"So what happens when you cross the border?"
"You lose your memory of everything of our old lives. Looks like we're stuck here."
… …
Rumpelstiltskin moves in a daze, barely in control of his own movements. He leaves the stack of useless maps on the counter, and shattered glass all across the shop floor. It doesn't matter.
He doesn't even remember getting into the car, and he's halfway to his house before he realizes what he's doing. He needs to go home, to be in his sanctuary, before his heart implodes in his chest, before the reality of losing his son all over again sinks in and destroys him with grief.
He was so close, so damn close, after centuries of research and work and deals, after conjuring more magic than any being should ever touch, after destroying countless lives to fix his greatest mistake, after tearing the world to pieces and spending twenty-eight miserable, lonely, grueling years stuck here, waiting for the damned savior to show up, and he was so fucking close he could taste it, and everything was ready for him to go into the world and finally find his baby boy, and now his plans are all shot to hell, and he doesn't even know why or how to fix it, and everything he's spent centuries working towards lies shattered around him –
He's standing in his house, in his kitchen, and he doesn't even remember walking through the front door, and he has no idea why he came into this room. Then he sees his Belle, smiling at him, barefoot in a green dress, and he vaguely registers the smell of some fragrant concoction on the stove. She turns and comes towards him, smiling, and she's saying something, but he can't hear the words. She looks at him closely, and her smile slowly turns to a frown, her eyes full of worry, and she's the only thing in the entire world that can save him from his own heartbreak.
He feels his cane slip from his hand, and then he's grabbing her by the arms and hauling her against him, crushing her mouth beneath his. The loud crack of the cane as it hits the floor sounds far away, but Belle's surprised squeak, and the moan that follows are a deafening ring in his ears. He spins her around and backs her up against the table, pressing flush against her. He's already hard, pressing against her insistently, and he is so utterly grateful when she wraps her arms around his shoulders and holds him tight, kissing him back with all the same fervor. He needs her so desperately right now, needs her more than he needs light or air, and he doesn't know what he would do without her, tight in his arms, warm and willing.
He shucks off his jacket as fast as he can, only because he can't freely move in it, can't feel Belle's fingertips through the thick fabric. She takes off his tie as he tears at his fly, too desperate to wait until they're fully naked. She works at the buttons of his shirt, her mouth fused with his, as he rucks up her skirt and pushes her panties down. He hoists her up onto the table, the fabric sliding down her legs and off her feet. He dips one hand into her folds, and with a bit of magic she's ready for him, and without wasting another second, he takes her.
She screams and he swallows the sound as he lays her back against the table, and starts thrusting into her with all the force and ferocity of a beast. He doesn't have it in him to be slow or gentle. He slips an arm around her waist and lifts her up, so that he's thrusting at just the right angle and driving her wild with each one. She clings to him as tight as she can, holding on for dear life as he fucks her, swirling magic at her core to give her pleasure. He kisses her like he's drowning, like she is the air that will save him, and he pounds into her as hard and as fast as he can. She's the only thing in the world that can keep him from breaking, from shattering into a million irreparable pieces, and this is the only way he can prove to himself that she's truly here, with him, and that maybe, with her, there is a flicker of hope that everything might be okay in the end.
It isn't even about finding pleasure or release for him – for all that his body wants it, his mind barely registers the sensations of being inside her, the tight, wet heat of her body. What he wants – needs is to know that she's here and alive and real, to hold on to her, to be as close to her as he possibly can, because she's the only thing that keep him alive and sane and give him hope.
After only a few minutes of thrusting into her and feeling her tremble beneath him, smothering her gasps and moans with his kiss, he knows he is close to the end. He breaks the kiss for the first time and pulls back just enough to watch her face. He focuses on the magic swirling pleasure at her core, and with the faintest thought, drives her over the edge and into a blinding climax. He studies every contour of her face as she rides out her orgasm, arching beneath him and crying out again and again, her features twisted in beautiful agony, and she is his salvation. He comes as he watches her, his body needing the release, but he barely registers the sensation.
Afterwards, he collapses on top of her, both of them struggling to breathe. He rests his head against her chest, where he can hear her heart racing. She doesn't release him, as the minutes drag on, just gradually begins to stroke his hair and back, and it reassures him that she's real, that she's here.
"Rum…" she breathes, running her hand through his hair like she wants him to look at her. "What's wrong?" He says nothing, only curls against her further, burying his face against her neck. "Rum, tell me what's wrong."
Hot tears fall against her neck, and he holds her as tight as he possibly can.