The Taste of Magic
Rating: NC-17
Author: belleandherbeast/SageandChocolate (same person = me!)
Summary: In which the regular consumption of magic aids Belle in recovering her memories.
She hadn't quite realized that when Rumplestiltskin said that she would be taking care of his estate, that it meant she would also be taking care of him. Oh, she understood cookery and cleaning well enough – at least, enough to employ the basics while she improved her skills – but she thought it more likely for her to die an old spinster than become a woman full of…carnal knowledge.
Although she supposed that really, she certainly wasn't not a spinster, and she didn't have that much carnal knowledge.
Belle pulled out of her reverie as she dropped to her knees in front of his chair by the fire. Her fingers had stopped trembling as she undid the buckles and laces on his trousers weeks ago and she moved calmly, deftly, and very soon his hardening member was free to the air and her palm.
He smiled. At first, it had been a slightly sinister smile as he explained to her what would become their weekly ritual. Later, as she acclimated to her new duties it was a smile of anticipation. Now, she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. The anticipation was still there, but his smile seemed different, somehow – more gentle. More like the smiles he gave her when they were discussing books or politics or enjoying a quiet, hearty meal before the hearth.
"Go on then, dearie," he gestured to her, and lightly tugged at a wave of her hair. "I've got a surprise for you – after – and you wouldn't want to miss it, would you?"
Obligingly, she leaned forward and engulfed his cock in her mouth, suckling lightly. She had been surprised, when she had first seen it – she wasn't sure exactly what the male member was supposed to look like, so she didn't know if he were normal or not, but where she had expected the skin to be the glittery green-gold, almost scaly texture which covered the rest of him, here he was smooth and soft – golden velvet over steel.
At his first moan, she smiled around his cock, her cheeks tingling. This was when he liked her to pick up the pace, so she laved him with her tongue, caressed him ever so softly with her teeth and sucked him hard into her throat. He moaned louder then, more often, and when his hands tangled in her hair to keep her still as he bucked up into her mouth she began humming, a favorite song she often sang while dusting the Dark Castle.
She didn't know that he tried to spare her some of the difficulties of servicing him this way. Which is why, instead of staving off his pleasure, he rushed towards it quickly, and instead of filling her mouth with seed bitter and dark (like himself) he used his magic to make the taste of him sweet and refreshing and his reward for that small expenditure was her willingness and assertiveness in lapping up every last drop of him.
o.o.o.o.o.o.o
Belle trembled in anticipation of her weekly meetings with Mr. Gold. To be sure, they saw each other five days a week as she worked in his shop to repay her father's debt, but Saturdays were special. Saturdays she would come to his home and while her Papa thought she was taking a creative writing class, she was really being tutored in pleasure and love making.
She had to tell herself it was lovemaking because sometime over the past few months she found herself desperately in love with the hardened pawnbroker.
When she arrived at his home, he led her over the doorstep and straight up to his bedroom. "Well, Miss French," he murmured with a half smile as she shyly (even after weeks of practice) drew off her garments until she stood bare and rosy before him. "What are you writing about this week?"
She moved closer to him, and he gathered her hands in his own and drew them to his lips, pressing chaste kisses to her knuckles. "Fairy tales," she whispered, began unbuttoning his shirt, pressing light kisses to his chest and mistaking his gasp for want as she drug herself against the fabric of his trousers.
"Why fairy stories, dear?" he asked her, and she drew one pebbled nipple into her mouth and unfastened his trousers before replying, "I-I see them in my dreams," and tightening her hand around his growing flesh to forestall any further questions. Because yes, she did see them in dreams – it was as if she lived a whole different life in her sleep – but she also had visions when she was with him (somehow, his sharp suits didn't seem quite right and his skin should have a greenish tint – shouldn't it?) and surely he wouldn't want a madwoman in his bed.
But then he pushed her backwards across his bed and she forgot to think as he lowered himself carefully onto the stool he kept by for just this occasion and pressed his mouth against her damp pussy and ate at her like a man possessed. His tongue laved her from the bottom of her slit to the top of her clit and he nipped at it gently before drawing the little button into his mouth and suckling her. Again and again he lapped at her, sometimes gently, sometimes furiously as if he couldn't ever get enough of her taste and it was only when she was crying out with all her might, her fingers tangled in his hair and her muscles keening for release when he finally let her over the edge and smiled against her puss as she screamed.
Her tremors eased as she came down from her high, gasping and staring at him with wide cat eyes and whispering, "Thank you." And then she pushed herself backwards with heavy limbs, against the pillows and spread her legs, smiling as he sheathed himself within her.
"Please," she begged when he stayed still, his fingers playing against one breast and tweaking her flushed nipple. And when he moved, she arched into him and moaned and they became a tangle of hungry mouths and inquisitive hands and frenzied hips.
She kept her eyes shut, mainly – terrified to have any visions intruding on this moment, but every blink led to a smile as she saw his face (and not his face) and her dear Mr. Gold again and she clamped down on him when she felt him seize up and tremble and saw his eyes rolling back and felt his breath, hot on her face as he let out a low, guttural moan of completion.
Afterwards, when they lay together, slick with sweat and cuddled together, her arm across his chest and her leg over both of his, she asked him why he never wanted her to return the favor of using her mouth on him.
He didn't know how to answer, not really. Because she was his Belle, but she didn't know who she was and even though it had started off cruelly, her mouth wrapped around his cock was something he held on to from their time together when she came to love him, in their home.
So he squeezed her tightly and shrugged. "It's just not necessary, dearie," he uttered and was surprised when she sat up beside him, blushing and followed the trail of her eyes to his shrinking, sated knob.
"But may I?" she pressed.
He smirked. "You've worn me out right now, love."
She bent to kiss his lips and as she drug her own over his cheek to his ear, she whispered, "Well, I'll just clean you off then," and before his pleasure struck mind could process her words she had licked a trail down his cock and swallowed it into her mouth once more.
He let out a sigh of contentment, nuzzling his face against her thigh and softly stroked her skin. He might regret it later, but how could he tell her to stop when he could feel himself hardening again in defiance of his recent release at the familiar feel of her mouth.
She didn't stop, not until he was keening under her ministrations as if his voice was the same as it had been before the Curse had swept them away and his name was Rumplestiltskin. She fondled his balls and swept her nails against his thighs and reached one hand up to tug gently on his nipples and oh merciful heavens! she didn't stop until he was flooding her mouth with his come.
But then she did stop, swallowing thoughtfully and almost wonderfully and he could read the emotions playing across her face –disbelief, wonderment, anger, confusion, love.
Slowly, she met his eyes, her lips just barely parted as she hesitated, before she breathed the most precious thing he could hear: his name. "My Rumplestiltskin."