In the Woods
Author: MrsNaara
Words: 5923
Description: She's holding his dagger and for the first time—he is afraid for his life.
Rating: NC-17 for smut.
World: Storybrooke AU (Gold has a small amount of magic that he doesn't control.)
A/N: Got the idea from 3pirouette who posted that yummy picture of Mr. Gold doing his little smile thingy. She said to pretend that I am Belle and write it down. Good advice. Hopefully this is good. Watch out, minor spoilers for 1x19, but if you've seen the promos then you're fine. My first smut fic, so hope its to your liking.
Update 4/20/12: Got some lovely feedback from 3pirouette. Realized that once again, I made a couple of very obvious mistakes. So I'm fixing them here now, and I'll fix it on Tumblr when I get home.
Possessed was the best word to describe the young woman running through the woods like a maniac. She felt like a wolf—or a lion—chasing after its prey. She stops abruptly in a forest clearing, trees surrounding her. One tree in particular catches her attention. It stands tall and proud in the middle of the clearing and she can sense the importance of it without knowing the reason why. She doesn't know what has come over her, whether it's the dreams that have plagued her mind for years—or the sense that something powerful is in this clearing. Her hand hovers over the leather bag that is clutched tightly in her fist. She doesn't even know why she brought it with her. She actually found it on her night table with nothing but a small key inside.
Words run in and out of her mind, she figures that they may be fragments of something important, something that she needs. She suddenly finds herself wondering if the past 6 months have been nothing but a lie. Memories of conversations past run in and out of her conscious thought. "It's just a cup"… "I lost him"… "No one can ever EVER love me!" another saying…sounding like her voice. "You're a coward, Rumpelstiltskin. And no matter how thick you make your skin that doesn't change…" Where did they come from? Who said them to her? Why, why, why, who, who, who, what, what, what? She falls to her knees, cradling her head in her palms. Nothing is making sense to her anymore, and it literally hurts.
She gathers her bearings and starts digging mercilessly into the soft dirt under the tree with her hands. Perhaps a shovel would have been more productive. Her fingernails fill with soil, and her hands turn from a soft pink to dirty black. She finally hits something and brushes away the dirt to find the wood box sitting there. Whatever's inside makes her heart pound in her chest and her hands tremble. She lifts the container from its hiding place and examines the intricate designs, swirling about the container. She notices the lock immediately, and with the key from the black pouch, opens the latch with a soft click. The box opens with a loud creak—loud enough to echo in the quiet morning air. She winces at the noise, but the blade now reflecting off of her eager blue eyes was enough to reconcile the worry of someone finding her here.
She takes the handle of the dagger and lifts it from its box—smiling at the name on the blade. The memories clear in her mind and they form an image of a gold dusted man with crimped hair and dark eyes. In all actuality though, it's the familiar face of her employer that becomes the one she knew once upon a time. Everything clears in her mind. She gives a dark grin before dropping the weapon into the satchel, handle down, and runs back through the forest and into town.
He visits the forest clearing where he reburied his dagger every other month or so, ever since his encounter with August. Every time that he has been so far he has been relieved to find that it was still there, locked in its ornate wooden box. He doesn't spend long in the forest when he visits. He will open the box to make sure that the black painted wood and metal still sends chills up his spine when he runs his fingers over his name. He also checks to make sure that the lock is secure before reburying the box. After that he returns to his everyday life—making deals and selling old trinkets to the citizens of Storybrooke. It has become a bit of a pattern for him, setting aside the first day of every other month to check. Sometimes he wonders if he should check more often. But every time he brushes the thought aside because he knows that he scared August away from his dagger during their last encounter. No one else would even know about the weapon.
He never thought he'd be so frightened when he discovered the vacant box.
He jams the shovel into the dirt and yells, loudly and angrily. He drops to his good knee, wincing in pain at the bad one. The lock that kept his dagger safe has been opened somehow, and the velvet that the weapon normally sat on still had the depression in it. It was obvious that the thief had been here recently—perhaps very early that morning. He could make out thin finger marks on either side of the hole. The person who had opened the hole used his or her hands and in a frenzied manner, as if possessed by something.
He frowns, figuring that whoever took his dagger had a reason. At the moment, he just wants to know was who and why. He stops to listen. He can hear the dirt and leaves crunching behind him—maybe the thief decided to revisit to the scene of the crime. Maybe he or she had thought they could return it before he arrived. The crunching stops, and he hears a soft breathing behind him.
"Don't you know that stealing is wrong, dearie?" he hisses with a low chuckle, taking his walking stick from the forest floor where he had thrown it in shock. He puts all of his weight on it and stands gradually, rotating to face the thief.
Who he sees is not who he expected at all.
She stands there in one of the brown aprons he gave her; draped over a sky blue polo shirt, black jeans, and high top "Chuck Taylor" Converse shoes (also sky blue to match her shirt). Around her neck she is wearing the gold chain with three charms that he gave her as a birthday present. Today it's the spinning wheel charm that sticks out while the other two hide under her collar. He can see the dirt caked in her fingernails, even though it's obvious that she attempted to wash her hands after her visit to this area. He notices that her curls cascade over her shoulders and have small specks of dirt in it. Her cheeks are dirty as well. Tied to one of the belt loops on her jeans is a small leather satchel, with the distinct shape of his dagger inside. The blade is facing up, so that it doesn't cut the bag open as she walks. Her blue eyes are foggy and distant, as if she's attempting to sort something out in her mind.
His shop assistant, Isabelle "Izzy" French, is no thief. In fact, she is probably one of the most honest, down-to-earth, loveable people in Storybrooke. He knows because ever since her release from the hospital 6 months earlier, she is the talk of the town. He hears her name wherever he goes, and while it does annoy him slightly, he figures that she deserves it. She deserves every compliment, every bit of encouragement she receives.
She lives with her father, caring for him in his old age, while also slowly working off his outstanding debt to Mr. Gold. (Moe French recovered from Gold's assault about two months before Izzy's release). From what she has told him she has moved back into her childhood bedroom. Her old clothing no longer fits, so she wears clothing that she buys with her pay from his shop or borrows it from Ruby (surprisingly the two of them wear the exact same sizes). She eats the food she enjoyed in her youth, she goes to Granny's twice a week to get lunch (sometimes she'll bring him a travel cup of tea). She acts as if the past 28 years were nothing but some dream. He won't admit it outright, but seeing her like this drives him mad.
Once a week, she takes a two hour break from working at his shop to see Dr. Hopper, which most times he will escort her to and from, just so he can see her so happy. She plays with Pongo outside the front of the building during her sessions. She doesn't like the idea of being cooped up in a tiny office. While the cricket has expressed his worries to him once or twice (concerning the fact that she is becoming smitten with him), he doesn't mind hearing these things— after all, age has nothing on true love. Unfortunately for him, she doesn't remember who he is or how they knew each other. For all she knows, they only know each other from work, and he is just her employer. But he can sense her attraction to him—while he hides a similar attraction to her.
She is the love of his life, brightening his day just by saying his name, even though he keeps his reclusive façade at the ready. She brings him what he needs while he works, cleans the shop, helps the few customers who wander in, and will often just keep him company in the back room, often reading a book or a magazine. God knows they've both been alone for far too long to not spend every available moment together at work.
She is also his Belle. The woman who showed him how to love in a way that no one, not even his ex-wife or his son could. It was True Love, the most powerful magic in the world. The only magic that kept him going for the 28 years he had to wait for Emma to arrive. The only hope left in his life whether she was dead or not.
But one thing he knows for a fact is that she is no thief.
And she smiles at him. She doesn't move from her position or take out the weapon displaying his name; she just stands there with a smile on her face. He can feel the power of the dagger radiating from her body, sending the ever familiar chills up his spine, even without touching it. He knows that he doesn't have the powers of the dark one in this world (or the other for that matter), but that dagger still controls who he listens to. That dagger can still be the end of him if used effectively. He would do anything to get it back. Anything. He remembers what the Duke did to keep Zoso in control when he was the dark one. The only way to stay in control is to get the dagger back in his possession. He silently wishes for help. If any deity out there cares for him they would permit Belle to name a fair price for his beloved dagger. A half smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as Belle stares at him.
"Ms. French," he addresses her, stepping forward, "I do believe that you have something that belongs to me."
Belle laughs—actually laughs—and pulls the drawstring on the satchel, removing the dagger by the blade with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. She flips it in the air and catches it by the handle in the same hand, examining the blade, running it just under her nose, holding it up so the gleam of the blade catches the still rising sun, forming a reflection on the dirt. His name is visible to him, and he wants to just take the thing from her and be done with it, but something is preventing him. She taunts him with every move she makes. He hates to admit it, even in his head, but seeing her like this is terrifying. For the first time ever—he is afraid for his life.
For a brief moment he wonders if she has remembered who he is. The weapon currently clutched tightly in his shop assistant's hand carries more magic than either of them could ever be completely aware of. All he knows is that while she holds the weapon—he is required to do whatever she asks or demands him to.
And that is ultimately the most frightening aspect of this situation.
"You mean this?" she finally says, pretending to examine it again. He swallows with some difficulty as she opens her mouth to continue. "Heh, I never would have imagined that the curse would be so good to you Rumpelstiltskin." He can feel the smirk on his face enlarging. So she does remember him. He takes a small step forward, wanting to reach out for the dagger.
"Well of course it was good to me dearie," he starts, taking another step forward. "I created it." Rumpelstiltskin pauses before continuing. "I take it you remember then."
The flat edge of the dagger is at his throat in an instant, pressing his back to the tree under which his dagger's home is. His foot drops into the hole and he hears wood cracking under him. He doesn't dare look down, for he knows that the dagger will cut him if he does. The evil smile on Belle's face almost turns him on. Almost, he's glad that it doesn't. She bears her teeth to him, her eyes darting up and down surveying him. She shakes her head in a disappointed manner.
"I do…" she says. "You're still a coward, Rumpelstiltskin. You haven't changed a bit since I stormed out of your castle years ago." He wants to laugh, to turn the situation around, but he can't because of the dagger pressed into his neck. He can't even swallow without the fear of her ending him.
Rumpelstiltskin doesn't blame her for wanting this. He's done so much to hurt her, so of course she's going to get her revenge. The only thing he fears is how she's going to get it. Kill him? Force him to be her slave? Ward the dagger over his head until the day he dies? Thousands of possibilities run through his head at that very moment. She looks him up and down again before speaking. "Now, I'm going to remove this dagger from your throat, and you are going to say one thing. Anything other than the statement I give you and this dagger goes into your heart, am I understood?" he gives a small nod, and she moves the dagger to her side, stepping back three paces. "You're going to admit to me right now that you are a coward," she says very sternly. Without hesitation he admits silently,
"I am a coward." Belle raises one of her eyebrows, obviously gaining pleasure from this situation. He isn't surprised though—she has the most feared man in Storybrooke doing whatever she says. She taps her shoe on the ground impatiently.
"I'm sorry, I don't believe I heard you," she said, hanging the dagger's handle between two of her fingers and swinging it gently so that it doesn't injure her. "Louder please." Rumpelstiltskin swallows his pride and his fear, clenching his fists at his sides.
"I am a coward," he says louder. His gaze is averted to the ground where the top of wooden box that the dagger is kept in has been destroyed by his foot. Belle chuckles and stares at him. The dagger hasn't moved, but she has.
"Look at me when you speak to me!" she demands, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Say it again." His eyes flick with anger, but this is to regain control, so he meets her expectant gaze—swallows again, and says in a heavy, pronounced brogue,
"I. Am. A. Fucking. Coward." Belle smiles again, taking the dagger's handle back into her fist and she points the blade at him. She begins walking towards him again. While the situation is unnerving, there is something very arousing to him about this side of his Belle. She is braver, stronger, and more passionate. Her eyes dance with anger and love and everything in between. There is most certainly something there that wasn't there before. Rumpelstiltskin is slowly gaining new appreciation for his former housekeeper and current shop assistant.
She licks her lips, her eyes flickering to meet his for a moment before opening her mouth again. The bravery is still there, so he knows that she isn't going to back down until she is satisfied. Whatever that meant for him was still unclear.
"Glad you see it my way," she says slowly, pacing circles around him and the tree he stands under. She stops in her previous spot (or close to it) and points the blade towards him. "Now I want you to tell me why you wounded my father." Rumpelstiltskin can't think of a good reason for her. Was he supposed to say "I thought you were dead?" "I blamed him for losing you." He didn't know if there was a right answer in this. He weighs several options before stepping out of the hole and getting closer to her. The blade was still in his direction, so he has to choose his words carefully. Finally he speaks.
"I wanted to blame him for your loss, rather than blame myself," he sighs before adding, "I was just being a coward." The blade falls away from its threatening position. So cowardice was a theme here after all. That was the answer she wanted. He figures that she just likes hearing him admit to what they both already know. She averts her gaze away from him. He can tell that she is conflicted with the situation. She looks longingly at the dagger one last time before she notices that he has grabbed her wrist. "I'm sorry," he mutters softly.
"For what?" she responds, venom dripping from her words. She pulls her wrist from his grasp and steps away. He doesn't know how to apologize for all the wrong he's done, all of the hurt he inflicted, all of the times he should have taken her into his arms and just let her cry but didn't (rather he let her cry into her pillow). Now that she holds his dagger, he must figure out a way to do it effectively. She is waiting for him to respond again. Her eyes watch his every movement.
"Everything…" he swallows. "I'm sorry for everything." She crosses her arms over her chest and hangs her head. After a moment of awkward silence between them, she slowly raises her head. Tears spring from the corners of her eyes and her lower lip trembles. However, in a very composed manner she says,
"Tell me you that you love me." He has her backed up against a tree instantaneously, his lips slanted over hers in an awkward way. His hands find her hair, and they dig in, tangling in her dirt specked curls. He holds her in place against the tree as he comes to life, a low needy growl crawling from his chest and to his throat, dripping from his tongue and into her body. The dagger is still clutched in her fist, even as her arms wind around his neck and pull him much closer to her. He shifts slightly, and moves his legs so that she can feel his steadily growing and throbbing erection between her legs, even though they are both still fully clothed. She moans when he catches her bottom lip between his teeth and nips there, swiping his tongue over where he bit and making stars burst behind Belle's eyelids. She gives a noise – something breathless and needy – realizing only dimly that her free hand has developed a life of its own, and has shoved its way under his shirt while the hand with the dagger remains around his neck. She curls her fingers over his ribs and his muscular abdomen and is entranced by the feel, realizing how strong the mighty Rumpelstiltskin really is. When he finally has the need to breathe, he breaks away for a brief second to honor her command.
"I love you."
That is all it takes for her lips to be on his again. Belle opens her mouth more so that he can taste more deeply of her. She tastes like mint and something more…something sweet. She moans – writhes beneath him, letting him push against her desperately, the world spinning apart and remaking, as this moment, this moment, is the realest thing either of them have ever known. He uses his tongue to beg her for entrance so that he can taste his sweet Belle more, so that he can show her that he loves her. She welcomes his advance. His passionate actions are more desperate than loving at this point. He has waited 30 years to hold her in his arms and to kiss her like this. To apologize for wronging her, to say that he loves her. He wants to be with her always. He wants to keep his promises to her, and he wants to make up for the promises he has broken. He spills it all into this kiss, and he vows to do so forever.
She lets him pull away to take a breath, and she leans into his ear, whispering her new command of him,
"Make love to me…"
The next minute after she moves away, another groan escapes from the back of his throat; he frees one hand from her hair so that he can reach behind her and undo the tie on her apron. That goes into the dirt first. He unbuttons her polo shirt and lifts it up to where her stomach is revealed. He runs his fingers over the soft skin of her belly. She moves her arm so that she is more easily accessible to him. He removes his other hand from her hair and grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head.
Her navy blue bra is visible to him now. He tosses her shirt to the forest floor on top of the apron and buries his face in the valley between her breasts. He kisses softly there, moving one hand so that he can feel her breasts under his hand through the material of her bra. Soon, her bra has joined her shirt in the dirt, and her gorgeous breasts are visible to him. He whispers "I love you" over and over again as he moves his lips over her stomach and belly button. She doesn't even have to tell him to ravish her, because he already is. She after a minute or so, she gives a new command and his suit jacket, followed by his tie joins the steadily growing pile of clothes—he keeps his shirt on though, just in case there is someone lurking in the woods.
He moves back up slowly, kissing every inch of her stomach. He stops when he has his face right in fromt of her breasts. One hand covers her right breast, kneading it under his palm while the left is in his mouth. She moans loudly as he tweaks her nipple lightly with his teeth before moving to the other breast and doing the same thing. He can see the gleam of the dagger when he opens his eyes to see her reactions. Her eyes are half closed in a dreamy way, and her mouth makes the perfect little "O" shape. His lips meet hers again, caressing them gently this time lapping up the remainder of her amazing taste. He is less desperate than before, because he knows that he gets to have her. He doesn't care to factor in the idea that she is calling the shots here.
He loves her more than anything, and he is determined to prove it—whether or not she holds the dagger. He can feel her hardened nipples pressing against his chest through his black dress shirt, and it just turns him on more. He can feel Belle caressing him through his pants, and he just wants to take her now. But she won't allow that. You do what she tells you to. His mind supplies several moves he can make next as he hears the quiet zip of his trousers. Soon enough, he is standing there in his dress shirt and tight black cotton boxers and her in nothing but her jeans and high tops. She is rubbing him through the cloth barrier with one hand, while still holding onto the dagger with the other. His fingers move up and down the sides of her curvy figure like a spider, making his squirm and whimper under him.
She jabs the dagger into the side of the tree so that she can move her hands to tangle in his hair, running her fingers through the silky strands. He presses his lips to her neck without her permission, biting and sucking gently on the soft skin so that he will leave his mark on her. She is his Belle. He can still feel the power from the dagger sending chills throughout his body as she rakes her fingers through his hair. She still has control over him, even when she doesn't have the weapon in her hands.
He could take it back at any moment—regain control of the situation. But he doesn't want to. The dagger is nothing to him if he can't have Belle in his arms every day. It is nothing to him if he can't do what he's doing right now. He's giving her all the control that she wants—more proof that he loves her.
He moves so that they stand near the pile of clothes, and he lays her down on top of them, ignoring the fact that for once—his leg doesn't hurt so badly. He moves his hands down to the clasp on her jeans, unbuttoning them with one hand and unzipping them with the other. Her shoes are kicked off, landing with two thumps in the dirt. He pulls her jeans down so that she lies on the ground in just her panties. He can smell her arousal and he licks his lips as he looks her up and down. He reaches out and cups her panty covered nether regions in palm, feeling the wetness sink in. She is more aroused than he previously thought of her. He runs his hand back and forth with a mischievous grin on his face.
"Say please," she says huskily, a new smile inching across her face. He bears his teeth, showing off the gold sheen of one.
"Please. May I have you?" he asks, not moving his hand. He removes his hand and sheds her undergarments with a flourish, filling the chilled forest air with the sound of ripping cloth. "What's your request dearie?" he hisses into her ear as his finger traces her opening. She moans and bucks into his hand, forcing a finger inside. He slides in and out very easily, utilizing how wet she is. Soon enough, he's added a second finger, and she is clinging onto him for dear life as he does.
How long he has waited for this, for her to be with him is almost too much to bear and he removes his fingers. His cock springs free from the restraints of his boxers. He places kisses along her collarbone and lets her take from him what little control he has over the situation, moving so that she has her legs around him. It is best to be comfortable while relieving 30 years of sexual tension. As he is about to enter her, it occurs to him that she may not have done this before. He meets her expecting gaze with worry evident in his features.
"Belle, are you a virgin?" he asks gently, the concern carrying over to his burr. She takes her lower lip into her mouth before shaking her head side to side. A wave of disappointment rushes over the pawnbroker, secretly deliberating who deflowered his Belle. He moves to enter her, still thinking about it, "Who?" he hisses in her ear in a distressed tone. She doesn't answer right away, and the ordeal scares him. His cock is straining for release, poking at her entrance—but he has to know before anything else.
"Gaston...or I guess it's Lewis here..." she says, meeting his concerned gaze. "It was after prom and we just..." He can tell how hard it is for her to continue talking about this. He clenches his teeth and moves so that he enters her. This may not be her first time, however it is their first time and he is deperate to make it count. She howls in obvious pleasure as he moves farther so that he can bury himself in her hilt.
He pushes farther and farther until finally, he is all the way up into her, eliciting a loud moan from them both. She is oh so very tight, and all he can think about after that is how beautiful she is as he moves in and out of her. She is wrapped around him like a voluptuous goddess, clutching the clothing under her for dear life. She moans and writhes and all he can think about is her and how tight she is clutching him as he speeds up his thrusting. He wants to be hers.
Their lips meet with unbridled hunger as he fucks her hard on the cold forest floor (regardless of the few clothing items separating her bare back and the dirt). He knows that if the two of them aren't careful that it will get out all over town that he is some sick cradle robber. Not that it matters to him, because her beautiful keening is one of the few things that don't go in one ear and out the other. He has waited thirty years to do this and goddammit; he is going to finish what she started.
She comes hard and fast around him with a loud howl of pleasure, and he takes it as his cue to change the position. He stands, letting her push his back to the tree in which they had shared the initiating kiss. Her hand wraps around the handle of the dagger (still jammed into the tree) as she gives a silent command for him to continue. She wraps one leg around him so that he can better reach her entrance and resumes fucking her nearly as fast as he had been before. He whispers darkly into her ear as her arms grab onto either side of the tree. She removes the dagger from the tree with a powerful tug, and tosses it so that it is on top of the clothing, as if she intends to take it with her later. As if that is going to happen, Rumpelstiltskin thinks to himself.
His gaze meets Belle's for a moment before her lips meet his passionately, letting their tongues battle as they continue to become one. She moans loudly as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. He stays there, relishing in how much tighter her walls are around him now. She lets out a shriek as she comes around him for a second time, sounding like some kind of animal. As loud and hostile as the noise she makes is, it succeeds in making him want her more.
It spurs him on more and more until he finally comes—he slumps with his back to the tree and lets his love collapse on top of him. Both of them pant, small amounts of laughter weaving in and out as they try to catch their breath. He presses soft kisses to the tip of her nose giving her a grin.
"That was…" she began, still breathless.
"Amazing," Rumpelstiltskin finished for her. She pulls away from him, moving to collect her clothes, but still keeping her gaze locked on his. She slides on her jeans, remembering her destroyed panties. She puts on her dirtied blue polo and steps into her shoes, which both ended up about twenty feet from each other. She picks up the dagger, looking at it longingly.
Belle watches as he redresses, zipping his fly and moving so that he can take her into his arms. "Or it may have been true love…" he opens his mouth to continue, but she knows what he's going to say.
"The most powerful magic in the world," she finishes for him. He closes his lips over hers for a brief, but loving, kiss. His knee is killing him now and he winces in pain—searching the clearing for his abandoned cane. He spots it right behind Belle, close to the hole where he had the dagger buried. Belle could sense what he was looking at. She turns, and makes her way over to the cane, picking it up and holding it tightly in her fist. Rumpelstiltskin raises an eyebrow.
"What do I need to do to get my cane back, love?" he asks her as she gives a grin. She steps closer so that they are about half a pace apart. He could lean down and kiss her if he wanted to. By the way her eyes flick back and forth from his eyes to his lips, he can tell—that's exactly what she wants.
"I think you know…" she teases. He leans in for one more kiss, gently brushing his swollen lips over her equally swollen ones. She leans into him, making it evident that she doesn't want to let go. He figures that they'll have enough of these moments in the future that he can afford to pull away now. She groans in a needy fashion as he takes a step back. She hands him his cane, and he leans on it, taking some of the pressure off of his knee.
"Can you answer a question for me, Rum?" she asks him softly, looking frequently between him and the dagger in her hand. He nods. He secretly loves the affectionate nickname that she gave him. It reminds him of their time together before the curse.
"You hold the dagger love, I'm obligated to do whatever you say," he responds. "What is your question?" She walks back over to him and holds the dagger out to him. He reaches out and their hands touch as he grasps the handle—feeling his control return. He is no longer under her will.
"Why is the dagger so important to you?" he chuckles and moves so that their noses touch.
"I think by now you know." Belle giggles, knowing exactly what he means. "You do know the dark one's tale, correct?" he adds after a moment.
"I heard it at a tavern once I believe. Something about whoever holds the dagger is in control of the dark one," she recites to him. "But how did I know that?"
"Must have been in your subconscious, dearie," he says.
He clutches the handle of his cane just a little bit tighter as awkward silence envelopes the two of them. He can tell that neither of them really have much else to say. He chuckles internally, thinking about how that doesn't make sense considering what they had just done and where they had done it. He looks down at the dagger clutched in his fist. He never liked the thing very much—considering it was what caused him to lose his love in the first place. But it also gave it back to you. He looks up at Belle, who isn't really looking at him. She rocks back and forth on her feet, hands clutched together behind her back.
"You know…" he starts hesitantly. "I have a cabin not too far from here." A massive smile breaks out on her face. She grabs one of his wrists and drags him in the opposite direction from the cabin. "Love…" he says. She stops as he throws his hand over his shoulder, pointing towards the correct direction. "It's that way…"
As she drags him in the opposite direction, he figures that he can hide his dagger in the old clock on the mantle.
A/N: That took WAY too long. Sorry for such a delay! Hope you enjoyed it! Review please, I hope to make future fics even better than this one.