Rumplestiltskin rarely slept. His quest to find his son was an all consuming task that required every ounce of energy he had. But tonight, he found himself weary. Allowing a draft to breeze through his laboratory, the winter chill kept him awake.
Experimenting with his potions, Rumplestiltskin took notes. The cold numbed his fingertips, and he dropped his quill. Growing frustrated, he magicked the windows shut, expecting no more work to be done. There was no point in continuing, he was so exhausted. Rubbing his temples, his thoughts strayed from his formulas, to his son. From his son, to the loneliness. From the loneliness to…
Belle. Darling Belle. The nymph that made herself perfectly at home in his castle. Her ease with him sometimes made it hard to remember that she was prisoner here. But the way she ran his home suggested she invited herself to move in. Tea was served with every meal (with his favorite chipped cup). She dried and pressed flowers into their clothing, to keep in the fresh, clean smell. When clearing out his attic, she found all sorts of old treasures and insisted on displaying them. Belle rarely asked permission anymore, instead informing him of the changes to his home. As he rested in his chair facing the fire, he could smell cinnamon roasting in the hearth. That simple addition to ambiance brought him comfort.
As he relaxed, he slowly drifted to sleep. Just a little nap. To get his strength up.
Rumplestiltskin woke suddenly, freezing. His fire had died out, not the smallest ember remaining. Stretching out his limbs, he wondered how much time he lost, falling asleep. He should not have done that. Now, he could not remember where he left off. There were his notes, but he had long lost his train of thought. Might have to start over…
A clattering made him turn around, drawing his magic for an attack. Instead of an intruder, his eyes met with pure, blue ones.
Belle smiled at him, oblivious to him almost throwing her into the wall. That smile immediately soothed him, the guilt in nearly causing her harm clawing at his stomach. Belle had become part of his life, the thought of something happening to her, or her suddenly being not there, pained him. He stopped himself before his thoughts darkened further. Occasionally, his own mind would betray him with ideas and - more frequently as of late - fantasies. Watching those delicate hands handle a teapot, Rumplestiltskin could see them bound, tied to a bedpost with soft, silk scarves.
"I thought you needed a little warming up."
Her voice shook away his daydream. Bowing his head to hide his blushing, he cleared his throat. He was a disgrace for treating Belle that way (even if only in his head), and normally he never regarded women that way. The entire sex had proven to be deceitful, selfish creatures, and he could not sink any lower for the one he managed to find a decent human being.
"What did you bring me, dearie?" It did not smell like tea.
A brew poured thickly into his cup, steaming. Belle stirred, licking the spoon after. He quickly looked away, flashes of her licking something else playing in his mind.
"Hot chocolate. My father and I drank this together at every first snowfall. It keeps you warm, but better than that, it's delicious."
Hesitant, he took the cup, prompted by that devastating smile. She took a sip, moaning softly at the first taste. Even though it had only been a couple of months, Belle felt it had been years since she felt at home. Despite the Dark One's long list of chores, he never ordered her about, giving her free reign of the castle. She made adjustments, trying to make the Dark Castle a home. She claimed a chamber far from his usual haunts as her new quarters. It was close to a library. In the evenings, after a hard day's work, she holed herself up in her new-found sanctuary, and escaped through books. Life in the Dark Castle had been so lonely. Each day she spent scrubbing, polishing, and cooking. Once in a while, Rumplestiltskin appeared, just to share one or two of his absurd quips. Sometimes to comment on any changes, or rather, improvements. None of his remarks were ever given with any sarcasm or disdain, however. Mostly, he would observe her with nonchalance. And a little curiosity.
Not that the Dark One did everything innocently. Belle would find him lurking in corners and cupboards (once the ceiling), waiting to scare her. When she jumped every time, he released that manic giggle that became a familiar part of her daily routine. As much as he kept her on her toes, nothing he did was ever malicious. No, all was benign, if cheeky. But after two or three days of childish pranks (toads in the pantry, the kitchen flipped literally upside down, once her laundry had been hidden) he would vanish. A week, without sight or sound of him. The first time he disappeared, Belle had worried. Had he abandoned her? In case this had been a test she continued doing her chores, expecting him to jump out at her at any moment. But nothing. Just emptiness, and heavy silence. Suddenly, one night, he stormed through the castle doors, covered in blood and asking what she made for dinner.
Rumplestiltskin remembered that night. He dropped some of the barrier he kept with everyone. After collecting his due from an irritable butcher, the Dark One had rushed home, expecting peace, quiet, and dinner. Instead, his housekeeper bombarded him with questions, her hands running all over his body. Unused to that kind of familiarity, he shied away.
"What are you doing?" he had asked.
She ignored him, continuing her tirade. "Where were you?" "What happened?" "Is that blood?" "Whose blood is that?" "Are you alright?" Belle ushered him to a chair, begging him to stay put as she took off.
He did as he was told. Perplexed, he remained in the chair. Until now, they had left each other alone. He was lord, she was servant. True, Rumplestiltskin liked to drop in on her from time to time. Scare her a little, keeping the poppet on her toes. Reminding her she lived with a monster.
But, as it had turned out, that did not work.
Belle cleaned him up that night, fussing over him like a mother hen. The pretense of their relationship completely vanished from then on. They acknowledged each other, like tonight. Belle sought him out, cleaning in the same room as him. He never minded, though. She kept to herself for a while, speaking when spoken to, never asking questions. Over time, she started volunteering information about herself to break the silence. Once Belle realized he would not hurt her for speaking her mind, she felt comfortable to be herself. She laughed with him freely, parrying his wit with her own quips. A woman's intuition told her he was mildly unsettled by her, and, for reasons she had yet to understand, knowing that made her feel happy.
Rumplestiltskin sniffed at his cup, peering at her as she drank her own. That man, really. He might have let down some of his defenses, but he was still slow to trust her.
"Come on," she chided, refilling her cup. "It is true magic." Indeed. Belle found the idea of a world without chocolate too sad to bear.
He scoffed, holding the brew away from himself.
"Why, I never took the Dark One for a coward."
Rumplestiltskin knew she only meant to jest, but that word always touched a nerve. Every time someone throughout his life called him coward, he would retreat to wallow in his insecurities. But to have Belle think that of him…
Well, he could not have that.
Courage bolstered by her hopeful face, he downed the chocolate in one swallow.
A mistake, just his luck.
His tongue burned, and he choked. Nearly crushing the already chipped cup in his hand, he tried to see through the tears temporarily blinding him.
Belle's soft, melodic laughter - a sound he was unused to hearing. Trying to save the moment, he also laughed (heaved).
"Your attempt to assassinate me did not work, dearie. Not even dragons can burn me." His hoarse voice ruined the effect, and his intimidation fell flat.
"Oh hush," she dabbed his face with a tea towel. "You can be a child sometimes."
He opted to say nothing, holding his breath. Her scent tantalized him, and, the more he thought on it, captivated him in ways more pure than simple lust. Due to the recent changes, Rumplestiltskin had become accustomed to everything that came along with her company. Conversation and companionship. And, what scared him, was he thought that might not be so terrible.
Belle was pleased Rumplestiltskin helped himself to more hot chocolate. Pleased that he liked it, pleased that he trusted her enough to try it. Maybe this step could head towards friendship?
—
—
—
Rumplestiltskin watched snow fall through the large windows of Granny's Diner as he waited for his order. With Christmas only a few days away, the whole town had been decorated to the nines with fierce determination: lights, tinsel and wreaths galore. Widow Lucas threw boughs of holly over the doors and on the counters. With the curse trapping everyone in Storybrooke, the simple folk hoped to make the most of the season. He did not want to rain on their foolish parade, but he was not going to try and understand it either. Every day, he still worked to find his son, and he refused to get sucked into everyone's lot.
However, that did not mean he was not going to enjoy some distractions until he achieved his goal.
Ruby handed him two cups to-go in a cup-holder, that smile bursting forth. She started doing that every time she looked at him after the day Belle had been kidnapped by her father. It frustrated him, because he could not understand what the hell it meant. Did she know something he did not? Or was she mocking him? Either way, that grin and twinkle in her eye infuriated him.
"I would add cinnamon."
Rumplestiltskin was quick to set the cup-holder back on the counter before he dropped it. The wee prince Henry had quietly slid onto the bar stool next to him, and seemed to wait until the opportune moment to speak up. Anyone else would be on the receiving end of one of the loan shark's signature glares, but when it came to Henry, that could be considered an overreaction. Instead, he regarded the lad with bewilderment. He was still not used to this child speaking to him like he was any other adult, seeming to forget that he was the all-powerful Dark One.
"I beg your pardon?" asked Rumplestiltskin.
"Cinnamon." Henry hopped off of the stool, and slung his book bag over one shoulder. "That makes it better. Belle will love it."
"And how would you know one of these is for Belle?"
The boy thought for a moment, tilting his head to the side. "Would you do this for anyone else?"
That caught him off guard. Every day, Henry surprised him with his insight, naive and simple it may be.
"As a matter of fact…"
Rumplestiltskin did not know what compelled him to order the boy a sundae. It could be his special genealogical history, or the fact the little prince was one of the smartest people in this town, but Rumplestiltskin found himself wanting to spoil him at every opportunity. Having been quickly forgotten due to the dessert, he took his leave.
As he walked to the library, ignoring curious passers-by (honestly, what was so damn special about a man with two drinks?) he rehearsed the meeting in his head. Knock on her door. Lovely dress, brings out your whatever. Comment on the weather. Be invited inside. From there, he would leave it up to her. He hoped the means resulted in her locking the doors for the day.
In the old world, Rumplestiltskin had little reason or opportunity to be romantic. His courtship with Milah was short and uneventful. But Belle inspired so many new feelings, and her love mattered so much, that he had to do something. No one outside of his past had ever accused him of being dull. If anything, everyone found him overwhelming. Unfortunately, that meant the bar had been set high for him to be able to hold a young woman's interest.
Resting his cane on the doorjamb, he straightened his tie the best he could, and went through the plan one more time. He knocked on the door with more force than necessary, hoping that the sound compensated for his lack of confidence.
After an eternity, she came to the door.
And she was stunning. In a paint-smeared sweatshirt and ripped jeans, she was a truly breathtaking creature. He felt silly on that doorstep, overdressed. What was he thinking with his tie? They were not having a fancy dinner, or viewing an opera. This was just a casual meeting, and he showed up, looking obvious that he was trying too hard.
"Oh, my goodness!" Belle slammed the door in his face. Before he could process this, she opened the door again, embarrassed for her temporary rudeness. "I am so sorry, Rum, please come in. I just wasn't expecting."
He followed her in, his plan immediately derailed. Not one to give up easy, he carried on. "That is a lovely dress-" No.
"Oh, gods, no, I look a complete mess!" She was so flustered. Her hair had been hastily wrapped into a bun, and soft, curly tendrils were quickly falling out to frame her face. The sight was so erotic, happening before him in slow motion, he forgot that his Darling Belle was upset.
"I was painting a mural in the children's section," she said. "I didn't think anyone would be coming by. I am so sorry you have to see me like this, you must think I'm a ragamuffin-"
"On the contrary." Setting the cup-holder on an empty shelf, he was now free to take her hands. "I would have you like this all the time."
She turned bashful, and tried to look away, but he took hold of her chin and had her look at him. By the gods, how could anyone be this beautiful? In more ways than looks? Her eyes, her scent, her everything, brought him peace, and he would give almost anything to keep that with him forever.
He leaned in for a kiss, when he felt the heat of her breath on his face. She seemed to be breathing quite heavily. He opened his eyes to see that the air between them was misting.
Damn it, how did he not notice how cold it was in here? And his Belle was working under these conditions. He had to take care of this at once. Belle was never to feel any discomfort as long as the conditions were under his control.
Before he could offer apologies and leave to take care of this, Belle spoke.
"What's this? Is one for me?"
Ah, yes. The reason he came. "Ah, er…" Rumplestiltskin had to clear his throat. With the mood slightly ruined, he had lost his confidence, and struggled to rebuild it to recover the debonair mystique.
"I brought you something. It's snowing outside, and I thought…"
He could not finish. She looked at him with so much joy, pleased that he did something for her, not even knowing what it was. Instead of waiting for his tongue to untie itself, she took her cup, handed him his, and took a dainty sip.
Her eyes lit up, and he knew he did the right thing.
"Hot chocolate? I had no idea they drank this here! I thought that was gone forever."
"Even if it were, I would go to the ends of the earth to find your hot chocolate."
True, that might have been too much, but what he said must have worked, because she put down her precious chocolate to hug him. He leaned in to kiss her again, and was reminded of the heating situation.
"Belle," he whispered against her lips. "Why is it so cold in here?"
"Dunno. But I don't mind. The work has kept me warm."
"Well, you're not working now."
"That's true." She claimed his lips, hands pulling him tightly to her, her tongue plundering his mouth. She tasted of chocolate, and Rumplestiltskin could not think of a better taste in the world. Belle then tried to pull away, but she fully aroused him, and he was not going to let her go. He continued to kiss her, and she sighed in defeat, not really unwilling to give in to him.
Sliding one leg against his, the kiss escalated to a desperate attempt to quench their mutual desire. Mingling moans and soft whimpers echoed through the empty library. Hands wandered, and some clothing was removed.
"How," said Belle, "do you hope to warm me up?"
Rumplestiltskin lowered her to the floor, and showed her, their hot chocolate left to cool.