Captain of my Soul

"If Professor Wilkins doesn't turn up in the next two minutes, I'm gone."

Sarah glanced over at her friend, giving her a reproachful look. "Come on Naomi, our class has barely even all arrived yet themselves."

Sure enough, students padded in, bleary eyed, summer clothes tossed on with carelessness as they took seats at their desks. It wasn't that it was that early; it wasn't, Sarah noted as she glanced at her own watch: 11:30 am. She assumed they'd dragged themselves out of their bed's cued by shreiking alarm clocks set religiously to counteract the party-induced-lack of sleep all freshmen seemed to suffer.

Sarah herself did not have that problem. Dressed rather more elegantly in a navy blue skirt that clung to curves of her slim body, and a pale blue spagetthi strap tank top, she had plenty of time since her 8 am start in the morning to choose what she wanted to wear that day.

For the past semester of her first year at College, she hadn't really been involved in much of the student activities. In fact, she barely knew a soul- preferring to spend her time alone, in the prescence of musty spelling books who seemed to catch her attention far more than that which the College offered.

Sure, she had been on a date or two, even attended a few fancy dress balls, but only in reluctance under her room-mate, and only close friend, Naomi's indetterable insistence. But it was not the same. The boys, they seemed so young, so immature....so lacking in intention; so lacking in any kind of grace or intellect.

But deep within her heart, she knew the problem was not the boys themselves. It was her, only her. She knew she should have been content with her life- a scholarship to a prominent College, being able to pursue her ambitions of becoming an actress,but life, since she had.....come back....had seemed somewhat sterile and meaningless. That place, that place she daren't name, that she had struggled so whole-heartedly and with such ignorant youthful assurance to escape, had haunted her.

Her sleep, for weeks in rows, would sometimes be plagued by the gnawing dreams of the place, inducing such an ache inside that this- life- aboveground, whatever you call it, it was not the reality. And that the place she had escaped from was secretly the place she wished she could escape to.

And it scared her.

"Sarah? Sarah...." Naomi's voice disrupted her from her reverie. Her eyes snapped upward.

"I'm sorry...I'm just having trouble concentrating right now," she murmured.

Naomi stared stonily ahead, eyes focused on the sharp movements of the clock above the blackboard of the small classroom. The french-manicured nails that accompanied such smooth, chocolate-brown coloured hands strummed the desk restlessly. "Yeah, well," she commented, "I have at least a million things I would prefer to be doing myself at the moment, and waiting for old Wilkins to come in and give us the same monotonous, archaic lectures is just not on my wish list." She exhaled deeply, turning to face her best friend.

"I honestly do not understand how people could take this subject by choice...Let me tell you," she said, shaking her head, "If I had any say in this I would be back in Film Studies in the snap of a finger. Especially with that little honey of a professor, what I would give for some of that!"

Sarah smiled slightly in response, idly flicking over the page of her textbook.

Naomi made a tsk tsking sound, her full lips curving into a smile. "Girl, you are a glutton for punishment. You know, out of everyone here-", she made a sweeping gesture with her hands, her tone dramatic, "- I'll bet you're the only one who applied for a place in this stupid subject. What could possibly interest you....in this!"

Her upper lip curled in distaste as she looked at her own twin copy of the 'Medieval History' text Sarah was currently looking at.

"I guess I was always interested in fairytales, legends... when I was a kid," Sarah added, her finger tracing over the familiar illustration of a swooning,crimson haired damsel that had greeted her whenever opening the thick, heavy novel. The text was a fine, small print, and Sarah had no doubt herself that she was the only one who actually wanted to be in this class, let alone have read the whole text, as she had. It had taken a fair while- each tale requiring concentration, the stories long-winded and often using rather outdated language, but she had enjoyed reading it. Listening to the tales of knights, and Kings, all so alluring in their chivalry and nobility, their airs and graces. Even the darker stories of knights of not so respectable will- well, particularly them- seemed to take a hold on her, and she would fall asleep, book in hand, and dream of those rogue knights whisking her away, intent on their deeds, good or bad...

She snapped to attention as mutters and sighs of complaints filled the room, the sound of slow heavy footsteps on the hard floor. Naomi, who had already risen out of her seat and put her text away, swore under her breath before sitting once more.

"Fucking hell....Figures the Professor would arrive just when I started to leave."

Sarah sent her a compassionate look, but her mood was lightened. This was her favourite class. Sure, Mr.Wilkins tended to get a little carried away, and most of the class couldn't follow....But Sarah looked forward to hearing his lectures. He always had some insightful view on the text that she hadn't picked up on.

Her view was abstructed, though, by the heads of students re-settling down in their seats- many had been on the way out when, to their great disappointment, the teacher had made his way in. But she could hear from the dense scraping on the board that the Professor was writing something down.

Eagerly, she took her folder out, opening to a freshly lined page. Her pencil was clasped readily in her hand.

Her grip tightened painfully, though,as she inhaled sharply, as a man's voice- melodic, yet, with a cold tone, and a distinct british accent- broke the air in the classroom.

"Good morning, class...I assume this is freshman Medievel History, yes? I am your new Professor."

Sarah's eyes widened, her throat constricting tightly.

"Jareth?"

A few people around her stirred as Sarah realised she had spoken the name aloud. Naomi turned to her, mouthing 'What?'.

Sarah didn't notice this; her body trembling, her gaze was transfixed on the man...Jareth....that stood in the front of the room. It had to be him. She recognised him- the same regal stance, elegant, noble features. The mismatched eyes that seemed to see through and violate you with one brief, pinning gaze.

His mouth was set with the same harsh, cruel line, a hint of amusement curving the lips ever so slightly in a look of unyielding superiority. He seemed tall and out of place in such a tacky room of sloppy, uninteresting...children.

Yes, Sarah could see it, in his face, his posture- she could see the air with which stood above these people, like a King to his minions.

He was just as she had remembered him- save for the hair which hung now in dishevelled, gold coloured silken strands to his ears, giving him a rather boyish appearance. A heavy sense of sexuality, of cold sensuality, lingered about him like a cool-scented cologne.

His dress, too, had changed; rather than the tights and flowing costumes she had accustomed to relating with him, he was instead wearing a most modern- but just as clinging- pair of black leather pants, that hung low on his hips. His shirt was also black, a collared cotton dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, giving others a hint of the pale expanse of chest that rested underneath.

"Wow..." breathed Naomi.

Sarah could only look on in disbelief as he went ahead.

"My name," he gestured to the board, where he had written in a flowing, elegant cursive, "Is Professor James Landau. I will be replacing Professor Wilkins who has taken ill."

His eyes caught Sarah's.

For a long, long moment, he captured her gaze, his eyes- two glittering, mismatched crystals- held her own. She tried to look away; willed it so badly that her pencil began to splinter under her grip. But her eyes were unable to look aside, opened wide and unblinking as if some unseen force held them so. The noise of the room faded to silence, until all she could hear was her heart pumping erratically against her chest, every inch of her skin rigid with fear, apprehension and...

He now beckoned her with a finger, his hand reaching out. She stared, transfixed, as a crystal ball- similar somewhat to those she had seen Jareth use, but dark, and blood-red in it's colour- appeared in his hand.

His voice, deep, commanding.

"Sarah...." he murmured. His pale hands, with their long, tapered fingers, began to stroke the crystal that he held.

Her eyes fluttered at this, as a hot shooting ache entering her body- settling like a fire deep in her stomach. Each stroke was a caress, she could feel the cool skin of his fingers; they were moving across her body, fingertips brushing along her collar bone. Lips pressed so softly against the side of her neck, butterfly kisses, feeling breath- not a hot breath, but a cool breath, like the flesh of his hands- brush against her own hot skin.

She arched into his touch as one hand grasped her waist quite roughly, pinching the skin, the other arcing her face upwards as those kisses touched ever so lightly the underside of her chin.

She felt so dizzy, so short of breath, as her eyes finally began to close, yielding herself completely to this man's touch... feeling a strange sense of relief, as she felt herself slide slowly into herself, with only
his voice echoing her name in her head and the touch of his lips, his hands, her only senses.

Sarah barely even noticed when one of his hands suddenly seized her throat, the long, pallid digits tightening and manipulating her shallow breath.

She felt a leather clad thigh press encouragingly between her legs, as she began slowly choking, gasping for the air that he woud not let her have. His lips descended bruisingly upon hers, and she responded feebly, as his tongue entered her mouth. He was so forceful and violent in his grip, and though inside she was screaming for him to let go, she couldn't help but respond: it was torturous, it was life and death, but it was so erotic...

A low moan struggled to escape her lips as a hand replaced his knee, finding it's way, this time, under the soft cotton material of her white panties. His fingers were cold and rough against her hot, wet flesh, as he skillfully rubbed the sensitive nub that lay there.

Her thick, dark eyelashes fluttered open and shut as she glanced dizzily at the man. She was fading into unconsciousness. She felt as if she would overload from the sensations he was producing in her, and even as she realized how close she was to death, she awaited the orgasm that was sure to rip over her body like a tidal wave any moment now.

Imploringly, her eyes focused on his for another moment- he released the pressure slightly on her neck.

Her breath came out in a rasp.

"Jareth..."

His eyes flashed angrily for a moment, and he twisted painfully on her flesh.

Moaning, she orgasmed, her body rocking over the edge, the world crashing down as she twisted in his arms in an overwhelming pleasure.....

and then,

Black.

Sarah blinked.

She was in her seat.

The man....James Landau...Jareth... His eyes held hers very briefly, before looking at the rest of the class.

"As I said, Professor Wilkins has taken ill. The details are unknown to me, but- I know you are wondering- you will not be losing anything valuable due to his sudden departure, as I assure you I am a most capable Professor."

Sarah struggled to regain her composure. Her head was spinning, and she breathed deeply to reassure herself of her breath.

What had just happened then? she thought, wildly. She looked around the classroom- it was as if....it... hadn't just happened. But, it had, hadn't it?

Hadn't it?

"Mmmm...Medieval History isn't lookin' that bad after all," commented Naomi.

Sarah's eyes once more caught briefly with Professor Landau's. His mouth, set so firmly in such a cruel line, curled slowly into a slight smile.

TBC