Author's Note: I've had this story floating around my brain for several months and finally decided to write it...even though I have other stories on the go. Love is the greatest seducer of all, and RumBelle is going to learn that in this story. I'm rating this story T plus. If you really want to avoid anything racy in this chapter, skip the large sections of italic type in the first third of this chapter, before we get to Belle in Avonlea. That said, I like how the racy stuff turned out, and it is not as racy as an M rated fic, in my opinion.
This is written with great respect, love and gratitude for the talents of Robert Carlyle, Emilie de Ravin, all those involved in Once Upon A Time. I do not own the OUAT characters.
The mid-morning sun streams into Rumplestiltskin's bedchamber. His serpentine curled hair hangs down as he gazes hungrily at the porcelain skinned beauty beneath him. Her dark chestnut hair is strewn haphazardly across the pillow, her full lips call to him like ripened fruit begging to be tasted, but of all her stunning features, none can compare to her eyes. Her iolite blue eyes seem to sparkle in the radiance of the cascading sun, yet there is something more there, a deluge of emotion. He is keenly aware that no woman has ever before looked at him in such a way. Her eyes are like a kaleidoscope of feelings, expressing things that tie him to her; desire, adoration, trust, devotion...
He is frozen in the moment until he hears a breathless whimper escape her lips, "Rumple, it's not nice to toy with me like this."
A wicked grin forms revealing his blacked and gnarled teeth, as the sun reflected from her skin seems to refract his own greenish gold flesh that is the texture of sand, "Whoever implied that I was nice?"
He stares deeply into her eyes as his hand with long dark nails slides teasingly up her ribcage, eliciting throaty laughter from her that makes his senses reel.
She rakes her delicate hand into his mop of hair, as she implores, "Please, I need you. You know I need you. Give me what I need.", and pulls his head down until his neck is within reach of her mouth.
Her tongue drags across the textured skin as he growls in her ear as they move. United as though they fill each other's veins, they call to each other with unintelligible sounds. They wear each other like hand in glove, entwined, enticed, enthralled and enamored, and then finally enveloped by bliss.
Rumplestiltskin slowly awakens from his dream, his body tingling with electric pulses and the blanket before him tented. He cannot recall the last time he has had that type of dream. Usually, his sleep is tormented by nightmares of his son, Baelfire, falling through the portal into another realm after Rumplestiltskin had let go of his son's hand. No, he does not have erotic dreams...not anymore. Women have only caused pain and destruction in his life. But that woman, such a woman could never exist. Surely his imagination conjured such celestial being. No woman could want him like that. Her eyes set his soul on fire encasing him in love. Stunned he thinks, "Love?! Now, that's ludicrous, indeed! Lust; maybe, in some wild fantasy, but even in a dream, no one could ever love me."
With his forehead crinkled, looking curiously at the protrusion in the blanket, he decides that will need to be dealt with before he can begin his day. With a lopsided smile, he embraces the gift his imagination bestowed upon him.
Throughout the day, whether potion making, spinning or plotting his next move to find Baelfire, he can see and feel her eyes upon him, and he finds himself humming a strange, gleeful tune. He enjoys this feeling while he can, for he knows that tonight as he sleeps he will be once again visited by the regrets of his failings as a father and a man.
Lying on his back in his bed with traces of ambient light illuminating the room, a silhouette of a woman can be seen straddling him. Moonlight dances across her lush mane and highlights the exquisite features of her face. Every other feature is obscured in shadow, yet her stance and form in this moment reminds him of a wolf baying at the moon. She is a force of nature astride him with her hands gripping his shoulders. In the haze of pleasure, he loses track of her actions as she giggles mischievously...suddenly Rumplestiltskin realizes she has something in her mouth...the handle of a feather duster!
Rumplestiltskin awakens with his heart pounding and his clothing wet from bodily secretions. He growls frustratedly, leaping from the bed, tearing away his soiled night garments as purple magic engulfs him leaving him in his typical daytime attire, silk shirt, rigid brocade jerkin and leather pants. The sun is not yet up, but he has much work to do.
Certain that this phantom of a woman must be of magical origin plotted by his enemies to drive him to his wits end. He scours every magical tome he can find, and scries all the possible suspects of such an insidious plan. As he does so, images of the obviously fictitious siren bombard his mind. He works frantically through the day and well into the night without stopping often mumbling..."You can't fool me, dearie! I'll find you! Whoever conjured this phantom will be severely punished...I promise!" As exhaustion begins to take over, realizing that he is driven to distraction, he takes another tact. Going to bed with fierce determination, he decides to focus on Baelfire, only Baelfire and the siren will be banished from his mind.
In a large ornate bathing room adjacent to his bedchamber, a spacious brass tub is filled with steaming water laden with scented oils from far off lands as soap bubbles froth the surface. Facing each other, Rumplestiltskin and the dark haired woman sit in the tub. The wet ringlets of her hair spiral down her shoulders as she nibbles his neck. He breathes in excitedly at her attentiveness to his pulse point.
Her fingers comb through his wet straggly hair, leaning back to see his face as she sighs, "How much longer can we in stay here?"
"I could stay all day..." and then holding up her hand for inspection, "however, you my dear, are another question entirely. Your dainty digits are already puckered." as his teeth playfully nip the tips of her fingers.
"I can make the sacrifice, if you can.", she smirks, and then adds, "Although, we could move our activities to a drier location. Our bed will suffice." A look of unbridled adoration claims her expression as she strokes his lips with the fingers he had just nipped and her other hand massages the base of his neck. Tenderly she says, "All I want is you, Rumple. It matters not, where or how...just you. If you wanted to live in a hut and herd sheep, it would be quite fine with me, as long as I get to have you."
She buries her face into his neck embracing him tightly, and as he strokes her back, he rasps out in a voice full of awe, "Gods, I love you!"
"NOOOOOOO!", Rumplestiltskin screams as his eyes fly wide open. "No, no, no! This can't happen! I will not allow it!"
He paces his room as the sun begins to crest over the mountain peaks. "It's merely carnal desire. That's all it is. Love is not an option." The nagging realization claims him as he considers that the woman from his dreams may very well be real. "No, I don't love her...I won't love her...it's just lust. Lust...plain and simple." He concentrates trying to obliterate thoughts of her soft smiles and her tender eyes. Too much time has already been lost in the distraction of mere lust...and nothing more. He commits himself to go about his day without a thought of her.
His day is like an endless torture of her voice, eyes and touch. Over breakfast, he sees her smiling knowingly, wearing a blue dress that brings out the color of her eyes, as she gazes at him across the table, sipping tea. Later while dealing with Regina, he hears her scream out his name in ecstasy! He suddenly releases a bolt of magic scorching the table in the grand hall. When Regina looks at him with curious amusement, he claims that he never liked the finish of the table anyway, and her constant yammering about Snow White has tried his patience. Thankfully, the table stands between him and Regina, because the siren call of ecstasy has caused an excitement that would be apparent should she get a view below his waist. Thinking agitatedly, "I don't need Regina thinking she caused this. I have enough headaches."
By midday, an idea that, even in his twisted mind, seems insane has begun to form. If she is indeed real, he must have her. She will serve as therapy to help him concentrate on important things again. "But how?" He would never take a woman unwillingly, viewing rapists as the lowest of life forms...not worthy of being considered men. "After all, I may be a monster, but I'm not a pirate." Indeed, what had made her so completely intoxicating in his dreams was the fact that she wanted him...she truly desired him...she even lov... "No, not that! That is not possible. Somehow, I must make her lust after me." He groans, "This is insane!", as he paces the great hall like a caged animal. Trying to convince himself of the viability of this endeavor, he ponders encouragingly, "I can do this! There has to be a way...I'll find her, and I'll woo her...somehow." Bitterly he thinks sarcastically, "That's right, with crocodile skin and all, she'll be begging to be in my bed." He scrubs his hands across his face and hisses with frustration. He knows he cannot cast a spell on her, for it would still be against her will. He could never do that to a woman, besides he would know the difference between that and the experiences in his dreams. Deciding to take one step at a time, he closes his eyes and uses his mind to search for her...if she does indeed exist.
In the town of Avonlea, Belle, only child of Sir Maurice, laments the future, staring out the window of her bedchamber. The ogres are bearing down on the town, and the sky has taken a reddish hue. In days, there will be nothing left, and yet, if by some miracle they survive, Belle's future is bleak. The night before, Belle had overheard Sir Gaston, her betrothed, gloating to the other knights of his plans for her in their marriage. She feels ill and panicked at the thought, desperate to get out of this arrangement that she never wanted any part of from the beginning.
Her father wanted the stature that comes with Gaston's familial ties. However, what Belle wants is a life of peace. Ideally, she would have preferred to marry for love, but that is not the way of their world. Women are treated as chattel. She knows she could find peace in a marriage of mutual respect and familial caring, even if she were not in love with her husband, but respect and caring are not in the stars for Gaston and her union...only brutality.
She is so lost in her thoughts that she is startled to hear a voice, dripping with disdain, "My pretty little bride-to-be has nothing better to do than stare out the window? I can fix that!"
Even in her corseted emerald gown, the adrenalin in Belle veins propels her to the fireplace grabbing an iron poker. Sternly, trying in her best not to sound intimidated, Belle says, "Gaston, you shouldn't be in here. These are my private quarters, and we are not wed yet."
"Ah, but we will be...and I think a superior knight, such as I, deserves a little appetizer before my feast." He advances on her. His size is ominous, as the top of her head only comes to the height of his shoulder. With brute force, he effortlessly yanks the iron poker from her hand, shoves her against the wall as she struggles to get her bearings. He hisses, "Who is to say, I should not bed you now?", then pressing the iron poker lengthwise across her throat, he continues, "I might even find a use for this!"
Rumplestiltskin snarls as he watches the events unfold. He reminds himself that protocol demands that he cannot intervene unless called. Yet he knows that if this lout progresses in his attempt to take her against her will, he will annihilate the arrogant bastard, protocol be damned!
Belle's heart pounds; she wants to cry, yet knows she should not. Crying would only encourage Gaston's violence, of that she is sure. He starts pull at the bodice of her dress as his finger nails scratch her collarbone and upper most swell of her breast. Belle winces from the pain, while trying not to draw attention to the hopeful sight that has entered her vision. A moment later, Gaston howls in pain, as Belle's petite blonde maid and best friend, Clarice, having acquired a second and freshly fired poker, jabs the still burning piece of metal into Gaston's rear, causing him to drop the poker which he had held against Belle's throat. In a flash, Belle grabs the discarded implement, as he turns on Clarice.
"You little bitch!", Gaston glares at Clarice with cold blue eyes.
Undeterred, Clarice, who is several inches shorter than Belle, growls through clenched teeth, "Get out of here Sir Gaston, before I make another hole in your melon head!"
"I'll show you!" he yells, lunging for Clarice, but Belle swings her poker, hitting him square in the back.
He groans in pain, bringing his attention back to Belle, saying in a warning tone, "That was a very stupid move, wench! I'll go now, but your little maid won't be able to help you once we're married. And you will pay for every moment of insolence you've given me!"
He runs a hand through his short black hair and straightens the embellished coat of his gray military uniform. Giving Belle one more menacing glare that makes her shiver, he turns on his heel and storms out of her bedchamber.
Clarice says bitterly, "The best part of that swine is that back of him...as he leaves."
Clarice turns to Belle, seeing that in the wake of Gaston's departure, she has let her defenses down, seeming broken, she begins to cry. Belle inwardly chastises herself for this display of weakness, yet hopelessness seems to consume her being.
Looking at her dear friend, Belle's voice cracks, "He's right, you know. Once we're married, there will be no one to help me. My life will be worse than Hell.", as she falls into her friend's embrace.
Rumplestiltskin feels as though his heart is in his throat. It takes all the self-control that he can manage, not to suddenly materialize before the two women and wipe away the tears from his angel's cheek.
In a determined tone, Clarice says, "Belle, this isn't like you. We have the answer. Why are you waiting?"
Belle sighs as her brow furrows in thought, "The answer for the town, perhaps, but I'm not sure about me. I don't want to ask too much; our people need help. Let me go see my father. Perhaps I can convince him this time."
Clarice looks at Belle grimly, yet nods just the same, as Belle wraps a cream colored shawl around her to hide bruising.
Making her way to her father's study, she mentally goes through her argument. True, her father was not what one would call kind to her mother, however he was not like Gaston either. She steels herself with the thought that he would never want his only child harmed. Even as she tries to convince herself, Belle is gripped by the knowledge that his sense of family devotion is often a mere façade that he wears in public. Behind closed doors, his indifference to family has always been palpable.
Knocking lightly on his study door, Belle hears Sir Maurice call regally, "Entrer!" Before opening the door, Belle rolls her eyes at the thought of her father putting on airs yet again. As she enters his study, she is struck by the sight of the bookshelves laden heavily with tomes, most of which her father hasn't bothered to read. Noting his fur trimmed cloak, she bitterly recognizes that he and Gaston share the superficial value of appearance. Cupped in his hand is an ornate goblet, that he swirls gently, causing the vintage brandy to splash the inner walls of its crystal vessel.
Upon seeing that his visitor is just Belle, no one important, he swills the brandy down in one gulp.
With an icy tinge to his voice he says, "What is it, my girl?"
She mentally groans, 'my girl', the endearment that he puts on for visitors, usually with false warmth to convince others of his family devotion is now being used with his typical disinterested demeanor. She fumes, how she loathes 'my girl'; equal parts possessiveness and dismissiveness.
Fortifying herself for battle, Belle says determinedly, "Father, I have something urgent to discuss with you."
Annoyed, Maurice replies, "Get on with it. I don't have all day."
Taking a deep breath, she says, "Papa," hoping the endearment will move him, "you have to get me out of this arranged marriage with Gaston. He will hurt me."
He scoffs, "Stop being overly dramatic. He is a fine specimen. The marriage will go forward as planned."
Pushing down an avalanche of emotion, Belle asserts, "I am not being overly dramatic. I know he will hurt me, because he already has.", and she opens her shawl to reveal Gaston's red and blackish purple scratch marks and bruising on her alabaster skin.
He raises a disinterested eyebrow and sighs, "If you just do what Gaston tells you, you should have no problems."
She gapes at him as her heart races, "Father, how can you say that?! He has threatened to do worse, and I've overheard him talking about me with the other knights. Please, papa, I'm scared!"
Slamming his hands on his ostentatious desk, he stalks around to her, snarling, "I have worked too hard to leverage this alliance with Gaston's family to have it undone by your cowardice!"
Rumplestiltskin feels his blood boil. "This man doesn't deserve to have a child! I wonder if my dear lady would mind him being turned into the vermin he is."
The pain as visible as though he had hit her, Belle says with breathless frustration, "Cowardice?! It is not cowardice to not want a life of beatings or worse! I am your only child! Why doesn't that matter to you?!"
Snidely, he replies, "Yes, my only child, and your mother couldn't manage to give me a son. A son could do things I'd be proud of...but we all have to make do with what we get. Maybe you can do better and give Sir Gaston some strapping boys. Then you will have done your duty and fulfilled your destiny as a woman." The word 'woman' drips like venom from his tongue.
Pain and anger mix like a vile brew in her veins, as she exclaims, "My duty?! My destiny?! They are more than being Gaston's broodmare to produce children he will mistreat. I will not marry him!"
In an instant, his hands grip her upper arms painfully tight, "How dare you, think that you can judge how a man is to treat his children?! You will marry Sir Gaston...I don't care if we have to tie you in place to make it happen..it will happen! Then you will be his problem. Now get out!", and he shoves her backwards causing her to stumble.
She catches herself to keep from falling. Her father has never struck her, yet it is obvious that one more word from her lips will be met with his hand. She stumbles out of the room, stunned and thinking of the time that her mother had a bruise on her cheek. She staggers hopelessly back to her bedchamber. She had always hoped that his coldness towards her had hidden some affection deep within him, however now it is crystal clear; she means nothing to her father. She never has.
Clarice waits expectantly for Belle. Seeing Belle's shattered expression, she knows the conversation went as abominably as expected. Clarice wraps her arms around Belle and says matter-of-factly, "Well then, the decisions made. I'll plant the seed and make sure the idea takes root, then we'll summon him."
The sight of a desperate soul...Rumplestiltskin has seen it too many times to count in the past three hundred years. This desperate soul will give him what he craves, yet he feels sadness.
Sullenly, Belle says, "I don't like this."
Shaking her head, Clarice replies, "I know; he's the Dark One. We're playing in dangerous territory, but we're out of options, and if anyone can handle the Dark One, I'm betting on you, Belle."
Belle's voice is infused with uncertainty and bitterness as she counters, "I doubt your confidence is well placed. He is something worse than the Dark One. He is a man. All men know how to do is hurt, betray and be selfish."
In a mildly indignant tone, Clarice declares, "Not all men."
Shrugging her shoulders, Belle concedes, "Alright, you have the exception. But what are the chances that I will find the one other trustworthy man in the realm, and he will be the Dark One. It's laughable. Men don't care who they hurt to get what they want."
Rumplestiltskin's gut twists listening to Belle's depiction of men, and yet, he must admit that many a man has behaved in such a way. A nagging guilt gnaws at him thinking of the times he has behaved similarly in his quest to find Baelfire. He wonders, how can he convince her that he is different, when he is not certain that he is?
Tenderly Clarice chides, "Belle, this isn't like you at all."
Sitting on the bed, staring into the embers of the fireplace, Belle says hopelessly, "I'm not like me. I'm Sir Maurice's daughter and Sir Gaston's bride-to-be; who I am, no longer matters."
Clarice's heart aches for Belle. Whatever her father said to her has devastated Belle in a way nothing else could. Clarice has always detested the man, but never more than this moment. She makes her way to the door. She must convince those with say in sovereign matters that they had the brilliant idea to call upon the Dark One. In their minds, a mere woman could never come up with such an idea to save the town from the ogres, thus she will convince them that the idea their own.
Belle thinks to herself, "Maybe we should just ask for him to help with the war. Asking him to help me will only increase the price." Before she can vocalize the thought, Clarice has left.
Rumplestiltskin reluctantly pulls himself away from the vision of Belle. He must plan before he is called. Having gotten some insight into how her betroth behaves, Rumplestiltskin is certain if he bargains for her favors, she will agree. Yet the notion holds no glee for him. He questions, "Why not? All I need her for is physical release. If I treat her well and give her anything a woman could want, perhaps then she will want me as she had in the dream." Still his rationalizations won't take root. "Everyone, it would appear, treats her as an object of little value...but why should that matter to me, I value all my things?" He finds he detests himself even more than usual, having even for a moment, considered that exquisite woman a 'thing'. "Oh Hell! Maybe I'll just give her whatever she wants and leave her in peace. But I'm not that noble...and what if it got out that the Dark One was doing 'charity work'?!" Deciding to go forward as planned, he sets about arranging a bedchamber for her to wrap her in comfort.
By that evening, Belle, having changed out of her damaged dress into a simple blue dress, returns from visiting with the few wounded in the infirmary. There aren't many wounded to tend, because most die long before making it to the infirmary. Upon reaching her bedchamber, Clarice is there waiting with news, "The men will summon him tomorrow morning."
Belle bites her bottom lip and say, "Now or never.", and her brow furrows with an unanswered detail, "What is the proper etiquette for summoning the Dark One? Do we call him Sir Dark One?" Though the question may seem nonsensical given that there are no stories of him being a knight, and yet she does not wish to offend him.
Clarice shrugs her shoulders, "I have no idea."
With her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side, Belle declares, "We have to think of something respectful to call him...how about Majestic Dark One? That has a nice ring."
From behind them, a high pitched giggle erupts, and as they turn around to see him, Rumplestiltskin says in a chirpy tone, "Sorry, dearies, I have no need for rings."
"You?" is the only word Belle can utter in her state of surprise. He is nothing like she imagined. His appearance is odd...wild shoulder length hair, eyes with extremely large pupils, mangled teeth, long fingernails and glittering skin. He is not that much taller than her, with a slender frame wearing a deep red jerkin, a ruffled golden shirt and leather pants with tall boots. Belle knows she should fear him, yet a certain fascination takes over.
He announces, "Rrrrrumplestiltskin, at your service.", and then graces her with a deep and elegant bow.
Belle instinctively curtsies and stammers out, "Nice to make your acquaintance, Rumplestiltskin sir. I am Belle, and this is my dear friend, Clarice."
He smirks thinking, "No one thinks it's 'nice' to meet the Dark One.", and he also notes with curiosity that Belle referred to the blonde woman as her 'dear friend'; not maid.
Clarice chimes in, "Wait, I thought no one knew the Dark One's name."
With a crooked smile, he says, "I know she'll earn it...and as for you, we're all friends here, aren't we?"
Clarice is tempted to make the kind of comment that usually gets her in trouble, but manages to keep it to herself.
He finds the buxom blonde strangely amusing as she looks like she is ready to blurt out something highly inappropriate at any moment. He remembers her ardent defense of Belle against Gaston, and for that, she has his respect.
In at tone mixed with lightness and edge, he chides, "Speak up, dearies, what is it you desire? A new pony for the stables?"
Finding her voice, Belle smooths her skirt and says, "No sir...um Rumplestiltskin. It is our town we seek to protect from the destruction of the ogres. The attacks are getting worse; too many people are suffering and dying. Children are suffering and dying." She is not sure why she felt he would care about children, however something tells her he does.
"Is that all?" he asks.
"Isn't that enough?!" Belle asks a bit indignantly.
"No, no, dear, what is it that you want for yourself?" he asks with a strange glint in his eyes, as Clarice studies him and his interactions with Belle.
Looking away, Belle wavers, "I...I don't know...I'm sure the cost is great. Adding more to it would be selfish of me."
In an exasperated tone, Clarice orders, "Belle, tell him!"
He prances into Belle's line of vision and says "If it is the price that worries you, I already have a price in mind, and it will be the same regardless of any additional stipulations...so you might as well get something out of it for yourself."
Nodding, looking deeply into his eyes, she admits, "It's just that, I'm engaged to be married...and I don't want to be. My betrothed is cruel, and he hurts me."
Rumplestiltskin glares the bruising peaking from beneath her dress and says, "Yes, I see. How would you like him killed? Something quick or drawn out?"
Shocked, Belle puts her hands up, "I...I don't want him killed."
"Don't be too hasty, Belle.", Clarice chimes in, "The world would be better off."
Glaring at her friend, "Clarice, no! I just want to be safe from him. I don't want him killed.", then turning to Rumplestiltskin, she asks, "Can you do it? Can you please protect me from him?"
He smirks, "Of course, I'll do it, for my chosen price...we'll call it a happy ending special."
Belle knows it is time to find out the price. She has her suspicions what that price might be. He is a man...and though he is considerably more subtle than Gaston, there is a certain wanting in his eyes that gives him away. She steels herself, hoping she has the courage to make the sacrifice, trying to take comfort in the sense that he will be more kind to her than Gaston. She breathes out stoically, "What is your price?"
"Here we are...", he thinks, "...just as I've practiced it all day...'I want you to attend to my physical needs and nothing more. I want you to be my concubine.'", and then he opens his mouth and speaks with a voice oddly human, "I want you to be my wife."
A surprised smile flits across Clarice's face, as Rumplestiltskin and Belle stare at each other, gripped in the cold shock of his words. Barely able to breathe, Rumplestiltskin thinks, "Oh Gods! What have I done?!"
Author's note: So what did you think of Rumple's deal that managed to be a surprise even to him? Though chapter two should be coming rather soon as I have it mostly written already, I can't promise how regular updates will be thereafter, because I do have my other stories, and some plot bunnies tackled me a few weeks ago, making me start a new very AU Belle, Gold and little Bae fic...so I need to work on that to clear the bunny fluff from my brain. ;-) Please leave a review or comment. I always enjoy reading your thoughts on my stories. Thank you!