A/N: A very long time ago, I was going to write an Ivelle one-shot, but I only recently got some inspiration for one. I reckon this will be around six chapters, with some smut (of course). As it's Ives, there will also be violence and cannibalism. I ran a poll on tumblr asking people to vote for who gets eaten :)
He came to the town with the first snows of winter, blown in by the biting winds, a dark figure striding along Main Street in the fading light of a late October day. The residents of the town, hurrying about their business, shot him curious looks, but none spoke. Strangers were rare, then. That made it harder to blend in, of course, but he wasn't planning on staying long. Just long enough.
He approached the centre of the town, the black leather bag he carried swinging from one gloved hand, snow pattering on the shoulders of his overcoat and the wide black brim of his hat. Ice crystals clung to the ends of his neatly-trimmed moustache and the triangular strip of beard on his chin. The snowfall would grow heavier as the night drew in; he could smell the chill in the air, the clouds leaden with the promise of coming snowdrifts. He had reached the town just in time.
Thumb rubbing over the rosary wrapped around his left hand, he paused momentarily outside a diner, its warm lights gleaming, the sound of laughter drifting out in the early evening. Granny's, proclaimed the sign, suggesting below that there was bed and breakfast accommodation available. Allowing himself a faint smile, he walked around the side of the diner and made his way up between the dark, leafless branches of small trees to reach the steps of the inn.
The interior was dim, somewhat old-fashioned, the yellowish light from old, ornate lamps glowing warmly on dark wood, and he stood for a moment, looking around. A desk, devoid of any welcoming member of staff, stood to his right, a heavy book which he presumed to be the register set upon it. The clock on the wall ticked its low monotone, marking the seconds as he waited, and he was about to ring the brass bell that sat on the desk when there was a scuffling sound from behind the door and a dark-haired young woman burst in. She looked surprised to see him, brown eyes suddenly wide in her face, but quickly offered him a wide smile, scarlet lips drawing up over white teeth. Red streaks shone bright in her dark hair, her tight red shirt unbuttoned almost down to the middle of her chest, and it seemed to him that she was trying for an air of sensuality that she didn't really feel. An innocent child, dressed as a wanton.
"May I help you?" she asked then, and he shifted his position slightly, putting down his bag.
"I'd like a room, please." His voice was a little raspy, his accent thicker than usual. It had been so long since he'd spoken to anyone that he was almost as surprised at the sound of his voice as she.
"Oh! You're not from around here, huh?" she inquired, opening up the register. Specks of dust flashed in the light, brief and bright as shooting stars.
"No indeed, dear, hence my request."
She pretended to study the register for a moment, before giving him a wry glance.
"Look, you can basically have your pick of the rooms," she said. "Not much business in Storybrooke at the best of times. The square view is the best; I could give you it at the price of the forest view, if you like."
"Actually, I'd rather prefer the forest view," he said, with a slanting grin.
She shrugged as if to say that it made no difference to her, and picked up a pen, tapping it against red lips as she looked him over.
"Name?" she asked, and his smile widened.
"Ives." He watched her write it down, slender fingers tipped with red-lacquered nails gripping the shaft of the pen. Dark blue ink flowed out in a smooth line, the edges spreading slightly where it sank into the thick paper.
"Okay, Mr Ives, you're in room six." She reached behind her for a large silvery key, an ornate metal tag showing the number six within stainless steel filigree. He took it, his fingertips brushing hers momentarily.
"Actually it's Colonel Ives," he said, with a small smile. "But Mister is fine."
"Oh, a military man! Don't get many of those around here." She grinned at him, her teeth white and even, and he wondered how she'd taste. Sweet, he thought.
"Ruby, did you fall down a damn well or..?" The voice cut off as an old woman bustled in, greying hair wound up in a bun and gold-rimmed glasses on a chain around her neck. She looked him over, eyes narrowing slightly.
"We have a guest, Granny," chirped Ruby, gesturing towards him. "Colonel Ives is staying in room six." She turned back to him. "I didn't ask how long you'd be with us."
"Well, that really depends." He dug into the inside pocket of his coat for his wallet, eyeing the prices discreetly listed behind the desk. "On my way into town I passed a large salmon-pink house with a sign outside saying that it was for rent. Do you have any idea who owns it?"
"Oh, that would be Mr Gold's house," nodded Granny. "He's out of town. You'd need to speak to his caretaker."
He raised an eyebrow, and Ruby came to his rescue.
"That's Belle," she added.
"Belle." He held the name in his mouth, as though it were made of spun sugar, melting across his tongue.
"Belle French," explained Ruby. "She works over at the library."
He swallowed the name down, wincing at the sudden, sharp pain in his chest. Perhaps he was hungry. But then, he was always hungry. He smiled briefly, eyes crinkling as he showed his teeth.
"Thank you. Then shall we say one night for now, and I'll let you know my success with Miss French tomorrow?"
"Breakfast's in the diner from seven," Ruby said. "The diner's serving until ten. You can put an order in to go, if you want."
He smiled again. "Thank you, but I'll see to myself."
He counted out enough money for the room, and laid a ten-dollar bill on top.
"For the - ah - excellent customer service," he said, and Ruby grinned as Granny nodded to her to pocket it.
"Library closes soon," she informed him. "If you want to catch Belle, you should get over there before six."
He touched his hat to them, inclining his head, and made his way up the stairs, leather bag in hand, feeling their eyes on him. Room six was pleasant, light and spacious, if somewhat chintzy for his taste. A large bay window looked out on the evening sky and the dark, somehow threatening mass of the woods beyond the rear garden of the inn.
Placing his bag carefully beneath the dresser, he closed and locked the door behind him and made his way back downstairs. The library, was it? He saw it almost immediately upon leaving the inn, a clapboard building with a clock tower on top. The hands appeared to be stuck at 8:15, for he knew it wasn't that late. Straightening the sleeves of his overcoat, he walked towards the library, pushing open one of the double doors. It was quiet inside, the familiar musty, almost earthy smell of books lying heavy in the air, filled with the promise of knowledge, of other worlds, of excitement and escapism. Of fear.
A slight thump made his head turn quickly, and he rounded one of the stacks of bookshelves on silent feet, eyes and nose straining to catch the slightest hint of his quarry. There was another, louder thump, and a muffled curse, and he smirked to himself, moving on to the next stack. A young woman was standing rather precariously on a ladder, ridiculously high heels showing off shapely, dark-stockinged legs to their best advantage. She was wearing a short, flared black skirt and a tight white shirt that was almost see-through, her dark reddish-brown hair twisted up on her head, and for a moment he enjoyed looking her over. Reaching up, she tried to push a few books onto a high shelf, shoving with the heels of her hands. The reach was too much for her, he could tell, and before he knew it she was losing her balance, stumbling backwards and falling, and he had stepped forwards to catch her in his arms.
Breath whooshed out of her, along with a small scream that she swallowed upon impact, and she was a pleasant weight in his arms, wide blue eyes gazing up at him, her chest heaving. She was beautiful, all pale skin and plump, pink lips, her scent surrounding him, and he felt an unexpected, overwhelming urge to put his mouth to hers and taste the sweetness of her kiss. He quickly let her down to find her feet, taking a step back from her. She dusted herself off, blushing furiously.
"Th-thank you," she said a little breathlessly. "I was lucky I didn't break my neck."
"It was my pleasure." He inclined his head a little. "I was looking for Belle French."
"Well, you found her," she confirmed, still blushing a little. "Still in one piece, thanks to you. How can I help?"
The rush of blood had made her cheeks flush, and she was still breathing hard. Strands of her hair had worked themselves loose and curled around her slim neck. She was breathtaking. Delicious. He tried to keep his mind on what he was doing.
"I'm Colonel Ives," he said, extending a hand for her to shake. Her fingers were smooth and cool, and he wanted to lift her hand to his lips to kiss it. He resisted, dropping her hand and moving back a little further.
"I'm informed that you are - caretaker - for the salmon-pink house out of town," he said then. "I'm looking for a place to rent."
Her eyes brightened. "Really? No one's ever stayed there! I mean, Mr Gold has me keep it clean in case someone ever wants to, but…"
"I understand the owner is out of town," he said then, and she nodded.
"I've never even seen him, actually," she admitted. "Got the job by responding to a classified ad. The library doesn't pay me all that much." Her smile was rueful.
"Well, I'd be more than happy for you to carry on your role as caretaker, while I'm in residence," he offered, and she beamed.
"Great! How long were you wanting to stay?"
"Let's say three months, to start with," he suggested. It was likely he would be long gone by then, of course, but it never hurt to be certain. She smiled, dusting off her hands one more time and trotting over to the issue desk.
"If you wanted to look the place over, we could go there now," she said, rummaging beneath the desk for her bag. "I'll give you the tour."
He smiled at her, enjoying the way the light caught her eyes.
"I think I'd prefer to see the place in daylight," he said. "Would tomorrow be possible?"
"Of course!" Her smile was bright. "I open the library at ten, so if you met me here around eight-thirty, we should have plenty of time for you to look over the place and let me know if there's anything you need." She put her head to the side, the light catching her hair. "Do you have a place to stay tonight? Granny's is just across the street. The food's pretty good."
He showed his teeth. "I'm all checked in, thank you."
"Good!" She was still smiling at him, and he wondered if she was this cheerful with everyone. He imagined so; she seemed to have that sort of disposition. It would be a shame to eat her. In that way.
Lifting his hat, he gave her a slight bow.
"Until tomorrow, Miss French."
It was full dark when he returned to the inn, the diner filled with patrons talking and laughing, and the scent of frying steak drifting out into the night air. The smell made his nose twitch, but he didn't stop. He made his way up the stairs, letting himself into his room and lifting the leather bag up onto the dresser. Pushing a few items of clothing aside, he slipped his hands inside the bag, pulling out a carefully wrapped bundle and placing it on the dresser. He carefully teased apart the folds of blue flannel, his mouth watering as he did so, his heart thumping with anticipation. His fingers were trembling as he lifted the last fold of cloth, to reveal a few dozen thin strips of dried meat, hard and dark as leather. Pulling out the chair that was set in front of the dresser, he took off his overcoat and the jacket he wore beneath, and slid onto the chair, picking up one of the strips of dried meat and lifting it to his mouth. His lips closed around it, his tongue wrapping around the stiff meat and coating it with his saliva, the heady flavour of it filling his mouth, and he began chewing with a noise of contentment, his eyes closed, feeling the power flow into him as he consumed the flesh of the one that had tried to kill him.
By the next morning the snow had stopped, and the weak sun gleamed on the fresh snow. Ives rose early, making his way down to the diner and sitting at a table near the window. Ruby brought him a cup of coffee, and he even ordered eggs and bacon, although it tasted like ashes compared to the strips of meat that lay in his bag upstairs. He watched the townsfolk as he ate breakfast; they were pleasant, friendly types for the most part, although there were a couple of red-eyed, surly men who had clearly had a little too much to drink the night before. His eyes flicked from table to table, trying to assess each of them. He felt no particular desire to eat any of them, and he put that down to the good meal he had had the previous evening, and the fact that none of them were presently pissing him off.
"Did you get to see Belle?" asked Ruby, refilling his coffee, and he looked up at her. She was dressed in tiny red shorts, a white shirt knotted at her slim waist, and an apron that could only have been for show, as it certainly wouldn't have protected her from the smallest spillage.
"I did," he said, stirring his coffee. "She's very kindly agreed to show me over the place this morning."
"She cleans once a week," said Ruby helpfully. "The place should be ready to move into, if you're still interested." She put her head to the side. "What brings you to Storybrooke? Do you have family here?"
He smiled then. "Not that I know of. I was in the area, and I'm looking for a place to stay for a few months so that I can attend to some business. Your little town appealed to me."
Ruby pulled a face. "Really? Nothing happens here, I'm warning you."
"Some people enjoy that," he pointed out, and she huffed.
"Not me. I want to get my ass to Boston as soon as I can."
"So why don't you?" he asked, and she shrugged.
"I dunno. Granny had a heart attack, so I had to take over some of the work here, and it got kind of busy… i don't know, it seems that every time I think of leaving, there's something to keep me here."
"Perhaps there's more to this place than you think," he suggested, and she snorted.
"Yeah? Like what? I spent Friday night cleaning vomit off the floor of the men's room. Not what I planned on doing with my life, Colonel, let me tell you."
He raised an eyebrow, spearing the last piece of bacon fat on his plate with a fork.
"Small towns have their own charm, I find," he said, and popped the fat into his mouth, chewing as he put down the fork and reached for his coffee.
"Well, if you need pointing at the nearest nightlife, look no further," said Ruby with a wry expression, picking up his empty plate. "We have steak nights on Thursday, no less. Happy hour's from five to seven weekdays, and Leroy and his buddies can get a little rowdy sometimes. The Rabbit Hole's the only bar in town and it's a dump, but they keep the pool tables clean." She winked at him. "Try not to die of boredom while you're here, okay?"
She set off towards the kitchen, swerving to avoid one of the other waitresses, and he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, keeping an eye on the time. It was almost eight thirty, and he suspected that Miss French was the punctual type, so he drained the coffee and got to his feet, picking up his overcoat. He tucked a few bills under the coffee cup to pay for his breakfast, and opened the door of the diner to a cold blast of air, shrugging on his overcoat. A dark-haired woman hurried up, dressed in a black suit beneath a fitted grey coat, her lips perfectly painted in the colour of fresh blood. She had her hand outstretched, already reaching for the handle, and he stepped to the side, holding open the door for her. She stepped through instinctively without looking at him, nodding impatiently, and he smirked in amusement. Clearly she had more important business to attend to than thanking strangers. He stepped out of the door, buttoning his coat and slipping his hat onto his head, and made his way to the library.
Belle was arriving just as he got there, bundled up in a blue wool coat and hat that brought out the colour of her eyes. Her cheeks were a little pink, and she smiled at him as she hurried up.
"Well, good morning!" she said brightly. "Ready to go?"
He spread his arms a little, returning her smile.
"I am in your hands, Miss French."
They ended up walking there, Belle chattering away to him about the town and its inhabitants, the various shops and amenities and a few of the local characters. He smoked a thin cigar as they walked, enjoying the flavour in his mouth and the burn in his lungs, plumes of fragrant smoke drifting out behind him. The snow was soft beneath his boots, kicked up to powder as they made their way along the streets, the biting air trying to get through the thick wool of his coat. Cars were few, he noticed, and the majority of people that passed had their chins pushed down into woollen scarves. They attracted little attention as they made their way out of town and into one of the wider, tree-lined streets on the outskirts. The pink house stood out amongst its neighbours, snow blanketing the garden, the dark twigs of hardy plants showing through along the edges. He looked the place over for a moment as Belle made her way up the path. It was a pleasant looking house. An ideal place to call his own for a while.
"Aren't you coming?" Belle had mounted the steps and was looking over her shoulder at him, and for a moment something tickled the back of his mind. It was gone as soon as he tried to grasp at it.
"Of course." He made his way up the path and the steps of the house, getting to the door just as she opened it. She stepped back, not realising he was behind her, and he felt the press of her body against his before she excused herself with a giggle, stepping through the door. Her perfume filled his nose, roses and spice, and for a moment his senses almost rendered him blind, his desire to touch her, to taste her, almost too much to bear.
"So, here we are." She had wandered into the hallway and turned to face him, blushing a little. She gestured to the side, an open doorway revealing an intriguing rectangle of the room behind it.
"The lounge is nice; there's a big window in there, and it catches the sun. All the rooms have fireplaces, and there's plenty of cut wood in the crawl-space, but there's central heating as well, of course."
She walked on, and he shut the door behind himself, closing off the world and following her. She had sauntered into a modern, well-appointed kitchen, spreading her arms as he entered.
"All mod cons, Colonel, as you can see," she added. "The kitchen comes fully equipped, but you'll have to get your own food, I'm afraid."
"That won't be an issue." He opened up the freezer, checking the drawer sizes.
"All I keep here is some milk, so I can make myself some tea when I come over to clean," she said. "I could - make us a cup, if you like."
He closed the freezer door, straightening up, and smiled at her briefly.
"I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble," he said, and she beamed.
"Oh, it's no trouble! I could do with getting something warm inside me. Why don't you look over the rest of the place while I boil the kettle?"
He left her clattering around in the kitchen while he made his way slowly from room to room. The owner had taste; the house was furnished in elegant period pieces, the floors all hardwood, the rugs thick and well-made. Mounting the stairs, he looked over the rooms above. The bedrooms were spacious, the bathroom sleek and modern. Yes, he could certainly be comfortable here. Making his way back downstairs, he could hear Belle singing softly to herself in the kitchen, and allowed himself a brief smile.
To the rear of the lounge was a dining room, the mahogany table long and shining, the backs of the chairs ornately carved. Crystal decanters stood on a silver tray on the sideboard, but he noticed that they were empty. That would certainly have to change. He ran his hand along the flat plane of the tabletop, looking up as Belle entered the room with a tray of tea things. She had taken off her coat, and was wearing a short grey dress with a cap-sleeved shirt beneath, her pale arms bare. A thought entered his mind, unbidden, of what she would look like spread out on top of the table, her dark winter clothes in a pile on the floor, her milky skin bared to his sight, and his touch, and his tongue.
"I hope you like Earl Grey." She set the tray down carefully, and he watched her pour, slender fingers pressing the lid of the teapot down as she did so.
"What do you think of the house?" She handed him his tea, deep amber liquid in a blue and white china cup, and he took it from her, rattling it against the saucer a little.
"I think it's perfect." He reached across for the milk jug, his fingers brushing against hers, and she sucked in a breath, a pink flush blooming on her cheeks as she stepped back. He poured a little milk into the tea. She was out of his reach, but he could still feel her, a warm, fragrant presence to his right, a hum of electricity in the air around him and between them. He wanted to cross the space she had made and touch her, and he inwardly shook his head at his own foolishness. There was silence for a while as they sipped their tea. She kept shooting him glances over the edge of her cup, fleeting, curious looks from beneath thick black lashes, that seemed to weigh and measure him. He wondered what conclusions she was coming to.
"How soon could you make the arrangements?" he asked then, and she pulled a face, pouting a little.
"Well, I don't know. I guess - I guess as long as you have the money, you could move in straight away." She looked a little self-conscious. "To be honest, I've never even spoken to Mr Gold. When I took the job, all I had was a pile of papers waiting for me in his shop. I have details of the bank account to pay rent into. Most of the people in Storybrooke are his tenants, you see. I keep the accounts. The business kind of runs itself."
"Ah." He lifted the teacup to his lips, watching her over the rim of it. "You're not his enforcer, then?"
He smiled as he said it, and she giggled.
"I don't think anyone in this town would be afraid of me," she said ruefully. "Most of them pay on time, though. Maybe they just don't want me to get into trouble. He has kind of a bad reputation, although I haven't seen him come here in as long as I can remember."
He took a swallow of tea, tasting a few tannin-rich leaves on the tip of his tongue, and put his cup and saucer down on the table.
"I can pay the three months in advance," he offered, reaching into his inside pocket. "Perhaps Mr Gold will get in touch, perhaps not. At least this way you and I can come to an arrangement, would you agree?"
"I would." She grinned at him, drinking her tea, and he counted out fifty dollar bills as she watched.
"I take it Storybrooke has a bank," he said quietly, and she nodded.
"Yeah. I'll need to pay it into my account and then transfer it over." She watched him counting. "That's a lot of money."
He hesitated, one crisp fifty-dollar bill held between finger and thumb.
"Perhaps I ought to walk to the bank with you," he suggested. "I'd hate it if you were to be accosted and lose my rent."
Belle giggled. "Highly unlikely in this town," she said. "But, I guess, if you have to go back to town anyway…"
He counted out the last of the money, and she shuffled the bills into a neat pile, putting it inside the small bag she carried.
"Just give me a moment to wash these things, and we'll go," she said. "If you're ready, of course."
He drained his cup, the tip of his tongue flicking out to catch a drop of tea on his lip. She was watching him, her pupils widening, and he felt a stirring below the waist as he watched her small white teeth dig into her lower lip. He imagined how it would feel to take that lip between his own teeth, to bite into her, to peel the clothes from her and bear her down on his bed, to feel her flesh close around him as he entered her. He put the cup back in its saucer, the clink of china making her start, and met her eyes, noticing that her breath had quickened a little.
"Miss French, would you have dinner with me?" he asked quietly, and she blushed.
"I - um - yes, okay," she said a little breathlessly, a smile brightening her face. "When?"
"Tonight, if you're free," he said. "I could meet you at seven."
"I'd - I'd like that very much." She was still blushing. Truly delicious.
He waited as she carried the tea things through to the kitchen, and listened to the running water as she washed them. Tonight. Drumming his fingers on his hip, he considered his options. He would need to eat soon, and breaking into his stash of dried meat was a last resort. It had certainly kept him going these past few weeks, but he yearned for something fresh, for the scent of warm, freshly spilled blood and the unmistakable taste of human flesh. The storm that had followed him to the town had blown out, and the ground was covered with thick snow. Still, the weather had cleared, and although it was cold, he suspected that this wouldn't prevent the inhabitants from venturing out in the evening. There was ample time to see what Storybrooke had to offer him before he met up with the delectable Miss French.
A/N: The votes have been counted, and it was very close between the winners. So several people have the dubious honour of being Ives's dinner.
Belle will only get eaten in a good way :)