It seems like just a moment ago that she closed her eyes, curled up in her bed with a book still held in hand. She doesn't know how she even found herself back in the Great Hall, yet here she is. There's a slight haze to it, as if one of Rumplestiltskin's experiments had gone wrong. Perhaps that was what had drawn her out of bed and brought her back to the room.

"Rumple?" Her voice seems loud in the room as she peers through the haze. She can see him there, on the other side of the room. He's seated at his wheel as he usually is this late in the evening. He doesn't seem to notice her approach at first, his concentration totally focused on the wheel in front of him.

As she steps closer, he suddenly stops and looks up at her. His eyes seem darker, almost black. "Belle." She expects his voice to have the softness it has taken on with her lately, but it doesn't. There's a hard edge to it. He rises suddenly and she finds herself stepping back from his approach without meaning to. She isn't scared of him, hasn't ever been really, but still she takes that single step back. "Are you frightened of me, Belle?" His smile looks more like a baring of teeth than the soft ones she's gotten used to.

"Of…of course not." She is surprised to hear herself stumble over the words, is surprised that she does feel a bit frightened. Where is that feeling coming from? Even when he took her from her home, even when he was no more than rumors and dark stories, even when he threw her in a dungeon, even then he did not scare her. But now she feels her heart race, feels the sweat break out on her brow. She is terrified.

"You should be." He takes a few steps closer to her, more stalking than simply walking. He looks feral. "Pretty little maids should always be frightened of the monster in the dark."

He finally is standing directly in front of her, but still takes one more step closer. His body is almost pressed up against hers. She can feel his breath fan out across her face. "I'm not," she whispers.

One of his hands comes out to tangle in her hair, tugging it, pulling hard enough that it hurts a little and her head is tilted to the side, her neck bared to his gaze. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, sees him lick his lips, unholy eyes still on her neck.

A moment later his lips crash down one her neck, his teeth scraping the tender flesh.

His name is wrenched from her lips as her arms rise of their own volition and hold him tight to her. Ecstasy that she never could have imagined washes over her and she feels her knees buckle beneath her.

He's working in his tower room when he hears the scream. He knows it's Belle but he's never heard his name come from her lips in such a way. He's not sure if she's frightened, desperate or something else. His name on her lips sounds full of needs and wants that he has tried to push to the back of his mind ever since he had caught her as she fell from the ladder. He shouldn't even be able to hear it from where he is, but he's in tune to everything she does and despite the distance from his tower to her library room, he can hear her as if she is in the next room over.

When she cries out again, this time the words incoherent, he drops everything he's doing and finds himself, a mere moment later, standing outside the door to her room. Magic has some uses, after all. He puts a hand on the door, hesitating. He's never entered her room past the first time he showed her to it. It is her sanctuary, her place to escape the darkness that he represents. She has always been safe there from him, her own little haven in the castle she never wanted to live in.

He's afraid to enter now, afraid of what he'll find. Perhaps it's a nightmare. The way she called out his name…he wasn't sure if she wanted him to rescue her or if he was the cause of her nightmare. The latter seems likely. He is the stuff of nightmares, after all. But for some reason he wants to do the former, wants to play the Prince Charming to her damsel in distress. And so taking a deep breath, he pushes the door open.

Nothing is as he expected. Belle lay in the middle of the bed, nightgown torn away from her neck, back slightly arched. Her eyes are closed but there's a blissful look on her face. A demon stands over her, one of his talons touching Belle's temple while the rest of his scaly hand cradles her head, his reddish face buried in the crook of her neck.

Without even taking a moment to think, he raises his hand and blasts the demon with his magic. It rears up, dropping Belle's head back to the pillow and turning to him. It lets out a blood-curdling scream as it launches itself off the bed at him. His magic counteracts it, sending it spinning back across the room, its incoherent rage expressed with a loud hiss. He doesn't give it a chance to get its bearing, stepping around the bed and continuing to attack the creature. He knows what it is. He knows what it wants to do. He simply won't allow it.

The creature rears back, inhuman eyes scanning the room. Rumplestiltskin hits it with one more blast of his magic and it disappears, hopefully returning to where ever it came from. He takes only one more moment to set up protections around his castle to keep it out.

He wastes no more time or thoughts on the demon. It's gone and it's gone for good. He rushes forward and before he can even think about what he's doing he's on the bed and has pulled Belle into his arms. She's still asleep, unconscious perhaps. One hand reaches up without thinking and cradles her head against him. He whispers her name and she suddenly comes alive with a gasp, her whole body going rigid against his.

"Rumple?"

He expects her to push away from him and is surprised when instead her arms come around him and she pulls him tighter into the embrace. Only then does he really become aware of her state of undress. She's only in her nightgown, the top of it torn. He has stripped himself of his dragonhide coat and vest. With only his silk shirt and the thin material of her nightgown, he can feel the heat from her skin. He tries not to think about it, tries not to imagine her without it, the feel of soft skin against his own.

"You're safe," he murmurs and feels her sigh. He tries to push her away from him. He needs the space to settle himself. Placing his hands on her upper arms, he pushes just slightly. Belle reacts by holding him even tighter, splaying her hands out across his back as she clings to him. He can feel her shaking. "Belle."

"I'm sorry." The words are spoken into his chest and he can feel her breath fan out across the silk of his shirt. "What was that thing?"

He is loath to admit it because he left his castle unprotected, but he will hide nothing from her. "Incubus."

She finally pushes back from him and he breathes a sigh of relief at the cool space that now lies between them. Of course, now he has to look at her, at the flesh revealed by the torn neckline of her nightgown, at her blue eyes, dark in the barely lit room. This isn't much better than holding her close, he realizes. He can see her now and seeing her is perhaps not really in his best interest. He tries to ignore the tightness in his breeches, but it's becoming increasingly more difficult.

"What?" she asks and it takes a moment for his brain to catch up with his ears.

"An incubus," he mutters.

"And that is?"

"Ah…" Here he pauses, not really sure what to say.

"Ah?" One of her eyebrows rises and he knows she's starting to get annoyed.

"It's a…uh…demon." She doesn't say anything, just waves her hand at him. "They…well….they seduce young women to impregnate them."

Belle's eyes widen and she tucks her arms tight around her. "How did it get in here?"

His eyes slide away from hers. "Well, truthfully? I didn't protect the castle against them."

"What?"

"Well, it's not like they were going to come here for me." For a moment his face is lit up with a smirk, but it's not echoed on Belle's. She looks pensive, worried.

"So why me?"

"Beautiful young woman sleeping alone in the castle of a monster? It seems obvious to me." Another hand wave. "Never fear, dear. It won't slip into your dreams again."

"Dreams?" Her eyes glaze over for a moment.

"Yes. They enter your dreams, take the place of the one you desire most. Do you really know nothing of these creatures?" He knew Belle was well-read. The look in her eyes when she saw the library he gave her and the sheer amount of time she spent there spoke to her being an intelligent young woman with an insatiable curiosity.

"Oh," she murmurs.

"Yes, sorry. I didn't mean to disturb your fantasy about your knight." The words come out on a slight sneer. She turns her head away from him and mutters something he didn't quite hear. "Pardon?"

"It wasn't a knight."

He frowns slightly. "A prince?"

"No."

"King? You're aiming awfully high there, dear." He waggles a finger at her.

"No. No king."

"Shepherd?"

"No." She's starting to sound annoyed.

"Blacksmith?"

"You!" The word seems to be torn from her and he stops, rearing back slightly.

"What?"

"It was you. The person in the dream was you."

For a moment they stare at each other and he sees her eyes move downward, the sweep of her lashes, the pink tint to her cheeks. "Me." He cannot help the stunned look that creeps across his face.

"Yes," she answers.

He doesn't know what to say to that, not really. And so instead leans forward, closing the distance between them. "You wanted…"

"Yes." The word is just a whisper and he cuts off anything else she might attempt to say, pulling her tight up against him, wrapping his arms around her. It's the first time he's reached out to touch her, save for making sure she was fine after the altercation with the incubus. It has always been her touching him and he never knew, never realized.

He searches her eyes for a moment. He doesn't know if she really wants this, if it's remnants of the dream, if there's something else. But she gives an almost imperceptible nod and bites her lower lip and he's lost. Leaning forward he touches his lips to hers, hesitantly, almost reverently.

Her gasp of surprise is echoed by his own as he feels the pull of not only lust, but something else, something he's not comfortable defining, something he is not ready for. But it doesn't stop him from pressing forward, his tongue finding hers and tentatively tangling with it. Her mouth is soft, warm, and he seeks out all the crevices, finds the place that has her moaning into his mouth and wrapping herself tightly around him.

"Belle." He whispers and pulls away from her slightly. "We can't…"

"Why?" The word was so guileless, so innocent.

He sighs. "That's why." He releases her and tries to leave, but she stops him. Her eyes, when they meet his are steely, determined.

"That wasn't the only dream." The words are whispered and she leans forward, pushes him back, kisses him again. He allows her to draw him down, to lie close to her. It's something, at least, something that he hasn't experienced in a long time. He never imagined he would now, but he cannot stop himself from wrapping his arms around her, holding her close.

It's when she moves his hand to her thigh and he realizes the material of her nightgown has bunched up and his hand is resting on the silky smoothness of her skin that he almost loses it. He tries to get her name out, but she shifts, lies on her back, draws his hand further up her leg.

"Rumplestiltskin." It's all he needs, that breathy way she says his name. He allows her to draw his hand up further and finally he takes a bit of control, gently separating her legs and bringing his hand up to cup her. Her hips move suddenly, pushing into his hand and he lets out a small groan.

One of his fingers touches her and then stops. "What?" she asks, lifting herself up slightly on her elbows to study him in the darkness. He doesn't know how much she can see with just the moonlight filtering in through one narrow opening in the curtains, but he hopes it isn't much. She says she wants him, her voice husky with need, but he still doesn't trust that will not change if she saw him in all his dark glory, hand up her nightgown.

"You're…" He can't even voice the word. She's wet. He didn't imagine it would be possible, for her to need him, to want him this way. And she's spread her legs and he can feel the moisture pooling there. He dips a finger into her, just the tip of it, and hears her sigh.

He strokes her lightly, listens for when she lets out a noise that indicates he's hit the right spot and then moves his finger there with more firmness. He cannot resist sliding down a bit and bringing his mouth to the same place his hand has been, crooking one finger inside her as he laps at her. Her legs spread further apart as he settles between them. The sounds she's making are coming quicker and he can feel her tightening around the finger inside her. He adds a second, a third, and then she's lost. He can feel her clench around him, can hear the noises she makes, can feel her hands as they tug just a little too hard at his hair.

As she comes down from her high, he pushes away. She's satisfied. It's all that is important. If his breeches are uncomfortable, if he's wound tighter than a spring, he can worry about that later. She may welcome his touch, she may welcome his mouth there, but she would not welcome more.

"I shall bid you good night," he murmurs.

"Where are you going?" Belle's voice is a little sleepy, a little confused.

"You…I…uh…" He backs away just a little bit further. It seems his chance to make a graceful exit is long past.

"But what about you?" He can see her head shift slightly in the moonlight and he knows she can't see him in this darkness. But then she reaches out, her hand touching his thigh as he lets out a slight hiss, and then finally moving to cup him. And then she does know. He knows she knows.

She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his slightly open mouth. He has never been so surprised in his entire life. He came here to protect her, keep her virtue intact, keep her from becoming the unwitting lover of a demon and now it seems she wants to become the lover of, well, if not a demon, at least as close as one can get without actually being a demon.

"Belle." Her name is whispered on a broken sigh as she pulls him up and over her. He doesn't know how she has this much strength. She's a tiny little thing who comes from a noble background. She reads and flits around with a duster. She gets in his way and laughs at his dark sense of humor. Yet she's able to pull him up as easily as if she were used to doing manual labor. He tries not to imagine that it's because he's willing. Willing and able and so very desperate to be in her.

Sometimes all it takes is just one word. Just that one simple word that changes everything about your understanding of life, about the world around you. So simple, yet so profound. Belle has put both hands on his face, cupping his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Yes," she finally says and it's all he's ever needed to hear in the world. He's never realized that before.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders as he pushes forward and enters her in one quick thrust. He doesn't mean to be so forceful. He knows she's never done this before and yet her gasp, the way she pulls him tight to her, the way her head tilts back, the closed eyes. He sees no lines of pain across her face. He has not hurt her. Somehow, some way, she was so hot and so wet that the sudden intrusion does not hurt.

He holds off moving for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of her wrapped around him, before he pulls out and pushes back in. She lets out another gasp and it's all he can do to keep his movements controlled, to not drive into her like the monster he is.

When she wraps her legs around his waist, when her hands actually come up to grasp his ass, he cannot help it. His movement becomes erratic, faster, and before he can stop himself he's driving into her as he promised himself he wouldn't. But he hears her moaning beneath him and she's not pushing him away. She's drawing him closer, ever closer to the edge.

It's not long before he's lost in her, his orgasm overtaking him quickly. He grasps her hips, pulls her close to him as he rides it out. She lets out a soft moan and he's not sure if she managed to come with him or if it's just the intensity of the moment.

And then he collapses on her and all is silence except their harsh breathing, the sound of her hands smoothing down his sweat-slicked skin.

"Rumple…" she starts to say but he stops her.

"I'm sorry." The words are wrenched from him.

"Sorry?"

He pushes up on his elbows to look down at her. "This…"

"Was wonderful," she finishes before he can get further. He doesn't really know what he was going to say anyway.

He leans down and rests his forehead against hers for a moment and then moves away, kissing her forehead briefly. "Sleep now."

She starts to protest, but in a moment she's sliding back against the pillow, her eyes drifting shut. It's a cowardly move on his part, sending her off to sleep with a small spell, but he doesn't know if he can face her right then and there. Emotions are too raw. His emotions are too raw, really. This changes everything and he wasn't planning on changing anything at all. There's so much to process. For both of them.

He manages to pull himself away from her, disentangling himself from her and standing, tucking the sheet and quilt around her. She'll be cold as the sweat dries on her skin and he wants her to sleep at least someone peacefully.

There is much to think on. So much to think on, like how he'll face her in the morning, what he'll say, if she'll be horrified. He knows he'll get no sleep that night and so returns to his tower room. He'll tackle some truly mindless potion work to keep his mind off everything that happened and the consequences of those actions.

He just hopes, somewhere deep inside the heart he once thought cold and dead, that she'll forgive him for any transgressions and will not be repulsed by him when she awakens the next morning.