At Her Whim
The storm cellar was dark; it almost always was. Not that it bothered him. It was one of the powers granted him as the Dark One, the ability to see in the dark. Besides, light meant her, the Wicked Witch, and being free of her, even for a little while, was well worth it. It was also damp and cold, but he had long ago learned to ignore such minor inconveniences. Rumplestiltskin sat spinning at his wheel. He had once told Belle that he spun to forget, but right now he spun to remember, to remember the few brief moments he had with his son before he had been swept away from him again. This time there was no coming back. Bae was dead, and there was nothing he could do. He couldn't remember feeling this helpless before. At least when he thought he was going to die before, he had been able to hold on to the thought that his son would live. Now even that was gone from him. So he sat, and he spun, and he remembered.
With Bae no longer sharing his mind and body, his thoughts were clear; the madness had receded, at least as much as it ever did. The voices in his head were the same ones that he had lived with for almost all of his over three hundred years of life. They were, for lack of a better word, familiar.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there. He had filled the bobbin and set another in it's place to continue when he heard the sound of the lock above him. It was a sound that filled the lonely sorcerer with dread. The possibilities were few. It was either the witch, the most likely possibility, or it was another attempt to rescue him, an attempt that he knew was futile. Rumplestiltskin could not resist the compulsion of the dagger, and he feared what would happen to anyone who tried. Especially Belle. Belle who loved him. Belle who would never stop fighting for their love. He knew that, but still he feared what would happen to her, to them. He had thought about suicide, but only the dagger could do that, and he didn't have it. Besides, could he really give up his life and leave his lover to the mercy of the witch? Rather than follow those dark thoughts, he continued to spin as the door was pulled open and the pale light of winter filtered down to illuminate the first few steps. He wouldn't look.
"Rumple, still spinning?" Zelena said, laughing. Her voice went through him like a knife, like the dagger she held clutched in her hand. He looked up. The witch had a smile on her lips and a feral glow in her eyes that made him clinch up inside. "Does it help? I suppose there is not much for you to do here in this cage. Poor Rumple."
The use of the nickname he had never much cared for save when it came from the lips of any but his true love grated. Her voice was low, seductive, and he knew what she was here for. Torture. She loved the power she had over him; it intoxicated her. He didn't bother to answer, after all there was nothing to say. She would do as she would with him, regardless. Rumplestiltskin would not bow to her unless forced and thus far, she had not forced him, this time. The lock on the cage was opened for now. After their little attempted rescue she had gone back to locking it, just to remind him how trapped he was.
"Stand up," she ordered, and his body responded to the command suddenly, rising so fast that the stool fell over. "You are looking a little worse for wear. How can you bear it? You were always so particular about your appearance; now look at you." He stood stock still as she entered the cage. "I suppose I should take better care of my pets." With a flick of her wrist, he was clean, the suit unsoiled. He knew it wasn't for his comfort but her own; for that and that alone, he suddenly wished for the dirt back. "Sit, sit, are you not going to thank me for cleaning you up?"
"Thank you," he said simply. It was nice to be clean, though he knew it was for her pleasure and not his comfort. He sat on the rough bed that she had provided him, waiting. Thus far he'd been forced to endure her shaving him with his own dagger, an experience that he would rather not think about, ever. But Zelena always had what they so quaintly referred to in this world as 'daddy issues'. He wondered what would come next. After all there was nothing he could do against her.
"It occurs to me that I have been neglecting you, Rumple," she said as she moved forward, stroking her fingers through his long hair. "Under all that dirt, you are still quite a handsome fellow." Zelena moved even closer and it took all his self control not to flinch away from her touch. He didn't want her touching him, not ever. "And you are still a man; that is clear enough. Everyone treats that silly little girl like your widow. Did you know that, or they did, before they knew you were alive? She was what, your lover? Mistress? Surely you would never have considered making her your wife." He couldn't help the sharp in take of breathe.
"Don't you dare speak of Belle," he growled, recoiling immediately when she dragged her nails against the dagger as the pain bit into him.
"Oh, have a struck a nerve? I suppose she is pretty enough. But really, you could do better. This really doesn't have to be difficult, you know. Do you think I am beautiful?" she asked, standing back and posing for him.
"No one would deny that you are a beautiful woman, Zelena," he said. "On the outside." The witch hissed and drew back with a look of anger on her face.
"More beautiful than my sister?" the Witch questioned, her eyes darkening.
"Differently beautiful, I would say." That answer seemed to sooth her somewhat, and she stroked his cheek gently. Rumplestiltskin bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to taste blood, anything to take away the feeling of her touching him.
"Then why, when I was your apprentice, did you never once try to take me to your bed? You knew I would not reject you, that I wanted you. And I know you are most definitely still a man." She leaned forward and drew the blade along his thigh, careful not the cut through the fabric. "In all the ways that count."
Inside Rumplestiltskin screamed in pain and rage. He had an idea of what her game was, but the horror of it was almost too much for even him to take. Voices whispered in the back of his head; he could do this, not that he would have a choice if she truly wanted. Use her, draw her in and get the dagger from her, they whispered. But the thought of doing it made his almost empty stomach roll. "Getting intimate with an apprentice is never a good idea," he growled through clenched teeth.
"Good thing I'm not your apprentice anymore then, isn't it?" She laughed lightly, and brought the dagger near. He didn't move, though everything inside him longed to pull away, to run. Instead Rumplestiltskin watched helplessly as she drew the blade down his shirt front, sliding down to the first fastened button and slicing through the threads delicately. He watched, hope fading, as it fell to the floor before moving to the next, and then the one after. Inside, he was screaming; rage, fear, and loathing were warring with one another inside his mind. This was not torture, it was worse. How he could let this happen? He didn't know but there was nothing he could do to stop it either. She reached the final button and flicked it off with the tip of the knife, leaving his shirt standing open to the waist. "Was it my sister that taught you that? Was she the apprentice that betrayed you, or did she reject your advances? What was she to you?"
He didn't answer. Never in his life had he wanted more to cover himself. This was a kind of shame beyond anything he had ever known. Zelena sat down on his knees, careful not to allow her skirts to touch the filthy pallet he called a bed and slowly slipped a hand inside his shirt. His muscles clinched at her touch, and he held his mouth tightly closed to prevent his last meal from making a return appearance. Actually that wasn't a bad idea, really, if he could bear it. If he vomited on her, would she be so disgusted that she would leave or would she merely clean him up and begin again?
It gave him an idea, though it wasn't much. Right now, anything to distract her. Perhaps, maybe Belle would be able to forgive him, even if he never could forgive himself. "This is hardly the place for a seduction, dearie. Surely you don't fancy having me in a pen like an animal, or is that the way it was back in Oz?" his voice had risen to his old pitch, the voice that was more the Dark One than Rumplestiltskin. He couldn't stop himself though, despite the possibility of escape, of getting his dagger back; there were some lines which he would never cross. "Did Daddy do more than make you shave him, hmmm?" He tasted blood as she backhanded him, the dagger still clutched firmly in her fist. But he had struck something.
Her eyes flashed and for a moment he thought she would lose her temper and attack him. He could handle that; pain was easy enough to ignore. But after a moment, she calmed herself. Unfortunately she knew exactly what he was doing, and she wasn't going to give in so easily. "No more of that, now," she said, reaching up one finger and capturing a drop of blood that oozed from where her blow had split his lip. Zelena smirked at him, as she drew the precious red drop to her lips and sucked it away. "We were getting along so well," she cooed. Leaning towards him, she captured his lips in a rough kiss, irritating the wound she had made, and trying to coax him to respond. She ran her tongue along the seam of his mouth, encouraging him to open for her. With an internal growl of loathing he opened his mouth to her. It was like an invasion, the taste of her, sour and bitter, like her heart. He offered a silent prayer to all the gods that Belle would forgive him for this. After a moment, she broke away with a smile. "See, I knew that you would come around with the right encouragement. Perhaps, if you are a good boy, I will take you away from all this. But first, I want the answer to my question. What was my sister to you?"
"She should have been my daughter," he told her. Rumplestiltskin wasn't sure what it was that made him do it. Not that he was against honesty; he rarely lied. But he preferred to keep the details to himself. On his lap, Zelena hissed. He had definitely struck a nerve with that one. Now that he had the thread, he had a plan; all he had to do was pull. "It was your mother from whom I learned about that kind of betrayal, the kind that comes with kisses and caresses in the dark." Now he was the one that was smiling. "She actually wasn't, technically, my apprentice at the time." His voice had sunk to the feel of warm honey, words smooth and sensual, and difficult to get away from. "In fact, she seduced me. I wasn't looking for...love. I was just looking for a deal, as usual. Cora made me a better offer."
Zelena had gone pale, the dagger clutched white knuckled in her hand, while the other gripped his shoulder tightly. He raised his hands to settle on her waist, keeping her where she was. If this was what she wanted, two could play at that game. Now he was the predator.
"Do you want to know, dearie? Shall I tell you about her personal tastes?" he whispered, leaning close to her ear, his breath tickling the delicate shell. "Or would you rather hear about what she did to me, the pleasure we gave one another? Shall I show you? Would you like to know if you share any of her...perversions?"
Zelena pulled away from him, and stumbled to her feet, her face a masque of horror and disgust. He couldn't blame her, really. Who wanted to know they had just tried to seduce the man who had once warmed her mother's bed? "She didn't..."
"Oh yes she did, dearie. Repeatedly in fact. She was quite talented... after a fashion." His voice was stronger now. The Witch seemed to have completely forgotten the dagger, or that she could control him, could make him stop, and he had no intention of stopping, not now, when he had her on the run. "Of course she betrayed me, just like she did everyone, including you. Broke our deal on a technicality. I couldn't give her what she wanted, you see; I couldn't make her royalty,"
The witch wrenched the cage door open and threw herself from it, slamming the door behind her and clumsily clasping the lock. Rumplestiltskin too was on his feet, following her til he hit the cage bars hard, reaching out for her. "Come now, dearie, I thought you wanted to play. She was so very fond of games, but in the end they failed her," he giggled maniacally reaching out to grab for her, his eyes wild. "In the end, they will fail you too," he called out as she ran up the stairs and threw herself from the cellar, slamming the door behind her, and leaving him alone in the dark.
After a moment he crumpled against the front of the cage, holding tight to keep himself upright. It took only moments but he could no longer hold back; he dragged himself to the corner of the cell and vomited up everything on his stomach until only bile remained, and still his body heaved. When the spasms subsided, he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his ruined jacket and wiped his mouth. He made the revolting mess vanish with a flick of his wrist; after all, she had never told him not to. His shirt still hung open on his slender frame, but he could no longer taste her in his mouth. After taking a drink of water and wasting some of it rinsing his mouth, he began to collect his shirt buttons from the floor. Gold thread would make it slightly more difficult if she tried that again, he thought as he pulled a small needle from his spinning basket. He didn't think she would try that tactic again, but it didn't do to be unprepared. At least now he knew a few of her weak spots. He had a weapon, and he knew exactly how to use it.