She Can't Help It
Warning: Dub-con.
Rumplestiltskin's boy was a good one. He kept his nose clean – about as clean as his polished boots – and never did anything out of character. Unless, of course, there was a damsel in distress involved.
Rumplestiltskin had no idea why his motherless boy, now a young man, would do anything for a pair of pretty, wet eyes, but he would, as much as Rumplestiltskin had tried to knock that behaviour out of him with sword play and horse riding. But that had only made his son more able to help the womenfolk, and so he often brought windswept and weeping girls to the castle on his fine steed.
Bae was well-loved by the people, lauded as the perfect prince, but he was soft. Rumplestiltskin loved his boy, but his son had never been touched by much hardship or sacrifice, beyond the loss of his mother, and so had not known the cruelty of the world and the deceitful nature of it.
Bae had been burnt more than once by the people he tried to help, whether they were looking for coin or marriage, and so Rumplestiltskin made it his business to see that his son stopped bringing home strays.
As the King of Lamear and the fabled Dark One he had more than enough power to keep Baelfire out of trouble, but he was his son. When Rumplestiltskin took to using mirrors as a way of looking in on Bae from time-to-time, his son began to cover looking-glasses and steer clear of reflective surfaces, and when Rumplestiltskin used his men to follow Bae out on his adventures, his boy would talk them around to reporting that all was well.
All in all, Baelfire was Rumplestiltskin's son and it made his father proud, if not disgruntled.
Rumplestiltskin had not fought for his son's life – therefore being burdened the power of the Dark One – and gained the right to build a kingdom for Bae just to see his son tear it all down around their ears with mere carelessness, no matter how proud he was that his boy had his wiles.
So when Rumplestiltskin's little manservant spy, Heston, slithered into his grand study with dark beady eyes and words of a newcomer on his tongue, Rumplestiltskin immediately quit the room to see to the business of kicking the girl out.
He made sure to look imposing, magicking himself into scales and leather and other spiky adornments, but barely had a moment to ensure his cuffs were straight before Baelfire and his latest companion turned the corner and stopped dead in front of him.
Bae had the grace to look sheepish. "Papa."
Rumplestiltskin could not smother his smirk. "Not using the servants' stairs, boy? You've grown sloppy."
Bae, Rumplestiltskin could see, was not entirely cowed by being found out, but more relieved, as if out-manoeuvring his father was tiresome work. Rumplestiltskin could understand that sentiment.
"Papa," Baelfire murmured, sweeping his arm towards the woman. "This is Belle. She was walking the north road in search of her godmother and came across a particularly nasty bunch of ogres. Augustus and I intervened. Belle, this is my father, the King."
Rumplestiltskin allowed his eyes to rest on the girl for the first time.
She was pretty, he'd admit, with wide, expressive blue eyes and soft, rose-coloured lips, but those attributes were the most effective when ensnaring his son. The eyes would water and the lip would wobble and Bae would be lost. Rumplestiltskin, however, was not to be affected by any such tactics or charms.
The girl wore a dress and cloak of inexpensive and abraded blue material, and it only solidified the idea in his mind that she was after money to fill her paltry coffers.
No matter her eyes or her lips, her curls or her fair skin, the girl was trouble.
"Good day." Rumplestiltskin said in farewell, before he looked back to Bae. "My son here will see you out, Miss, and if he does not then the Guard will."
To her credit, the girl only turned a shade paler at Rumplestiltskin's promise. Baelfire, practised in his father's ways, tried to appeal to Rumplestiltskin.
"She only wants to look in the archives, Papa," Bae stressed. "At the last census. To find her godmother."
He smiled at the girl, hoping to scare her a little with his dark and toothy grin. "Wants don't get, dearie." He wagged a finger. "Not here. Not in my kingdom."
Instead of allowing Bae to lead her off, the girl – Belle – stepped closer and lifted her gaze to meet his. She did not flutter her lashes, nor pout prettily about being denied. No, she instead took on a look, making her seem much older than he had thought her at first, and straightened her back.
"Your Majesty, I will be more than happy to trade for the right to look in your archives," she told him plainly.
"A deal?" He practically twittered with delight that this scrap of a girl thought she could deal with him – and she called him Your Majesty! "What makes you think you have something I want?"
That stumped her. She mouthed silently for a moment, but Rumplestiltskin had seen enough.
"Exactly, dear." Rumplestiltskin gestured down the stone hallway. "Now, let my son show you the door, or it might be the dungeon you see next."
Baelfire, obviously sensing this fight was one not worth traipsing into, carefully took the girl's elbow and muttered a farewell to his father. Rumplestiltskin, feeling rather pleased, watched as the two of them turned and headed in the general direction of the main doors.
Rumplestiltskin sensed Heston's presence before the small man stepped up beside him.
"Follow them," Rumplestiltskin commanded, before turning back towards his study.
"Yes, Sire..."
Rumplestiltskin had, despite his better judgement, thought of the girl since she had left, considering what she might have given him in return for access to his records.
He had never – despite all reports to the contrary – taken an unwilling girl in return for her heart's desire, but he wondered what poor Belle would have offered him. Would she have offered herself, all her curves and dark lashes?
Rumplestiltskin bit the side of his thumb as he stood at the window in his study, observing the hubbub of the castle from the safety of his inner sanctum. He had been persuaded – by Baelfire, of course – to hold a ball and invite all the nobles of the kingdom to drink and break bread.
It was all for his son of course. It was soon approaching Baelfire's twentieth year, wherein he would inherit Rumplestiltskin's little used crown, as laid down by Rumplestiltskin's own word.
After all, he had taken this kingdom for his son, and so his son would have it. Rumplestiltskin had little use for riches when he spun his own gold, or power when it ran freely in his blood and poured from his fingertips. He had only sought to build a powerful kingdom and teach his son how to rule it, before stepping back into the dark, where he and his deals belonged.
Heston's quick pace – followed by louder, harsher footsteps – interrupted Rumplestiltskin's musing. Rumplestiltskin threw the grand doors of his study open wide without turning from the window, with the barest magical twitch of his finger.
"Speak. What of the girl and my son?"
Heston was half-panting, obviously from keeping up with his companion. Rumplestiltskin did not need to turn to know it was a large man with Heston, with a powerful heart and brute strength in abundance.
"They have disobeyed you, Sire, and remained in the castle. But this young man is Sir Gaston, son of Lord Beauchamp, and he has information which may be of immediate interest to you, Your Eminence."
At this, Rumplestiltskin turned to gaze at the newcomer.
The man was broad-shouldered, clad in the finest threads of Avonlea, and had a shining sword strapped to his hip. He did not strike Rumplestiltskin as the type of man to enjoy a ball, where dancing was required and conversation mandatory. The mere set of Sir Gaston's face seemed to ward off joviality.
The man immediately knelt. "My King."
Rumplestiltskin waved his hand, already tired of the boy. "Get up. What have you to tell me?"
"I have been searching for my betrothed, Your Highness." Sir Gaston stood, hands clasped hard in front of him. "I have looked high and low, all across the lands, and I have traced her here, to your castle. Her name is Belle, daughter of Sir Maurice, and I ask your leave to find her."
Rumplestiltskin watched Gaston steadily, as if debating the boy's request, but he thought only of the girl, now a lady, who had dressed as a peasant and run from her impending marriage.
"So," Rumplestiltskin said, gesturing with his fingers. "Did you scare off the poor maid?"
Gaston made an effort to tout his innocence in the matter, but Rumplestiltskin's sharp look was enough to gain silence in the cavernous room.
Rumplestiltskin went to the window again, hands firmly behind his back, and watched the golden banners waving from the battlements.
He should have given the girl up and be done with it, but he disliked the look in the boy's eye and the girl had shown at least a little gumption. He liked gumption.
Rumplestiltskin decided to deal with her, and then, if she had nothing of worth, he would give her back to Gaston.
"I have not seen your fiancée."He glanced at Heston, who wisely stood silent, and then at Gaston. "But I give you leave to look for her here, after the ball."
Sir Gaston looked as if he wished to argue – his tense jaw belying his calm façade – but he bowed deeply and murmured something about kings knowing best.
But before the boy left, with Heston at his side, he said something of great interest.
"If you see her, Your Highness, you need only order her to come to me and she will. She cannot help it. It is in her blood."
Rumplestiltskin stood at the doors to the archive room, fingers flexing and mind ticking over.
He could sense Belle, the girl, just beyond the doors, and he could hear her talking to herself in the large room, her voice echoing softly. He had stood at the doors for at least ten minutes, deciding whether or not to see if Sir Gaston's assertions were correct.
Did the girl really follow every directive given to her, or was it more a figure of speech? Rumplestiltskin was curious, and his curiosity was not piqued often.
He had read about spells that could turn men and women into slaves, to their very core, but they were mindless drones, walking shells, and Belle was certainly neither of those things. And the boy had said it was in her blood, so perhaps it was a curse that ailed her but it must have been bestowed at an incredibly young age for the magic to sink so deep, to become the very essence of her being.
That left only fairy magic, as the accursed women were wont to give newborn babies gifts. Perhaps that was why the girl needed to find her godmother, to rid herself of the spell.
Well, he could help there.
Without further preamble, he pushed open the grand painted doors and made his entrance.
The girl, all long dark curls and surprised blue eyes, looked up from the thick and dusty tome open in front of her. She stood from her bent position over the closest table, looking bright in her worn blue among the beige and grey of the full and high-reaching archival shelves.
"Your Majesty..." She began, but he waved her off.
"I'm not here," Rumplestiltskin told her, stepping around the table, "to berate you, or call in the Guard. Nor will I turn you into a newt, or see you to the dungeons."
She opened her mouth, and then wisely closed it again. He smiled at her, all teeth and grim glee, and glanced down at the census at her dainty fingertips.
"Who do you seek?" He asked.
She didn't answer at first, but once he'd looked her in the eye and muttered, "Tell me her name," she was all truthfulness and honesty.
"Lucinda Perryweather," Belle told him, instantly, before slumping back a step, her eyes wide with caution.
Yes, he thought, she was right to be cautious.
Rumplestiltskin stepped closer. "Tell me why you seek her."
Belle's body jerked, and her flushed and parted lips trembled. "I...I need her."
A compulsion spell, perhaps, was what had her in its thrall. He could taste a jolt of magic when he gave a command, as if she was sworn to be obedient in all things. But he was not yet satisfied.
"Touch your nose," he said suddenly, hands clasped in mock-prayer at his chest.
The girl jerked again and did as she was told, pressing a single fingertip to the tip of her softly sloping nose.
"Very good," Rumplestiltskin purred, taking a sweeping turn before looking back at Belle over his shoulder and perusing her submission to his commands. "Now, touch your toes."
"Oh, no," she muttered from her bent position, hair hanging about her face as her fingertips brushed her toes.
"Oh, yes," he hissed.
He was particularly pleased with this turn of events, that the idiotic Sir had been correct in his assertions of his betrothed's willingness to do anything commanded of her.
Rumplestiltskin circled the long table and approached the girl from behind. In her soft and worn dress, her curves were shown to full advantage. Her derriere, thrust towards him as she reached for her toes, was particularly pleasing to his eye, and at just the right height to grasp!
But, no, he willed his hands behind his back as he stepped about Belle and faced her. Her head, at the height of his waist, was distracting, with all those curls spilling everywhere and the cut of her dress allowing him a glimpse of the soft slopes of her generous breasts.
"How old are you?" Rumplestiltskin asked, and the answer came through gritted teeth.
"Twenty-five."
His eyebrows hitched. "And not yet married?"
"I have a...a...betrothed," she told him reluctantly, voice muffled behind her hair.
"And do you love him?" Rumplestiltskin drawled, absently wondering how lovely she would look naked and kneeling.
He didn't even have to command the answer from her. "No."
"Ah."He smiled, fingers dancing against each other as they steepled at his chin. "Stand."
She straightened slowly, eyes wary and teeth buried in her soft lower lip.
"As you can no doubt tell," Rumplestiltskin twittered, "I have discovered your little...oddity."
"Curse," she near-spat in her correction, and his eyebrows hopped.
Mercy, the girl was intriguing.
"As you say," he deferred, before gesturing to himself. "And I, in my kingliness," he near-laughed at that, "have seen fit to offer my assistance, shall we say."
Her eyes seemed to suddenly tighten at the corners, suspicious but a little hopeful.
"I already know someone who can help," she told him, and he laughed.
"Your little fairy godmother?" He half-purred. "Why, her magic pales in comparison to even a drop of mine, dearie."
"But she cast the curse," Belle insisted. "Only she can remove it."
Rumplestiltskin licked his lip and stepped nearer, tasting the desperation in her soul and her perfume in the air. "And who told you that? I'm the most powerful being in all the lands." He wagged his finger like a metronome. "Don't. Doubt. It."
She didn't speak as he came nearer, so close now that they stood nearly chest-to-chest. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and her warm breath caressed Rumplestiltskin's chin.
He hardly ate or slept, his only need to continue to make deals, and he hadn't felt hunger like this in a good, long time, and then only fleetingly with his late wife, before her biting words and his unsatisfactory and sharp-elbowed love-making drove her away and him to forget the want of a woman's flesh.
"You wanted to make a deal," Rumplestiltskin reminded her in his lilting brogue. "I'm accepting. Don't back out now, dearie."
"You said I didn't have anything you wanted," Belle reminded in kind, and he gave her a quick, sly grin.
"That was before I knew of your little predicament, my lady, and now I am inclined to assist you, though you shall be dealing for your freedom, not to poke about my library."
"Truly? You'll lift this curse and let me go?" She asked.
Rumplestiltskin bowed his head, radiating glee. "You have my word."
She seemed appeased by that, as if she knew his word was bond and he never went back on a deal. But, once again, that wise look stole over her face, and she gazed at him steadily.
"Your price?"
He grinned. "Let me make use of your gift. A single night is a fair price, I should imagine."
Her eyes, so knowing and yet so innocent, watched him, and her pale skin flushed prettily. Her fingers twisted in the sides of her dress.
"A night in your bed," she stated, voice soft. "But you know I have to obey you – you could force me there right now!"
Unbidden, he felt his eyelids fall a little, tempted beyond belief. "Yes," Rumplestiltskin told her. "I could, but your capitulation is so much more interesting. It's your choice. Find your fairy – though it sounded through the door as if you were having a spot of bother – or deal with me."
Belle breathed deeply, her eyes not leaving his face, and he sensed when she had made up her mind.
"You won't hurt me?"
Rumplestiltskin tilted his head, fingers fluttering. "Like I said, capitulation, dearie. You'll enjoy it. I don't enjoy hearing anyone screaming for their mother, despite what the clerics will have you believe."
Again, that aged look. "I believe that."
The deal was struck in all but word, and Rumplestiltskin was hard-pressed to control his excitement. His magic was rippling inside him, as well as his desire.
He held out a hand, palm turned upwards, and looked at the girl meaningfully. Faint purple smoke twirled in his palm, and Belle watched it with cool but undisguised interest.
Her soft fingertips touched, almost cautiously, the very points of his long, dark nails, before slipping over his fingers and dipping into the pool of smoke in his palm. He gripped her smaller hand in his, feeling the silkiness of the back of her hand with the edge of his thumb, and waiting, salivating for her surrender.
Her lip quirked. "Deal."
The thrill of her word rushed through his veins, and they disappeared from the archives in a hiss of vivid smoke, leaving the books open across the table and the mist to dissipate in the dimming light coming through the high windows.
She was, it seemed, more surprised by his show of magic than the two of them appearing in his grand and stately chambers.
"Oh!" Belle exclaimed, staring down at her unclaimed fingers drifting through the disappearing smoke.
The afternoon was fading fast, darkening into evening-time, and Rumplestiltskin planned to take his payment tonight. He tugged her to him by her hand in his, relishing her squeak of surprise and the way her eyes met his so immediately and resolutely.
She was so warm against him, so soft and solid, and he wondered why he desired her so much. Was it, perhaps, not simply her beauty that drew him closer, but also her spirit? She was certainly a lively little thing, and now, while he was so close, he could taste the innocence in her aura, as white and as pure as the snows of the mountains.
She was not looking for money or Bae's favour, he realised dimly. She really was looking for her fairy to break her curse, nothing more.
Rumplestiltskin eyed her, feeling a little drowsy from the pleasant feel of her in his arms and the lightness of her soul. She looked nervous of course, but not half as disgusted or scared as she should have. In fact...her cheeks were flushed, and her hands were curling about his shoulders rather than pushing him away.
Oh, yes. He'd picked a fine woman, and she would be delicious.
"Close your eyes," Rumplestiltskin found himself saying, and the girl obeyed with barely a twitch.
He leant in, curious, and let his breath wash over her face. Her lips puckered, and he knew that she would be marvellous to bend, not break.
Rumplestiltskin let his mouth meet Belle's for the barest fraction of a second, teasing the warmth in her and the roaring lust in him. Her lips were so very soft and welcoming, a glad reprieve from years spent without knowing a woman's tender touch.
His hands slid about her waist, feeling her pleasant shape, before he let his magic whisper over the fabric, sending it hurling into the void of lost things. He would dress her again later, once she was thoroughly debauched. Perhaps in golden silks, as a present.
The thought fluttered away like his magic's smoke on a breeze as his eyes found her naked body.
Rumplestiltskin bit his lip, resting his thumbs at the notch of her waist, as he tried to control the urge to merely rut against her and have done with it.
No, she was not his gladly-lost wife, with whom it did not matter what he did or how he did it because he could never satisfy her. Belle was innocent, unaware of why his fingers trembled a fraction, and she would not laugh. He knew that much.
He would please her, as she pleased him. It would be easier now, than when he was human, as he could sense her hungers, and his magic, if not his body, could sate those wants.
Wants don't get.
His own words rang in his head, and he couldn't help his crooked smirk. He would wave that rule while she lingered in his bed.
Rumplestiltskin's eyes travelled Belle's form, from the dark curls draped over her slender shoulders to the pink points of her heaving breasts.
Her breath came quick and shallow as she kept her eyes closed, and she must have been aware of his perusal, but she did not move.
His gaze lingered at her breasts, which were soft and generous and womanly, before his eyes roved across her round hips and slim thighs. The apex between her legs was hidden with soft, brown curls, but he could already glimpse her anticipation, glistening between her thighs.
She was slim, he noticed, from more than her time travelling on the road, and it was strange that, as a lady, she was not softer at the hips and arms and stomach. She was more than pleasing to the eye, for certain, but there was a quiet strength about her, something that spoke of depth.
Rumplestiltskin ran his hands to her shoulders, stroking her back in one smooth motion, as his eyes took in the small birthmark on her left hip and the dimple to her cheek as she worried her lip.
His hands stopped when, just below her shoulder blades, he met a line. A scar, he realised, stroking a gentle fingertip across its length, spanning the middle of her back. Thick and twisted, the wound must have been deep.
"Open your eyes," Rumplestiltskin commanded.
When she did, blue meeting black, he lost the question lacing his tongue from the heated look in her eye. He kissed her, hard, pressing open her lips and stroking the tip of her tongue with his.
Startled, she moaned into his mouth, and his cock leapt in his leathers.
She kissed him back without command, and, though artless and stuttering, her approach enflamed him more than a practised hand would have. He clutched her to him, letting her feel the hard line of him pressed against her flat belly.
Belle gasped, her eyelids fluttering and fighting his command. Pleased with her response, he slipped his hands down her back and grasped the flesh that had so mercilessly teased and called to him earlier.
A whimper – two – as he cupped her backside and brought her fully against him, only allowing himself a moment to roll his hips against her soft body. He stroked the silken skin of her derriere and, feeling particularly playful, gave it a hearty pinch.
She half-leapt into his arms, breasts jumping with the jolt, and his amusement quickly turned into something much darker. He wanted her – needed her – and though he was amazed that a stranger could elicit such powerful feelings from him, the fabled Dark One, he was more consumed by her than anything else.
Rumplestiltskin looked into Belle's eyes. "Kneel."
She immediately dropped to the woven rug at their feet, perched upon her dainty pink knees, and blushed as she came level to his waist.
A smirk lit his face. "Don't worry, love. A kiss shall suffice, and I'll more than return it in kind."
Indeed, he was positively gleeful about having her lain across the silks of his bed with her thighs apart and his face firmly between them.
Belle glanced up at him for a long moment, and, true to his word, he did not force her beyond the rules already laid out. And then she nodded.
It stole his breath, that simple acquiescence to his desires, and he plucked at his jerkin and the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt in his haste to undress. Once his golden shirt hung from his shoulders, the dimming light breaking through the grand windows of the room playing off of his glinting chest, he let himself stand directly above her, looking down at her sweet-featured face.
"Unlace me," he told her hoarsely, his lilting voice lost in his lust and now resembling that of his human days. "Take me in your hand."
She did so with startling alacrity, tugging at the thick laces of his breeches and shifting closer. With the laces undone and her nimble fingers peeling the leather from his glinting greenish skin, her hot breath washed over him and his cock jumped up to meet her sweet lips.
Belle looked surprised for a moment, eyes fixed in a stunned fashion on the very tip of his flushed length, pinker than the rest of him and aching with need.
Rumplestiltskin let the leathers fall about his knees, at the tops of his tightly laced boots, and watched, avidly, as the woman lifted a single hand to grasp his cock.
Her touch was heaven, and it was bliss as her fingers fluttered about him, tentative and tightening their grip for the barest of seconds.
Rumplestiltskin took a ragged breath, his chin tilting back as his eyelids fell over his thick, black irises. He could not remember such a perfect moment. Milah had only laid back and thought of a baby as they coupled, but Belle – oh, Belle – she so obviously wanted to please him.
He dropped his chin and opened his eyes to look at her. She was watching him, her hand grasping his cock, and she wet her lips as she glanced up to look into his face.
Rumplestiltskin's fingers flexed at his sides, wanting to bury themselves in her head of soft curls, and it took a superhuman effort to find the words to give his next order.
"Kiss," he managed to say, and Belle did just that.
Her soft, red lips touched the very head of him in a minute caress, before his stifled moan seemed to spur Belle into kissing him again, more firmly and without direction. She licked her lips as she pulled away, tasting the pearl that had escaped him and wrinkling her nose.
He laughed, all breathless lust and wonder, and said, "The bed, my dear. Hop on the edge."
Belle scrambled to obey him, planting herself on the soft mattress and watching him as he waved away his boots and breeches with a thoughtless bit of magic.
She looked more comfortable now, not curving her shoulders to hide herself or tucking her knees to her body. No, she planted her hands beside her, leaning back on her elbows as Rumplestiltskin stepped up to the foot of the bed.
A grin curved his lips as he bent over her, grasping her behind the knees and tugging her to perch on the very end of the bed. He slipped a hand between her thighs as she fell back against the silks with a hitched sigh.
"Part your knees," he murmured, catching his tongue between his teeth.
She did as directed, demurely slipping her legs apart as he released his hold on them. She lay there, her legs dangling over the end of the bed, and let him look upon her once more.
She was pink at her apex, the curls of her mound not hiding the sweet slit of her womanhood from the angle at which he looked, and he could see she was damp, glistening slightly between the flushed and parted lips of her sex.
He damn near growled.
Her bright eyes followed him as he knelt upon the rug on one knee and pressed her hips into the bed with his hands. His elbows kept her from pulling her thighs together, and with the lightest string of kisses along the silky-soft skin of her inner thigh, his mouth met her cunt.
Oh, and she was wet there, and sweet, tasting of her own musk. He could barely stand it, could barely do anything but hitch her legs over his shoulders and plant his mouth more firmly against her as his tongue explored her folds.
Belle shot up, her back arching and bending over head as she drove her slim fingers into his hair and cried out to the Gods. He smiled against her, victorious, and fought to make her scream.
Between gasping at his teasing licks and moaning throatily at his harsh kisses, Belle called out for deities, then the king between her legs, and then, "Rumplestiltskin!"
She shuddered above him as she was struck by her bliss, her slick muscles squeezing the single finger he had managed to press into her tight passage, and she released his mussed and crushed waves from her trembling hands as she fell back against the bed.
Her tiny pearl pulsed in time with her heart against his lips, as he pressed a single kiss against the bud of her sex, and he took one last, longing lick of her before letting her legs slip from his damp shoulders.
Rumplestiltskin stood between Belle's limp and parted legs, admiring the picture she made against his silks with her hair cast off about her head and her rosy breast heaving. She watched through the slits of her eyelids as he bent over her and pressed a hot kiss to her knee.
"Move back."
She did as commanded, though her limbs were weak with pleasure and she could hardly move. Rumplestiltskin followed her up the bed, crawling on his hands and knees until he was over her, knees between hers and face at her damp throat.
He pressed a kiss there, to her thumping pulse, and slid a hand up her ribs to meet the soft rise of her breast. She moaned softly, soughing in the back of her throat, like he offered her the greatest pleasure, and all coherent thought vanished.
Rumplestiltskin plucked at one of Belle's pink nipples as his mouth sought the other. She arched and writhed, delirious, and he pulsed in response, aching to be inside her, to forget his past incapability and lose himself in this woman who didn't find him repulsive even now, as a monster.
His hand gripped her hip, the other finding her knee and bringing it up to his waist as he kissed her breastbone, tasting the light sheen of sweat there with the very tip of his pointed tongue.
His cock sought her out, finding her slit and pressing against her there. Belle's eyes opened and met his, and he could see the want in them, taste the heat of her desire as keenly as his own.
Upon looking into her eyes, Rumplestiltskin decided to bestow her with a gift, if not a kindness. His hand pressed to her belly, he made sure no child would take root in her, for her own sake. She had not dealt for a baby, even if he was sure she would make a kindly and gentle mother.
His magic wove through her blood as he entered her, seeking the fairy magic laced into her being and crushing it. She gasped at the pain, muscles tightening and drawing a groan from his lips.
He eased his entry, cooling her pain and softening her muscles with gentle spells, and she thanked him for it with a moan as she threw her head back into the voluminous pillows and curled her fingers about the headboard.
"Yes!"
Rumplestiltskin's eyes near-rolled in his head as she shifted her delicious hips against his and sought to begin a rhythm with his body. She was so very tight, so very welcoming, so warm and soft as she wriggled beneath him, seeking a second peak.
He reached out to grip the headboard between her hands, mindful of not breaking the fucking thing as he rocked between Belle's thighs, his eyes on her face and her jumping breasts and...Gods, her rolling hips...
"Touch yourself," Rumplestiltskin gritted out, knowing her compulsion to comply should be crushed and shifting back a little more to truly gaze down at all of her.
She blinked up at him, teeth buried in her bottom lip, and he couldn't help his groan as he rushed to kiss the flesh from its pearly prison.
He moved back and watched as one of her hands released the headboard to slide down her cheek, her neck, her breast, her ribs...down, down, down to her quivering stomach...
"Please..." She pleaded quietly, lips red and lush. "Your Majesty."
His voice fled. He gripped her fingers in his and pressed them to her curls, slipping them down to the point of her pleasure. She brushed his cock as he pulled from her, causing a groan to spill from his lips and his backside to clench as he thrust forward again, harder, more savagely.
Her cries rent the air, but none were cause for alarm. No, she was pleased beyond measure, insensible and babbling with it, but it was when he pushed aside her hand for his own and pressed his thumb artlessly to her nub that she broke with a silent wail.
Her body curled and froze, and she screwed her eyes shut like the reckoning was upon her. Her passage closed about him, trapping him and stroking him with her muscles as she rode out her peak.
Rumplestiltskin followed her, his balls drawing up to his body as his spine blazed with pleasure and he came apart, hot and thick, inside of sweet Belle.
She met him when he fell, his arms shaking while he felt like he was about to breathe his last. He expected a death-rattle to roll from his chest with the absoluteness of his pleasure – little death, they called it, and weren't they right? – but all that slipped from his mouth was a wobbly sigh.
Belle breathed beneath him, warm and awake and so very lovely that he wondered how he'd misjudged her so badly when he had first seen her.
"Ru– uh..." Her dainty hands pressed at his chest. "Your Majesty?"
He quietly breathed in the scent of her hair, before sweeping himself from her and to the side. He lay on his back for a moment, catching his breath as he thought.
"Might as well call me by my name, dearie," Rumplestiltskin eventually told her, once he stopped feeling like his voice would break on each and every word. "I think you've earned that much."
He glanced over at her to see she was smiling. The curl of her lips was small and terribly fragile, but she looked pleased and just as thoroughly worn out as him.
She nodded and there was quiet.
The silence lasted a long time, and while their bodies cooled and their breathing came more steadily, Rumplestiltskin thought that something had most definitely happened.
He hadn't used any magic, save that to spare her pain and pregnancy, and yet she had still come apart in his arms and cried out his name to the navy silk canopy above his bed.
She was a little anomaly, with soft curves and eyes, and he was confused as to why it was she – specifically she – who had awoken such hunger in him. Even now he wanted her, to feel her against him again and hear her wonder.
"The curse..." Belle suddenly murmured, turning on her side to look at him.
Rumplestiltskin gave her a quick grin, though he felt no mirth. "All gone! Might have been that it never happened."
His tone, he realised too late, was a little bitter. He had enjoyed her – thoroughly – and now she would scamper away to her father and her new husband and wouldn't it all be jolly?
Rumplestiltskin had found he had an appetite for her, and was unsure whether he would ever be able to appease it now without her need of his curse-breaking magic. He had only asked for one night after all, and it was dark now, he realised, with the room brightened only by self-lighting candles and fire.
Belle turned onto her belly at his side, propping her chin on the heel of her hand as she watched him, seemingly not giving a whit about her nakedness now they had known each other so thoroughly. His eyes drifted over her backside and the rest of her fetching curves, feeling that hunger licking at him again.
The bedside candles illuminated the pale slope of her back and his gaze caught the scar there, just as wide and puckered as it had felt. His finger sought to stroke the old wound as his mouth framed the question that had been on his lips (and then promptly forgotten) earlier.
"Where did you get this from?"
A crease appeared between her eyebrows. "An ogre."
Rumplestiltskin saw the honesty in her eyes and frowned, thinking of Augustus and Baelfire's rescue and knowing that it could not have been the work of the particular ogres fought then.
He licked his lip, not retracting his hand from her back as it splayed across the scar. "Tell me."
Belle's face brightened with a smile as she leant towards him. "I can say no now."
She seemed particularly pleased with that little revelation, and he waited for her decision, wondering how a lady could have been hurt by an ogre, of all things. Weren't fathers supposed to lock away their children from the monsters? He'd certainly tried.
She watched him for a moment, and sighed, "My father was fighting a losing battle six years or so ago."
Six years. The Ogre Wars.
All but vanished from his lands now, the ogres had crawled over every inch of Rumplestiltskin's kingdom those few scant years ago. His magic had saved Bae, his show of power at driving the beasts back had gained him a kingdom and supporters, but the spinner inside of him was still scared of the creatures, still saw the blood and brain-matter of the battlefield in his deepest contemplations and...this girl was there?
Belle looked at him through those wise eyes once more. "I asked him once, after a war meeting, what it was like on the battlefields at our doorstep, on the frontline, and he...he told me to go see for myself."
Rumplestiltskin's eyes widened and he swallowed at the realisation that Belle – this brave and cursed girl – had had no choice but to obey her father's poorly chosen words.
"Didn't he–"
"Know? No. My mother, she grew sick after she had me, but she lived for a few more years. On her deathbed, she made me swear never to tell my father – to tell anyone – about Lucinda's gift, in case they used it against me." She smiled a little ruefully. "I guess she didn't understand what she was making me do."
"So...you went?" He asked, and he can't imagine her there, in all that blood and all that death.
She gave a nod. "I went. I tried to get myself caught as I left the castle, but the magic was too strong. People on the battlefields told me to fight, so I fought. It was...it was..."
She had no need to finish that sentence. He knew. It was hell.
Belle's eyes met his again and she shifted closer, so her chin met his arm and his hand rested in the small of her back.
"It was morning when you came," she said, shocking him into stillness. "I remember running across the mud, obeying the ogre chasing me, when he told me to hold still and I stopped long enough for him to swing his axe. It was a red sky, and I was looking up from the mud...and I thought I was going to die...and then the ogre was gone and the children were crying, and I...I heard you tell everyone to go home."
A tear, small and shining, collected on her lower lashes, before it fell, tracking down her cheek. She gripped his hand suddenly, bringing it to her lips and kissing his knuckles like she was professing fealty.
He understood now why she didn't think him so very disgusting, why she welcomed his touch and moaned for him, and while he was glad – ridiculously and overwhelmingly joyful – that he had unknowingly saved her life, he was not so glad at the realisation of her motives.
"You feel obliged," Rumplestiltskin said, and it bothered him more than the thought of her not wanting his touch again had.
But again, she scattered his thoughts and sent him reeling, looking up at him like he just didn't understand.
"No," Belle countered quite plainly. "I like you. You're a fair king and a good man. It's why I accepted your deal in the first place, because I trust you."
His eyebrows didn't know what to do with themselves, but they eventually settled in an approximation of a compromise, half-up and half-down.
It was naive to trust someone so easily – let alone the Dark One – but he was also inordinately pleased, because this let him hope that she would invite his attentions once more.
"Will you go back to your Sir Gaston?" He asked her, and she blinked at him.
"How do you know his name, or can you read my mind?"
Rumplestiltskin smirked, leaning in close. "I could, but it would detract from the lovely mystery of it all."
She smiled at that, before he spoke again.
"I know because he came to me earlier, to ask permission to seek you out in my castle. He told me about your little predicament, my dear."
"He guessed a long time ago, and I couldn't turn him down. Literally." Her eyes widened. "Oh, no! Dreamy!"
"What?"
"The dwarf I came here with. Oh, I hope he's alright!"
Rumplestiltskin blinked at her owlishly. "A dwarf? What kind of company do you keep?"
The smallish men weren't known for their incredibly companionable nature.
"He's looking for his True Love – a fairy," Belle told him. "They were separated, and he thought she might have come here for the ball. I saved him when he was ambushed by some men on the road."
Rumplestiltskin wrinkled his nose at the mention of another fairy – and in his castle – but he would not be dissuaded from his original question.
"Your betrothed," he pressed.
Belle settled a little. "Well...I must return to my father. He hasn't been well."
Rumplestiltskin made a near-sympathetic noise he was only half aware of and swept his hand across her back in a slow circle. He liked this girl.
"Should I, say, come to visit," he began, eyes dipping to the soft notch at the base of her throat, "would you spurn me?"
He glanced up when Belle did not answer, and though he, at first, was clutched by a cold fist at being denied, when he saw her smile it soon put a stop to that.
"Not at all," she breathed, leaning in to press her lips to his. "In fact, I think I'd quite enjoy it."
Author's note: So, I've read a few fics about Belle using Rumple's dagger to command him in the bedroom, but I haven't seen nearly enough of the opposite. And then I re-watched Ella Enchanted and the whole thing spiralled. Blame Anne Hathaway and Cary Elwes, because that scene suddenly made me want to write dirty, dirty things. Also, this isn't really meant to be historically accurate, so please excuse inaccuracies because...I mean, have you seen Ella Enchanted? Also-also, I might write more for this AU, but this is a definite O/s. Thanks for reading!