When Barrum Gold imagined an afternoon in the library, standing in a small closet nose to spine with a slim copy of poetry was not what came to mind. For a half an hour, he had been standing in the closet in the libraries back room, toe to toe with it's librarian, Belle French.
"It was an idiotic idea," he grumbled when they first learned of they're predicament, "putting in a closet that locked from the outside."
"A design flaw, I agree," Belle replied, "Luckily I always bring a book to pass the time, someone will discover we're missing sooner or later."
He had spent twelve minutes wondering why there was a self locking closet in the library, eight minutes deciding whether he loathed or adored the librarian, and ten minutes trying not to focus on her perfume. (It smelled of vanilla, sweet and musky.)
Barrum squinted at the book she was holding between them, reading. It was so close to his face, he had difficulty reading the title. It was also difficult breathing.
"Lovecraft, dearie?" he finally said, "A little dark for someone like you."
"Well, looks, much like credit card companies, can be deceiving," Belle replied, not moving the book.
"Indeed," he replied.
"Take you for instance," she continued, book still in place, "Everyone is afraid of you- even the mayor- and everyone thinks you are so dark and scary, but you're not that dark."
He pushed aside her book to look her in the eyes, his narrowing, "Darker dearie, much darker."
Belle laughed, a beautiful sound that disarmed Barrum, "Oh I doubt it! If you were really as dark as they say, you would have ravished me by now. You have the perfect opportunity, us trapped together in this little closet."
"R-ravish you?" his voice started out as a squeak which he tried to recover into a growl, "I'm many things dearie, but a rapist is not one of them."
They had been awkwardly dancing around each other, together and falling apart for so long- arguing as members of the city council, sharing a quiet conversation in the library. Neither could figure whether they hated the other or were kindred spirits. They were merry rivals of wit.
"It's not rape if I'm willing," she muttered, but in the close space he could hear every word.
"What are you saying?" hands on either side of her, he steadied himself.
"Just that... I wouldn't mind," was the quiet reply.
"Wouldn't mind what?"
"To be ravished," they moved unconsciously closer as she tilted her chin up to answer, "By you."
When he didn't move, she stretch up, on her toes, to carefully kiss him. He was still and Belle's heart pounded with he fear that she had been mistaken, but then, he pressed her against the wall, hands in her hair.
He deepened the kiss, kissing her hard and long until she couldn't breathe. Breaking apart, she gasped as he began kissing her throat. The tension that had been building for so long dissolved.
"Are you sure about this darling?" he whispered.
"Yes," Belle moaned, hands in his hair.
Barrum continued his assault on her throat, one hand blindly reaching under her skirt to tug down her panties. Belle's hands busied themselves with his jacket and shirt, fumbling with buttons but forgetting her direction all together as his fingers traced her wet folds.
She nuzzled his throat, arms wrapping around his neck to keep her balance. Barrum ran two fingers across her entrance, gathering moisture. He shifted attention to her clit and began slowly tracing circle around her most sensitive bud of nerves, increasing pressure and speed as she moaned.
Belle's knees were weak, hips bucking involuntarily with each touch. Leaning, back against the wall, he was able to free his other hand and slip a long finger into her, crooking it just right to push her over the edge. She cried out, noise muffled by his jacket.
Barrum was quick, unbuttoning his trousers and freeing himself. Belle wrapped a leg around his waist, giving him a better angle to enter her.
"Barrum, please," she begged as he teased her clit again, rubbing and pinching.
She was on the verge of coming a second time when he tilted his hips and, with a grunt, thrust into her.
Belle gasped, "-Rum!"
He only grunted in reply, finding a steady pace to satisfy them both. One of his hands was under her arse, the other tangled in her hair. She clawed at his back, protected by his jacket, and he tugged at her hair, both lost in the moment, the feeling of the other.
They came together, again and again, two bodies becoming one. The air was thick and filled with moans and grunts. The closet was dark, a perfect haven for the lovers.
Belle came, clenching around him as she saw stars and struggled to stay standing. It sent him over the edge. Gasping, he spilled himself inside her, his seed trailing down her leg.
"Belle," he mumbled, enraptured, into her throat.
"That was-" she began.
"-wonderful," he sighed.
"Yes, yes it was."
"I suppose it may complicate things," he mused as their heart rates slowed, breathing returned to normal.
"For the better, I hope," was the reply, puctuated with little kisses.
"Definitely for the better," his arms tightened around her, "Maybe, we should start again? Dinner or coffee if we ever get out of here?"
Belle laughed, "Yes, that sounds wonderful."
But so caught up in each other, neither heard the thump of boots on the hard wood floor beyond the closet. Neither thought to be untangled from the others arms or to redress. So it was a complete surprise to all parties when the closet door was flung open and bright light flooded the space.
"Oh hell no!" Sheriff Emma Swan cried, horrified to find Barrum Gold with his trousers hanging loose and Belle French with her leg wrapped around his middle, underwear on the floor.
The door slammed shut again and they heard Emma say, "You guys did not just- I can't believe- I'm gonna need therapy."