret.
Feeling the melancholic vibe from the king, Bret’s heart grew heavy.
He had something that might lighten the situation.
“Hey, Dude.… wanna share a doobie?”
Jareth quirked his brows and eyeballed this young, long-haired blonde with the outlandish bandana.
"What's a…. doobie?"
“A joint, Dude,” Bret reiterated as he pulled a sheet of rolling paper out of his pocket, along with a clump of the plant itself. “Never heard of a joint?”
"Ah, a happy herb. That's what Sarah calls them. I do believe they have a rather intoxicating effect. Yes?"
The singer nodded in agreement and grinned widely.
“You could say that.”
"I most certainly could use more happiness in my life right now," Jareth let go of the moan and rested his chin in his hand. "Sarah and I were supposed to go on our honeymoon today. Well, until the wish came in."
He tossed Bret a careful glance.
“Really? Well…. damn,” the singer sympathized with an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry, Man.”
"It's all right. I can't blame you for wanting to rid yourself of him. Apology accepted though. Now where is this doobie of yours?" Jareth replied with a sly smirk of his own.
With his supplies meticulously spread out along the ground, Bret quickly rolled a joint for him and Jareth to share.
He grinned in satisfaction at the finished deed before holding the masterpiece out to his new comrade.
"Much obliged," Jareth snickered and accepted the joint, taking a deep inhale.
For the next half hour, they sat quietly, enjoying each other's company, and allowing all their woes to dissipate along with the smoke of the happy herb.
"Well," Jareth collected himself and stood up. "It is time for me to return to the castle. It most verily is best not to leave CC alone with the goblins…. or my Sarah."
He tossed Bret a playful wink.
"As for you, you will find the road to the castle has been cleared of all obstacles. Would you prefer Hoggle or Serena as your guide?"
Jareth broke out into a boisterous guffaw at seeing Bret's lecherous countenance lighting up at the mention of Serena.
"I think it's best I'll send Hoggle, or you may just get completely lost out here, and trust me, I don't want to keep CC a minute longer than I have to."
Emitting another entertained laugh, this time over Bret's crestfallen visage, Jareth faded out of existence.
“Woah,” Bret murmured in awe, stunned by the king’s mystical evaporation. “What a killer exit for a killer dude.”
Gathering his belongings, he slowly stood up, decided on a direction, and wandered off into the trees where a not so happy Hoggle was already waiting on him.
"Want a doobie?" Bret asked with a chuckle as he walked past him.
"What's a doobie?"
Notes:
Well, now, Jareth and Bret are becoming buddies. Who saw that one coming? And smoking a doobie together. In Jareth's defence, he needed one to calm his frayed nerves. CC has that effect on people; even magical fairies are not immune. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. In the next one, we will return to the throne room and see what kind of 'damage' CC has done in Jareth's absence.
Chapter 6: Let's jam
Summary:
Jareth reappears in the throne room to an unpleasant surprise, and a challenge. Will he accept or will he send everyone to the bog?
Notes:
Thank you all so very much for the support you have shown us for this freaky little story. We sooooo appreciate this. Please keep the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subs coming. They all inspire our muse to write more of this insanity.
We want to give a SHOUT OUT to our loyal commenters from the last chapter: IncrediblyCurious, Red Wolf, and Fating. We couldn't do it without your support and for that we are truly grateful.
We are not going to bore you with a lengthy AN note, so off we go and see what CC has been up to and how Jareth will deal with this unusual situation.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jareth appeared, wearing a lopsided silly grin around his lips, when he materialized in an out-of-control glitter tornado in the throne room at the foot of the dais.
He was so close to the edge of the pit; he nearly lost his balance and fell backwards into the hole.
Only the frenetic, windmill style flailing of his arms, and a good hefty shove from behind by a completely smashed Bonkers, kept him from tumbling into the one-metre-deep abyss, filled with tippled, incoherent goblins, and a couple of agitated chickens that made their discontent known with loud clucks.
"Kingy caaaarefull, not fall on Bonkersch", Bonkers slurred with crossed eyes, his green goblin tongue hanging from his mouth, before falling backwards onto a mat of straw and passing out instantly.
Jareth, in the meantime, had overcome his slight arrival wobble and managed to gather his feet beneath him.
The grating sounds of belligerent cheers, high-pitched metal clanking noises of banged together chalices, fully cranked up music to the point of distortion, and merry laughter from forty screeching goblin throats, half of them singing five distinct tunes in three different keys and tempos, had him wince with pain and press his hands against his ear shells.
He'd forgotten all about the rave the daft horde was throwing in honour of the wished-away babe.
He rolled his eyes at the thought.
Speaking of wished-away…. where was this boisterous and infuriating out-of-his-mind psycho tornado that had tried to shamelessly charm his wife?
His eyes immediately lost their hazed gaze and began to seek the bane of all his woes.
He heard them before he saw them.
He could tell his beloved wife's bright ringing laugh out of a group of thousands.
The thing that had his head nearly split in two was the jarring and discordant cackling of the New York rocker, that wanna-be Casanova with the repugnant hair and dreadful outfit, who tried to emulate him but missed the mark by at least ten lightyears.
His now jaundiced eyes shot towards the source of the horrific, spine-chilling screech.
Sure enough, there he sat on the last step at the top of the dais with a giggling and joculous Sarah, laughing it up as he fed her a bunch of gobbledygook and balderdash.
And what was that he had slung around his upper body?
Was that a…. guitar?
Jareth's eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight, and his nostril twitched and flared with such rapid repetition, it would have made Elvis green with envy.
Was this lothario trying to serenade his Sarah, his wife?
Swiping his cape aside with a tad too much panache, his careless foot became entangled in the hem.
Instead of storming up the dais like a dashing hero, rescuing his innocent wife from the clutches of this crooning, flagrant paysan, he tripped, pivoted on the spot like a wonky dreidel, and tumbled headfirst into the pit, landing on top of a few agitated chickens.
Slapping the panicky poultry and resulting feather storm from his face, he did his best to pick himself up.
His wife had not even noticed his predicament and nearly death-defying accident.
All she had were eyes and ears for this infuriating loudmouth, who had yet to stop flapping his gums and tossing his hair, as if he were some beauty queen on a runway during a pageant.
It only intensified Jareth's chagrin.
Long gone were the chilling and calming effects of the doobie, and they had been replaced by the CC aggravation factor, set to level twelve on a scale of ten.
"SARAH," Jareth bellowed as he awkwardly climbed out of the pit while being 'helped' by not so helpful goblin hands, he constantly had to slap away.
How dare these inebriated tipplers touch his immaculate royal person. That he wore chicken feathers in his hair and had several pieces of straw clinging to his breeches escaped him for the moment.
The bog would be one crowded place, come the morning, and this showcasing moron on top of the dais, seemingly getting ready to play some song, would lead the parade of bog-visiting ingrates.
".... remove yourself from this no-good scoundrel this instant," he shouted his royal order with a degree of importance, only to have his proclamation completely disregarded.
She merely swung her eyes in his direction and gave him a girlish one-handed wave and toothy grin, only to immediately turn her attention back to this…. this... good-for-nothing blighter…. scumbag…. fraudster.… scrote.
He could go on forever and would still not find the best degrading description for this…. this…. he gave up searching for the perfect insult and stormed up the dais, chicken feathers swirling wildly through the air.
"Jareth, Hun, you're back. CC here was just performing a song of his for me and…."
"Yadda, yadda, yadda, I don't want to hear about what ridiculous moronic stuff he was trying to show to you," Jareth cut her off tersely and placed himself squarely between them, forcing CC to scoot over as he struck a resonating gyrating chord on his electric.
"If anyone teaches you something, it's me, and where in all seven hells did he get this guitar? Saraaaaah?"
Jareth trained his suspicious eyes onto his innocently smiling wife as he felt the reverberating sound waves of the riff travel through his body, causing his head to vibrate like an over-zealously rung bell.
His dubious eyes left Sarah and tried to disintegrate the oblivious rocker, who still kept on yakking non-stop about some song called ‘Unskinny Bob’ and some tour he was playing.
"But Jareth, he was teaching me and the goblins the Unskinny Bop," she kept up her counter argument.
"The what kind of bob?"
Jareth was now thoroughly confused. What unmentionable poison had this Poison glamour rocker fed his wife?
Jareth shot him another look of death, especially when he noticed the gleaming eyes and broad toothy grins on the faces of his horde.
Were those imbeciles actually enjoying this god-awful, teeth shattering noise the glam rocker produced on this insult of an electric.
"The Unskinny Bop. Ooh, CC show him what we just did," she suggested with an exuberant clap of her hands and nodded excitedly at a beaming CC, who was eager to show off his talent.
Jareth immediately held up his hand and placed it over CC's strumming one, effectively cutting off his intro.
"Pray tell, Love, where did he get this abomination of a guitar? It sounds like a rusty bucket from Rubbish Heap Alley, with Agnes raking her claws over it.
Sarah sucked in her bottom lip with a sheepish smirk and wide puckish eyes.
"I wished it up for him."
"You WHAAAAAAT?"
Jareth wasn't able to add anything else, as CC swung around, releasing Jareth's objecting hand, and slapped the G chord on his guitar so hard that he made it resonate with intended brain-rattling distortion.
The resulting clamorous sound nearly blew out Jareth's eardrums, almost shattered his clattering teeth, and brought definite tears to his horrified eyes.
They weren't tears of joy.
Before he could collect his rattled senses, the glam rocker’s screeching voice cut the air like a dentist’s drill, set on an ultra-high setting, and an ominous chill ran down Jareth’s spine.
“Hell yeah, I’m teachin’ ‘em a song!” he shrieked with unruly, rowdy ecstasy in a tone that could easily shatter glass. “Listen to this, would ya?!”
Without an ounce of hesitation in his unfaltering hyperactive little body, CC’s loud trap continued on full overdrive.
“Unskinny bop, just blows me away!!!!”
His scratchy, crow-like, boisterous, and overly animated but still heavily slurred singing voice travelled through all four walls with the intensity of a sledgehammer.
Before anyone in the room could react, the New Yorker shot an elaborate finger toward the clan of goblins, who immediately burst into a choral melody of their own.
“Unskinny bop bop!”
Their rowdy screeches shot back at CC, whose lips tightly curled into a satisfied smirk at the returning vocals.
Each of the goblins smiled widely at the guitarist’s approval, and continued listening for their next cue from the eccentric shredder, who spat out the next line of the chorus for all to hear.
“All night and day! Give it to me!“
The castle horde didn’t skip a beat before returning the harmonization once more, this time not allowing CC any time to give them the cue at all.
They truly were very fast learners, indeed.
CC couldn't have felt any prouder.
Jareth buried his face into his hand at seeing Sarah bee bopping along as if she actually had a good time and enjoyed this infernal racket.
She must have gone mental from all the off pitch crowing and this ear-splitting guitar solo from this imbecile.
That had to be the only feasible explanation.
“Unskinny bop bop bop bop—-“
“THAT'S ENOUGH!”
Jareth’s abrupt bellow cut through the metaphorical, and quite literal, nails-on-a-chalkboard sounding goblin choir, which stopped each and every one of them in their tracks.
They knew their Kingy was not messing around.
Oh, no, their Kingy was most certainly displeased.
Despite the goblins’ startled demeanour, CC did not bat an eye. In fact, he only proceeded to resume his babbling while accentuating the chaos by hitting just a few more chords.
He took pride in his playing and was not about to put it to a halt because someone in the room was having a rotten day.
Hell, he was the one whose entire day went to shit once Bret ‘wished him away’ to this mysterious kingdom, but he still managed to turn it around by entertaining himself.
Surely, this king could do the same!
“This one needs to pull the goddamn stick outta his ass,” the New Yorker silently concluded with a crooked smirk. “He’s just anotha’ friggin’ Bret!”
CC shook the hint of annoyance off almost immediately while returning his focus to the important task at hand.
He was going to speak his truth and express his stance loud and clear, no matter what anyone had to say about it.
He was adamant.
“Whaddaya tellin’ me ya don’t like the Unskinny Bop?!” he blabbered to Jareth in striking defence as both of his bulged-out eyes tripled in size, “C’mon, ya can’t say these guys didn’t impress ya just a little bit! I mean, did ya hear ‘em?! They got the entire chorus down. If they botha’ ya so much, why don’t ya just send ‘em to tour with us! They’d be some great backup singers; I tell ya.“
From his side, Sarah let go of a soft titter with rosy cheeks.
Jareth, not in the slightest amused, turned his vexed eyes onto this abomination of a wannabe human musician and striver and seethed through his teeth.
"You call this insulting-to-my-ears noise music, Boy? You truly must have missed the concept of what constitutes harmonious notes being produced on an instrument, and by the love of all the gods in bloody hell, stop this screeching you call singing. You just soured my bog water with this…. this….”
The proper insult evaded him for the moment.
He hated it when that happened.
“Turd producing racket,” a wobbly goblin off to his side volunteered.
“Caterwauling.”
“Banshee shrieking.”
“Skirling torture.”
“Stinky fart producing gag noises.”
“Burping bog stench.”
"Flatulent gas bagpipe.”
The suggestions came flying faster than the rapid belches expelled by the odious bog on a hot summer's day.
“I think he sounds lovely.”
All cackling and suggestions stopped as Jareth ever so slowly diverted his aghast eyes from a befuddled CC, who couldn't fathom anyone would object to his superb performance, towards a broadly grinning Sarah.
“What did you just say?” he asked with a heavy breath, hoping he had misheard.
“I think he totally rocked it”, she doubled down on her daring assessment of CC's skills. “I just loooove his sound. It's so groovy.”
“Groo…. groovy?”
For a moment, Jareth's world came to a full stop, and he felt weak in his knees.
Did his wife just say what he thought she said?
It couldn't be.
His Sarah, who knew what good music was supposed to sound like, would never find this noise pleasant, much less groovy. After all, she had heard him perform before, and nobody could match his musical talent.
NOBODY!!!
“See?!?!?” CC impulsively blurted, voice as loud and rowdy as ever, feeling his sense of accomplishment reignited from Sarah’s praise. “Someone likes it!”
“Now look at what you did. She’s gone delirious from that infernal racket you call music. You damaged my wife's delicate mind,” Jareth spouted back and flicked CC a reprimanding glance.
He should just bog this artless, clapper-clawed blaggard right here where he stood, with this smug grin on his overly painted clown visage, he was tempted to smack into the next dimension.
"What the hell, Jareth. My mind is not delicate. I know good music when I hear it. And this was the bomb.”
She stomped her foot and crossed her arms in front of her chest, underscoring her statement with an adamant head bob.
“The…. BOMB?”
Jareth's screech reverberated in the vaulted room like the gongs of an overzealously rung bell, causing every goblin to cringe and hold their sensitive bat ears.
CC paid the King’s overdramatic reaction no mind as his own smirk broadened with so much strength that his jaw began to ache from the strain.
“Now this hottie knows what she’s talkin’ about!” he exclaimed, throwing an animated arm around Sarah’s back, which was immediately returned. “Did ya forget that she’s been to our shows?! She’s a fan—“
“Did you just call my wife a hottie? And remove your disgusting tentacle from her person, you miscreant. How dare you touch the queen, and my wife, without permission in such a familiar manner.”
Jareth was incensed at the display.
Why was she cosying up to this blusterous loudmouth?
CC let out a cackle and shook his head at Jareth’s elaborate woes. He needed to get this guy to pull the stick out of his tense royal arse or else he’d just do it himself.
“For Christ’s sake, loosen up! Ya gotta have some fun around here! The little guys know how to party! I think ya should learn somethin’ from ‘em!”
“Me…. loosen up? I… we were doing just fine until you showed up.”
“Pfft! That’s friggin’ hilarious! Yeah, I showed up and brought the party to ya! Ya should be grateful!”
He ended the statement with a cheeky wink aimed directly at Jareth for an extra burst of spunky snark.
“Oh, you poor delusional boy; you call that a party? You haven't seen anything yet if you think that's a party.”
Jareth returned the spunky snark and raised him two snarls and a drawn out pfffft.
“Well, why don’t ya show me what a real party is since ya seem to think ya know what I don’t! We’re a party band! That’s what Poison’s always done. We bring the party wherever we go!”
“Pfft, I don't have to prove myself to an out-of-tune peasant such as you.”
He jutted his chin out and stuck his regal nose into the air, but a minute twinkle in his eyes belied his words.
He was intrigued, and the playful side of his fae personality had been awoken.
“I would accept your challenge, but I don't seem to find my guitar at this particular moment,” he added, clearing his throat with pretended royal dignity.
“Oh, it's right here, Hun”, Sarah snorted, holding up his acoustic 1926 Martin 00-45 Brazilian rosewood and Adirondack spruce edition, she had wished into her hand.
“Um, so it is,” Jareth growled and tossed her an Elvis twitch with his lip while he reached for it.
CC’s gaze fell upon the acoustic with a glimmer of interest.
Despite the annoyance from Jareth, he couldn’t help but admire the expensive and classy instrument.
Nothing could take his adoration he held for guitars in all forms away.
Not even the stick-up-his-ass monarch beside him.
Hell, he had over one-hundred-and-fifty different guitars at his house back in Los Angeles and had plans to add to the mighty collection.
The sight of the luxurious instrument in Jareth’s hands almost had CC salivate. He didn’t have to glance at it for but a second to recognize the exact detail and model.
He knew that this particular guitar in its pristine condition sold for sixty-one US grands, easily.
He found it nearly impossible to remove his eyes from the beautiful contraption and almost found it in himself to grant Jareth a compliment on the unique possession.
That was, until he remembered that he just proposed a challenge. The praise would just have to wait.
“Yeah, Bret would call ya an asshole right about now,” his inner voice echoed sarcastically, “but oh friggin’ well! Screw that guy! We got a battle to win!”
Although he wanted a challenge, he’d make sure there would be a load of entertainment while fighting the guy.
For what else was he put on this Earth?
Jareth still sneered with pretend offence at Sarah while he began to check his tuning.
Secretly, he looked forward to hand it to this annoying goober and show off his immaculate picking skills.
“Watch and learn, Boy.”
Without warning, Jareth's slender fingers danced across the frets like featherlight butterflies and laid down the most melodious intro to 'As The World Falls Down’, he could produce for this wanna-be rocker.
Sarah sighed with an entranced bat of the eyes and a dreamy smile on her lips.
He was quite chuffed with himself at seeing her adoration for his skills on her lovely visage and tossed CC a challenging gaze.
Jareth’s wonderful intro rang through the glam rocker’s ears in a surprisingly blissful manner.
There was no doubt in CC’s mind that this man knew how to play, and he couldn’t deny the infatuation he felt from listening to the captivating melody.
However, he kept up his overly bombastic, competitive facade and let a snarky cackle out instead, with crossed arms and a shit-eating smirk pasted along his smug yet secretly curious countenance.
“Alright, alright, I see what ya got goin’ here,” he mused with a swift head bob before mischievously narrowing his crazed orbs, preparing for the ultimate battle. “Now lemme show ya what Cecil is made of!”
“Hit it, CC”, Sarah grinned and waved her arms through the air.
Not wasting a millisecond, the New Yorker abruptly struck a powerful chord on his electric, with a vibration intense enough to send adrenalizing tingles up his entire body.
The single note immediately transitioned into a spurred collection of erratic, crazed, and distorted sounds that only the Poison guitarist was capable of creating.
It was the signature style that made CC, and Poison, famous, after all.
With a wild shake of his rat’s nest and lips curled into an overly animated grimace, he allowed his hyperactive hands to shred their way into the intro riff of the first song he ever proposed to Poison the day of his audition back in 1984 — ‘Talk Dirty To Me’.
Jareth felt his brain being rattled by the dissonant yet alluring opening chords.
A quick glance at Sarah told him she recognized this particular song.
After listening to a few beats, he quickly caught on to the chord progression, finding it rather simple.
What an easy song to play. There was nothing challenging in a 1, 4, 5 pattern with the occasional minor chords thrown in.
Had he really expected a complicated riff?
Not really.
He did have to give him credit though about his pitch perfect vocals, not that he would openly admit to such.
One quick glance at Sarah, bee bopping along, tossing her head, and body slamming into the now ruckus goblins that screamed along to the chorus, had him loosen up a degree.
Finally!
The proud Goblin King joined in and laid down an excellent second part that nearly had his strings aflame from the heat of his moving fingers.
CC immediately lit up with excitement as Jareth played along with him, on his song.
Had the man finally removed the stick from his arse?
The New Yorker decided he wouldn’t waste time to ponder the possibility when it was clear as day that Jareth was enjoying himself.
Plus, he could easily admit that having the king’s company for this was immensely exhilarating, to say the least.
Hell, it was really a party now!
“At the drive in, in the old man's Ford….”
The chorus, coming from forty hoarse goblin throats, and the angelic voice of Sarah, banging out the words, had the castle walls shaking with musical excitement.
“Behind the bushes, till I'm screaming for more….”
The castle horde worked itself into a frenzy, belching out the lyrics as if they had practiced it forever.
From out of nowhere, percussion began to accompany the two guitarists, as several goblins began to bang on anything they could find: rocks, full and empty ale barrel, which each had their own unique sounds and pitch, and even their neighbours’ heads.
Even Jareth started whipping his rivalling blond mane in rotating head swings, matching CC step by step in his surprisingly non-spastic and exquisite dance moves.
This was actually fun.
Who would have thought that such a simple song could be so brilliantly entertaining.
It was downright masterful.
“Down the basement, lock the cellar door, and Baby, talk dirty to me.”
Jareth quirked his brows when Sarah rubbed her body provocatively against him as she sang, “talk dirty to me.”
Was she being turned on by these filthy lyrics?
What a fortunate turn of events. Maybe this CC moron wasn't all that bad.
He seemed to have the same lecherous kind of mind as he, and come to think of it, he had an excellent sense of fashion.
There was no denying it, as long as he could keep CC from yakking and shooting off his mouth, the dude was cool as snow beans.
When CC took the solo and threw himself onto the ground, rotating his body in tight circles while shredding his electric, Jareth couldn't help but professionally admire the glam rocker.
The goblins began to fall in line and choreographed their own unique synchronised dance.
Plaster began to rain down onto the foot stomping and hip shaking dancers, not that anyone paid it any attention.
For the grand finale, CC and Jareth leaned into each other, their wild twin bird nests touching as they gave it all they could.
As soon as the last note drifted off into the vastness of the quieted down room, the castle horde cheered exuberantly and immediately asked for an encore performance.
“Play more music, Kingy, Ugly Thing, more…. more…. more….”
The chants reached a deafening crescendo, with Sarah joining in as the leader, pumping her fist into the air, when Jareth finally held up his hand and gave a nod, flicking his eyes towards a shamelessly grinning CC.
“Got another song?” Jareth asked with a sly smirk of his own. “Looks as though the masses request an encore.”
“Hell yeah, I do!” CC piped up with uncontrollable elation, which left his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, “Lemme think…”
About half a second passed before the Poison guitarist settled on a decision.
There truly wasn’t an ounce of thinking involved in the process.
Before anyone could bat an eye, the hyperactive New Yorker broke into the iconic opening of ‘Nothing But A Good Time’, a Poison song that was the true embodiment of a party.
Their party anthem!
“Alright, ya guys, I want ya to all get ready to join in on this one with me! I wanna hear ya sing along, loud and clear!”
CC’s high-pitched squawk shot through the perimeter of the room and bounced off each of the four walls with the power of an entire army.
Not a single protest was present in the castle’s crowd.
The rowdy cheering cranked up by half a dozen notches instead.
Satisfied with the well-earned response, and overall positive vibes from the congregation, CC shot Jareth a cheeky wink before bellowing to the heavens in his well known, raspy, screechy, crow-like tone, full of energetic enthusiasm.
“Well, then let’s goooo then!”
The entire room broke out into a clamorous but organized chorus as they shook and danced as if they had been afflicted with epileptic seizures.
“Don't need nothin' but a good time, how can I resist. Ain't lookin’ for nothin’ but a good time, and it don’t get better than this.”
It was as if magic had taken hold, and the Labyrinth itself had joined the rave.
Out of nowhere a synthesizer began vibrating, rattling the walls to their breaking points, with the goblins performing perfectly synchronized dance moves.
Sidestep, sidestep, kick.
Knee slides.
Pyrotechnic flares and sparkles began shooting from the pit on the floor, and the top of Jareth’s throne, only intensifying the rockin’ atmosphere.
Jareth took the second verse after a quick eye exchange with CC, who was beside himself with elation.
The Goblin King knew the lyrics.
Hot dog, his song was famous in the Underground, and he internally already scheduled a grand tour for this realm.
Once again, the chorus of forty throats echoed through the castle.
It was this scene that greeted Bret’s flummoxed eyes when he burst through the doors while a bell-like gong began to chime in perfect harmony and rhythm to the music.
Ten…. Eleven…. Twelve…..
As if rehearsed, as soon as CC hit that last chord, and the pyro show concluded with a loud explosion, expelling sparks all across the room, the clock rang its thirteenth strike.
GONNNNG!!!
“Holy fuck!” Bret breathlessly gawped with incredulity, merely unprepared for the sight before him. “What the hell?!”
All eyes travelled towards the runner, and the room became eerily quiet.
“Bog shit, this rave is over.”
“Runner put end to fun.”
“No more party, so sad.”
“Let's drink our sorrows away.”
One by one, the goblins dispersed with crestfallen miens on their blackish faces and congregated around the ale barrels.
Bret only raised a brow at the clan of oddly looking creatures before an oh-so-familiar, overly boisterous bellow struck his eardrums and pierced through the room like an explosive Independence Day firecracker.
“Well, would ya look at that! It’s about time someone decided to get their ass ova’ here to join us!!!!”
Notes:
Well, what a fortunate turn of events between CC and Jareth. Nobody got bogged and everyone had a great party. Looks as if Jareth can truly hold his own with CC, and they may even have found some respect for each other...... nah, whom we are kidding. I wouldn't go quite that far, but at least they buried their hatches. LOL. Poor Bret, doing his best to get there in time and then seeing Jareth and CC having a grand old time. Will he be the one doing the bogging in return? Hey, this is us, Livdonna and me, you never know what craziness we come up with. Tune in next Sunday to find out in our grand finale. You don't want to miss it.
Chapter 7: A concert and afterparty of the ages
Summary:
Jareth and Sarah are arriving at the Poison concert and are in for the time of their lives.
Notes:
THANK YOU to all of our readers, who have supported us on this wild and crazy ride and giving us kudos, commented, bookmarked, and subscribed. It is so very much appreciated and keeps our spirits high. It's almost sad that this is already the last chapter, and we truly hope you'll enjoy it as much as you did the rest of the story.
We like to give a SHOUT OUT to our commenters from the last chapter: IncrediblyCurious, Red Wolf, and Fating. Thank you, guys, so very much for your unwavering support and emails that immensely cheered us up.
So, off we go and see what all this brouhaha is about this concert and afterparty. Are you ready for a good time? Then let's rock.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bret still stood with befuddled eyes and somewhat heavy breath in the centre of the room, the deafening silence creating an atmosphere of unease before the echoing stentorian voice of the Goblin King cut through the quietude.
“Ah, I see you made it just in time”, Jareth smirked at him and vanished his guitar.
A collective “aaaaaaw” by the castle horde reverberated through the room.
The last flicker of hope for a continuation of the party had just been dashed.
This definitely called for more ale.
“You had a goddamn party while I was out there, busting my pearly-white ass, trying to save yours on time, CC?” Bret croaked with an incredulous head shake and a set of admonishing eyes.
Upon registering the singer’s snarky remark, the elated grin that had spread across CC’s face, immediately morphed into a snarl.
He threw his arms in the air almost instantly as each and every muscle in his hyped-up body stiffened with irritation.
Bret’s voice in itself was enough to send his agitation up into flames.
It served as a concrete reminder of what had sent him to this, still mysterious, kingdom in the first place.
“Well, ya threw my ass here afta’ wishin’ me away or some shit, Bret!” CC spat without restraint as bitterness flooded his tissues. “What did ya want me to do?!”
He truly thought he deserved to know, especially since he was the one who got the short end of the damn stick in the original debacle.
Who was Bret to scold him for having a little bit of fun?!
The singer released a terse huff and crossed his arms over his chest with narrowed eyes full of disdain.
“You left me with no goddamn choice, Cec! “Cause you couldn’t shut your damn mouth, and clearly, nothing has fucking changed!”
It was true. After all of the chaos that commenced, CC still acted in the same manner, which sent his obnoxious ass to the unfamiliar realm.
The man would never learn.
“Awww, boo fuckin’ hoo!” CC snapped almost instantly with a hefty load of elaborate lamenting sarcasm, “You’re just jealous that I ended up bringin’ a helluva lotta excitement here instead of bein’ friggin’ miserable! Jokes on you! Sorry, ya didn’t get what ya wanted!”
The mockery that flew out of the New Yorker’s mouth filled Bret up with unbridled ire. It was as if the psycho hadn’t disappeared at all.
Any sentimental feelings, he had held toward the guitarist over going missing that had pierced his heart while running the Labyrinth earlier, were long gone.
“What I wanted?!” the singer spat, exasperated while he abruptly released both arms from his chest and let them slap to his sides in mere aggravation. “I wanted you out of my hair, and I got that, but dammit! Even teleporting you into a castle thrown in the middle of another realm didn’t manage to smack any sense into you!”
“Oh, here we go again! Let's start it up! Point the finga’ at Cec all ova’ again.“
“For the love of God, you are relentless—-“
“ENOUGH! STOP IT YOU TWO”, Jareth bellowed, having had enough of their petulant drama, and ordered the two rockers pulled apart.
In some ways, they were more childish and mardier than his castle horde, and that was saying a lot.
“Bret, you won, and therefore, CC is yours. As much as I llloved….”, he almost gagged on his little white lie, “.... having you here, Underground rules state that I must return you immediately to the place I took you from.”
“What?! Ya mean you’re bringin’ me back to that friggin’ swamp?!” CC screeched his objection in dramatic fashion. “We're gonna miss da freakin’ concert!”
“Fear not,” Jareth grinned back, “I have stopped time in the Above. Not one second has passed since you two left. You'll make it to that concert.”
“Oooh, what concert?” Sarah now chimed in with glinting eyes and excited claps of her hands.
“Hell, if I know!” CC spurted out with an amused cackle. “I just know we got a show tomorrow night, and we gotta get there!“
He paused for only a split second before addressing an elated Sarah.
“Ya wanna come?!”
Before the queen could answer, Bret injected himself into the exchange with a hint of dry sarcasm lacing his words while his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
“It’s in Mobile, Alabama, Cec, for the record.”
“Heh,” CC nonsensically tittered, only a tad embarrassed, “oh yeeeeah…”
“Oooh, Jareth, I wanna go. Can we? Puleeeeeeze?"
Her eyes lit up like a pair of Roman candles, and her expectant smile was so bright, it completely consumed the Goblin King in a wave of undying love for his new wife.
How could he say no to that pleading look.
He also was intrigued in witnessing a live show by these freaking weirdos, he actually had come to admire.
Well, maybe admire was a bit of a strong word…. tolerate was more like it.
Not that he would openly admit to any of such feelings. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.
“Sooooooo, is that a yessss?”
CC broke the beat of anticipatory quietude with his version of puppy dog eyes, only with an extra dose of crazy pumped into the expression.
Jareth tossed Sarah a cursory glance. Her exuberance over the possibility to go was at the point of exploding.
“Ya guys can come backstage with us and party! Passes on me!” CC added as a strengthened incentive. “Ya know how much Sarah loved goin’ to the otha’ shows!”
He sent Jareth a mischievous smirk with raised brows.
Sarah nearly fainted over the offer and quickly swallowed a screech. Jareth couldn't help but to chuckle.
“Sure, Love, we can go if it means that much to you.”
Her arms came flying around his neck, and her lips pressed eagerly against his, consuming him in such a fiery kiss, Jareth thought he was going to melt on the spot.
He quickly wrapped his own arms around her and reciprocated in kind, completely uncaring of who witnessed this affectionate exchange.
CC and Bret stood gawping at the passionate display.
The silence lasted only a second, though.
“Talk ‘bout a nice juicy smooch!” the New Yorker bellowed out of absolutely nowhere. “Look at those two lovebirds go!”
“For Christ’s sake.…” Bret mumbled, suppressing an eye roll, and the urge to flick the guitarist, but reminded himself that this was typical behaviour for CC.
Nothing he’d do would change that.
Hearing the obnoxious screeching voice of CC, Jareth hastily returned to his senses and reluctantly let go of Sarah, awkwardly clearing his throat.
“All right, it's settled. We'll be at your concert. You can give me the tickets and backstage passes after I have returned you to your bus, but we need to get going…. Now!”
He motioned for Bret and CC to stand close to him, but before he could lay his hands on their shoulders for the translocation, CC broke and enfolded Sarah into a tight bear hug.
“I can’t leave ya without givin’ ya one of these!” he announced exuberantly with a permanent grin pasted along his face. “Who wouldda’ thought I’d meet such a stunna’ of a fan like you in this friggin’ place! Bret had no idea what he was thinkin’ when he wanted to send me here.…”
The non-stop, nonsensical, constant blather that spewed from the Brooklyn shredder’s mouth continued for an eternity, and Sarah’s demeanour remained fully ecstatic and joyous as she returned the guitarist’s embrace.
“Enough of this. Let's go,” Jareth grumbled with jaundiced eyes.
As much progress as he's made with that eccentric glam rocker from this locale called Brooklyn, he still didn't want him to place his roving hands all over his wife.
How uncouth; not that the imbecile would even know what that word meant.
The three huddled back together, with CC flicking Sarah one last playful wink, before they vanished from sight.
“Yesssssss,” she exclaimed with jubilation and ran out of the throne room as fast as her long gown allowed.
There was packing to do, and oooh, what was she going to wear? And her hair needed fixing too.
*********************************************
Jareth appeared with two slightly yellow-faced mortals outside the bus and impatiently knocked on the door.
He wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. If he hurried, hopefully, Sarah would still be under the influence of his searing kiss, and he could collect his ‘reward’ for agreeing to go to this concert with her tomorrow.
The thought of steamy lovemaking had him nearly giddy.
“Delivery from the Goblin Kingdom. Open up.”
Immediately, the door flew open, and Bobby stuck his head through the opening, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Good God,” he muttered, stunned but simultaneously relieved at the presence of the lead singer and guitarist. “You’re back.… both of you.… in one piece…. but you just left like a couple of minutes ago.”
The bassist’s gaze trailed up and down both bandmates’ bodies with befuddlement, as if allowing it to do so would solidify that he wasn’t hallucinating.
“You just left,” he croaked again.
“Allow me,” Jareth stepped in and addressed a severely bamboozled Bobby. “I took the liberty of stopping time here, so you would not lose precious hours to make it to your concert.”
Bobby didn’t know what to say or do beside nod slowly at the king while his inner bewilderment intensified by a couple hundred notches.
“I…. Uh…. Well…. thank you for that.…”
His voice trailed off while a perplexed grimace appeared along his face.
He felt at a loss for words.
The entire situation in itself had left him nearly speechless from the beginning. He was just glad to see both guys alive and not at each other’s throats. Hopefully, things would stay that way, at least for the next few hours.
All Bobby could do was hope.
“Wooooooah, you’re back!”
Rikki cheered from the back of the bus with immense enthusiasm and quickly bolted to the door, immediately shooting Jareth an infatuated grin.
He still thought the idea of this king having his own castle and realm was rad as fuck.
A combined chuckle of alleviation and amusement escaped the drummer as he locked his gaze on the two returned musicians.
“See?! Everything turned out just fine!” he quipped with his usual humour-as-a-coping-mechanism shield, earning a side-eyed stare from Bobby through his peripheral vision.
Not another word could slip his lips before CC’s loud, bombastic mouth cut through, pulling everyone’s attention towards him, and only him.
Just the way he liked it.
“I know, I bet ya missed me soooo much! Well don’t ya worry ‘cause you’re gonna get sick of me real fast! But that’s anotha’ story! Anyway, this guy is gonna party with us tomorrow night!”
He swiftly pointed a finger at Jareth, with an amused grin and wide animated eyes, before gesturing both arms around the king as if he were put on display at an art museum.
“Yeah, ya heard me right. This guy!”
All eyes turned towards Jareth, who stood slightly embarrassed over the unexpected attention.
He just wanted to go home to salvage what he could of his night with Sarah.
“We’ll have your tickets and backstage passes all ready for ya in an envelope at the gate,” the guitarist informed Jareth, “so make sure ya let my numba’ one fan know!”
Jareth dipped his head with a polite smile and, without another word, vanished from sight, leaving behind nothing more than a few golden flakes of glitter and four gaping-mouthed glam rockers.
Each pair of eyes instantly darted toward the sparkles littering the ground, but it was Rikki who spoke up with pure awe, as if he hadn’t seen the same exact glitter just a short while prior.
“Damn, this stuff just never gets old!”
Bobby shook his head and facepalmed, but underneath the gesture his lips began to curl into a soft grin.
He was glad to have Bret and CC back, despite the aggravation that fuelled the guitarist’s disappearance.
*********************************************
It was the night of the concert, and revellers from across the country poured into the stadium in Mobile, Alabama.
Each seat would soon be occupied, for this show sold out almost immediately upon announcement, as had nearly all preceding gigs of Poison’s Flesh & Blood Tour.
This was the tour of the decade for the band, and everyone wanted to be part of the party.
Everyone!!
The venue was littered with audience members of all ages and backgrounds sporting eclectic outfits full of studs and splashes of neon, paired with spunky, outlandish hairstyles.
Some held up fan-made banners in honour of the band, while others happily chanted lyrics from a collection of Poison’s best anthems. Bottles of booze and various life-altering substances were already being offered around to enhance the rock and roll rave experience.
Rowdy cheers from the fans reverberated all around the arena and bounced off every wall.
The energy radiating throughout was contagious.
No one was immune to the powerful vitality Poison fans experienced in solidarity.
The show would, without a doubt, be a memorable one.
Jareth and Sarah had arrived at the stadium only minutes earlier, with a glamoured goblin for a chauffeur, driving the big fancy limousine he had conjured a few hours earlier.
Naturally, being a king, he deserved to arrive in style, and since horse-drawn carriages were no longer the thing, a noisy, stinky automobile had to do.
At least it was a head-turning, shimmering gold Rolls Royce with sparkling silver flecks embedded into the polished finish that left onlookers with dropped jaws and bulging eyes.
Jareth had been a bit leery exiting, especially after Sarah had them both dress in some wicked colourful outfits that rivalled CC's in craziness.
He had questioned her wardrobe choice all the way to the stadium, but immediately dropped his objections upon arrival.
It seemed everyone wore punked-out clothing and big hair, and after receiving some definite looks of approval, some, especially from the female fans, bordering on lecherous, he felt at home in his outfit and extended a broad grin towards his newfound admirers.
“Where to?” he wondered with dubious eyes at seeing the throng of people.
“CC said he left our tickets and passes at Gate 7…. Right over there,” Sarah replied after she had spotted the booth during a quick scan of the area.
She hastily took his hand and dragged him after her as she pushed several people out of her way.
“Hi,” she somewhat breathlessly addressed the guard, who wore sunglasses and a suit with an official concert badge. “My name is Sarah Will…. Kingston, and we have tickets and passes here for my husband and me.
The man looked starkly at her over the rim of his glasses, searched through his list of names on a notepad, and then reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing an envelope with her and Jareth's name on it.
“Enjoy,” was all he said as he handed her the envelope.
“Thank you.”
Sarah flicked him a genuine smile of pure excitement before walking passed the barrier, still holding on to Jareth's hand.
Once inside, she quickly retrieved the two personalized VIP badges, handed Jareth his, and put hers around her neck by the attached chain.
“Here, put this on.”
“VIP?” Jareth wondered but did as she instructed.
“It means ‘very important people’,” she informed him upon seeing his baffled face.
Immediately, his countenance lit up with a bright smile.
“Very important, yes, that's what we are.”
He caringly stroked the badge, as if it held some unknown power, and followed Sarah to their seats in the centre front row.
CC truly had honoured his word by giving them the best seats in the house.
“Where are the chairs?” Jareth wondered and looked around.
“Oh Jareth, you don't sit down for those type of concerts.”
Before he could voice his objections as to why it was uncouth to have a king stand, the announcer's blaring voice nearly rattled his brain.
“Mobile, Alabama! Are you ready? From the gutters of Hollywood California, we welcome the Glam Slam Kings Of Noise.… POIIIIIIISON!”
Deafening screeches of uncontrollable excitement flooded the venue the moment the announcement rang through the stadium.
Not a moment past before CC jumpstarted the party and ran down the front of the stage with ultra dramatic flair, breaking into the introduction of ‘Valley Of Lost Souls’, with Bobby to his left and Rikki behind the drum kit.
Pyrotechnic explosions burst on both sides of the stage as the New Yorker shredded an erratic, discombobulated but very exhilarating collection of sounds on his electric, which instantly ignited the crowd’s adrenaline supply.
The exuberant and overly animated guitarist shot the audience some of his most outrageous facial expressions as his fingers took on a life of their own, nearly destroying the whammy bar on his instrument.
It was only once the initial opening swiftly transitioned into ‘Look What The Cat Dragged In’ when Bret made his grand entrance, standing above a raised platform at centre stage, before descending downward to address the screaming crowd and break into the first verse of the song.
“I went to bed too late and got up too soon.…”
The concert was rapid fire, with one song chasing the next, and the longer it went on, the more Jareth overcame his initial hesitation.
Yes, he could see now why chairs were not necessary as they danced and jumped along with the rest of the audience.
About halfway through the show, when it was time for CC’s guitar solo, the New Yorker didn’t waste a second on calling out his two new friends in the crowd.
How he spotted both of them in his unruly and undeniably coked out state would remain a mystery for the rest of the night.
Much too soon, the concert concluded with a roaring encore rendition of 'Talk Dirty To Me’, receiving a thunderous and lengthy ovation, before the audience slowly filtered out, leaving behind a glassy-eyed Sarah and hoarse but exhilarated Jareth.
“Did you hear me sing along on those two last ones? It was…. The Bomb,” Jareth exclaimed with childlike elation, causing Sarah to snort behind her hand over his exuberance.
Her husband, the fearful Goblin King, had become a Poison fan.
“Well, whaddaya guys still standin’ here for?!”
CC’s rowdy bellow shot through Sarah’s eardrums from the stage as he nearly flew off the platform and catapulted himself into the audience area, catching her off guard for only a moment.
“Get ya asses ova’ here! I’m gonna show ya where the real party starts!”
Jareth nearly pushed Sarah out of the way to follow the glam rocker on the way to this so-called backstage afterparty.
Sarah merely laughed aloud at his childlike giddiness.
The three of them barely made it through the doors without nearly toppling over from the outrageous number of crazed fans, trying to fight their way into the VIP section.
Only Jareth and Sarah were officially welcomed in though, as they each held their golden passes to ‘Wonderland’.
“Welllllll, would ya loooook at that!” CC screeched upon pulling the two into the designated confines, meeting the rest of his bandmate’s eyes, “What a coincidence that these two are here with me!!!”
He winked at Sarah and Jareth while his lips formed into a shit-eating grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s.
Already balls deep into their post-gig ‘rituals’, Bobby, Rikki, and Bret carelessly shoved a few opened bottles of booze to the side of the crowded floor to make room for the VIPs to walk through.
The eclectic and highly fashionable outfits each of them donned did not slip the glam rockers’ minds.
“Woooooah,” Rikki piped up in respectable awe, “You two know how to rock some rad clothes!”
Bobby and Bret nodded in agreement, while CC’s response was, predictably, elaborate as ever.
“Well, whaddaya expect from these guys?! They’re friggin’ icons!”
“Why, much appreciated. I dressed myself,” Jareth proclaimed proudly like a toddler who managed to tie his own shoes.
Sarah rolled her eyes into the back of her skull.
Now he took credit for the clothes she literally had to force him to wear.
She would let it slide. This party was too much fun to get into a pissing contest with Jareth over whose idea the outfit were.
Soon, they were handed a bottle of beer each, and their eyes began to wander, taking in all the craziness of the room.
It vividly reminded Jareth of the goblin raves at the castle.
Thick smoke filled the air. Some held quiet conversations with a drink in hand, while others were more boisterous and obnoxious, the clinking of glasses mixing with the rumbling of a large collection of voices.
Dozens upon dozens of half-dressed women surrounded the area, to whom Bret didn’t waste a moment of tending to.
In fact, unbeknownst to most, he had already played with about half of them.
That’s just what the bandana clad rocker did.
While the lead singer entranced himself with the clan of hot bombshells, Bobby kept mostly to himself, satisfied with the beer he nursed while spectating the area.
Rikki chatted amongst the patrons in the room while periodically throwing a burst of silly string into the air to add some more pizazz to the partying atmosphere.
And CC… well…
It came to absolutely no surprise that the New Yorker hopped around from person to person to blabber nonsensically, arms wildly flailing in the air.
What also wasn’t unexpected were the hefty platters of white powder decorating the floor that the man snorted up faster than a dog salivated over a tasty bone.
“Alright, ya guys! Let’s bring the Twister board out!”
“Twister board?”
Jareth flicked a sheepishly grinning Sarah a puzzled look.
The word sounded familiar, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it had been about.
He blamed this doobie of Bret for muddling his memories.
Sarah in the meantime pondered for but a brief moment over whether she should refresh his recollections.
Nah!
Why spoil the fun?
And so, she merely patted his arm and motioned for him to watch. He would soon find out for himself.
Within seconds, CC appeared in the centre of the messy, heavily crowded room, holding a large white plastic sheet, adorned with brightly coloured circles before carelessly throwing it on the ground.
“Just like the good ol’ days!” he bellowed with uncontrollable exuberance, which was heightened by the lines of drugs in his system. “Let’s get down and dirty, Baby!”
The boisterous command earned a deafening uproar of cheers from the partygoers and almost immediately, the colourful mat was occupied with five or six fans contorting themselves into pretzel-like positions.
“Left hand, yellow!”
“Right leg, blue!”
“Left leg, red!”
Various directions paired with a colour were shouted aloud based on the spinning of a wheel, and each time a new instruction was presented, the players on the mat maneuvered the targeted body parts onto the correct coloured dot.
Some of the occupants were twisted within such close proximity that their bodies ended up overlapping, which created a visual that would only be described as borderline erotic.
The energy in the room matched that of the scene unfolding.
Seductive, sleazy, and heavily aroused.
So, that’s what the so-called game of Twister was.
Jareth's eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight, and he took an extra secure hold of Sarah’s waist.
“No,” he whispered into her ear upon seeing her giddy face. “We are not going to partake in this vulgar game.”
“But Jareth, it's just a Twister game.”
“I can see what sort of twists are being performed here, and it's nothing I want to see my wife doing with anyone but me.”
“Spoilsport,” she mumbled under her breath with an eyeroll.
“But we can observe and recreate this in our chambers later on,” he added with a seductive purr, drawing a puckish grin from her.
“You got yourself a deal, Goblin King,” she whispered back and laid claim to his lips to seal the promise.
The now oh so familiar cackles of the crazed glam rocker took their attention from each other, and they observed him with shockingly amused eyes.
He looked like a living pretzel, his body contorted into all strange positions.
“Well, he's having fun”, Sarah snorted, with her eyes lingering on CC, and poured the last swig of her beer down her throat, tipping back her head.
“He's bloody fucking crazy”, Jareth chuckled in return and followed suit in emptying his own bottle.
Sarah quirked a brow at him over his crude choice of word that all the sudden seemed to contain a Brooklyn accent.
“Hang around da natives, talk like da natives. Ya know whadda I mean?” he justified his crude language with a puckish grin, grabbed two more chilled bottles of beer from a nearby cooler, and handed Sarah one while he expertly popped open his own.
“I can see that”, she mumbled to herself with a subdued chortle.
Whether he realized it or not, but he could easily pass for a CC knock-off in his mannerism, outward appearance, and the puffy wild hairdo.
She wisely kept her mouth shut and relished in her amusement in silence.
For the next few hours, the after-party continued on with a steady supply of exuberance and chaos, erupting at all angles, like persistent bursts of firecrackers, lacing the sky on Fourth of July night.
There was not a single moment of dullness in the backstage VIP area.
Eventually, the rowdy celebration inevitably came to a close, as all good things must, and it was time for Sarah and Jareth to bid the Poison guys farewell.
The parting was bitter-sweet, and as much as Jareth tried to cover it up with a nonchalant display of indifference, he felt almost sad.
Almost.
It was Sarah's words to CC that suddenly had him toss all melancholy aside.
“It was so nice to meet you all in person, but we are off on our honeymoon now.”
Honeymoon?
His ears perked up.
How could he have forgotten about such an important event?
Of course, their honeymoon, the one that this imbecilic, crazed rock band had put on halt.
Not allowing CC to squawk his congratulations and wasting another minute of his precious time to spend with his wife doing salacious activities, he took hold of Sarah, shouted, “see ya”, and waved his hand, making them vanish into thin air.
“Holy hell, did ya guys see that?! Talk ‘bout leavin’ with a bang!”
CC words of admiration drifted off, unheard by the ears of Jareth and Sarah, who found themselves back in a rambunctious throne room, their eyes nearly bulging out of their skulls.
Before their horrified views were dozens of weirdly dressed goblins, wearing oversized blond wigs, with hair going every direction, the make-up caked thick around their lips and eyes, and their badly coordinated colourful outfits screaming Poison to the max.
“WHAT IN ALL BLOODY SEVEN HELLS IS GOING ON HERE?” Jareth bellowed, his counsellor rushing over to him with a look of oh-shit on his abashed face.
“Your Majesties, you are…. eh, um, hee-hee, you have returned.”
“Of course, we have returned, you plank-headed moron. Explain this,” Jareth cut off any attempted confabulation with the wave of his arm across the room.
“Well, they are having a…. an Ugly Thing, I mean, a CC look-alike contest. They want to, well, they find him…. they want to be like him.”
“THEY WHAAAAT?"
The droning sounds of distorted electric guitar riffs echoed through the room, causing Jareth teeth to clatter and his eyes to cross, when the goblins mimicked the crazed rocker's dance moves and guitar licks.
Jareth's face began to turn redder and redder.
“I wish we were on our honeymoon,” Sarah spouted out before Jareth could explode like an overheated teapot.
Within seconds, they found themselves laying in the pink sands of the Isle of Pixy, a fizzy drink in each of their hands.
Jareth looked dumbfounded.
“Where?…. What?”
“Welcome to our honeymoon,” Sarah smiled with wiggling brows.
“But.… but the CC look-alike contest. How dare those ingrates worship him as if he were a…. a…. a celebrity.... some hot shot.”
Hm, you know who's a hot shot?” she cut off his rambling and leaned over at him, making her top disappear and displaying her perky nipples to him.
“Who?” he asked, nearly breathless from the view.
“You are.”
“I am,” he agreed with a lecherous glint in his eyes and quickly cupped her breasts.
“Let me help you forget all about CC,” she breathed into his ear and ran her tongue seductively down the side of his neck.
“CC? Who's CC?” he croaked back, having already forgotten about this pain-in-the-arse glam rocker from Brooklyn.
Notes:
And here we are, at the end. What will happen to CC and the band, to Jareth and Sarah? Will they continue with their newfound friendship, or will they drift apart, each continuing to live in their own world? Hm, we'll see what the future brings and what our cray cray brains will come up with next. Stay tuned.
Again, we thank all of our wonderful readers, and feel free to check out our other individually written stories, Poison for Livdonna and Labyrinth for RMBiehl.
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Fating on Chapter 1 Thu 20 Jun 2024 09:59AM UTC
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Fating on Chapter 2 Wed 26 Jun 2024 12:51PM UTC
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Livdonna on Chapter 2 Tue 05 Nov 2024 09:08PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 05 Nov 2024 10:02PM UTC
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Livdonna on Chapter 2 Tue 05 Nov 2024 09:19PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 05 Nov 2024 10:02PM UTC
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Red Wolf (FairbairnSykes) on Chapter 3 Tue 02 Jul 2024 11:19AM UTC
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Red Wolf (FairbairnSykes) on Chapter 3 Tue 02 Jul 2024 08:16PM UTC
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Fating on Chapter 3 Tue 02 Jul 2024 05:35PM UTC
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Livdonna on Chapter 3 Tue 05 Nov 2024 09:04PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 05 Nov 2024 10:03PM UTC
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