It was getting to be a miserable night.
Lacey was freezing. It wasn't as though Storybrooke's nightlife was extensive to begin with, but she'd been standing outside The Rabbit Hole for a good four hours. She was thankful it wasn't raining, but the wind was bitterly cold as it whipped around her legs. She huddled inside her coat, eyeing the various pub-crawlers as they came and went. Only a few spared her a passing glance.
Perhaps she should just call it a night. Lacey thought longingly of her shabby apartment. It was a drab, tiny place, but she had two space heaters and several electric blankets. A cup of hot tea sounded incredibly appealing, as did curling up on her threadbare couch and watching Teen Mom reruns.
Before she could seriously consider this, Dr. Whale exited the bar. He stumbled a bit, nearly crashing into her, but blinked at her with libidinous amusement.
"Lacey," He slurred at her. "Some friendly company tonight?"
Dr. Whale was a repeat client, though he usually only paid for two or three hours of her time. Still, two or three hours somewhere with heating—likely Dr. Whale's Mazda—was better than standing out here another freezing minute. Perhaps she could even convince him to take her to Granny's inn—Granny was at the diner, it was Ruby's shift at the inn, and she was usually pretty good about turning a blind eye to that sort of thing…
"Sure, doctor," Lacey purred at him and he grinned at her, leaning in, letting his hands wrap around her waist.
She was just about to suggest he lead her to his car when she noticed a black Cadillac pull up to the bar. Smiling in recognition, she gently disentangled herself from Dr. Whale.
"Sorry, doctor," Lacey murmured, kissing his cheek gently. "Better offer."
"Aw, come on…" Dr. Whale called after her before taking sight of the Cadillac. Recognizing it, he sighed in resignation and trudged away.
Lacey opened the car's front door, neatly sitting down. She smiled at the driver, shutting it.
"Good evening, Mr. Gold," She greeted him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Good evening, Lacey," Mr. Gold giving her a sly, half-smirk that sent shivers down her spine.
Every hooker had her favorites—Mr. Gold was hers. She gained a strange sort of amusement from the whole thing—everyone in Storybrooke was terrified of Mr. Gold, saw him as a heartless monster. Everyone but Lacey. Sometimes she thought she'd like him even if he didn't pay the best. She charged him more than her usual clients, purely for the fact that she knew he could afford it. Far from being offended, he seemed to like her cutthroat business sense—and perhaps the fact that she wasn't the least bit frightened of him. He was definitely her best client and called on her often.
There were, however, several rules between them. Mr. Gold had a particular disdain for her services on an hourly basis; and thereby always paid for an entire night. Lacey presumed that he was a possessive man, and disliked the idea of her servicing anyone else after their excursions. They also either went to his shop or his house—"I'm too old for creative settings, dearie." He paid her upfront, slipping her an envelope full of cash that she discreetly tucked it into her purse.
Most of her clients got off on the experience of being with a prostitute than Lacey herself. They were enacting a power fantasy, paying someone off the streets for sexual favors, a wildly thrilling and tantalizing idea. It was a curious way to display dominance.
Mr. Gold, however, seemed to be the exception to that rule. He didn't need to display dominance when he already had all of Storybrooke under his thumb. She knew for a fact that he never called on any of her other competitors and he actually seemed to enjoy her company, rather than the company of a prostitute.
Not to mention, as an added bonus, he was one of the few clients that Lacey was actually attracted to.
They drove in companionable silence, Mr. Gold's hand on her knee, until they reached his house. His pink house was another thing she appreciated about him—he seemed to get a morbid amusement out of bewildering Storybrooke's residents with it. Nevertheless, she liked his house a good deal, with its scattered trinkets and objects, smelling of dust and pine needles.
As soon as they were safely tucked inside, his arms wrapped around her, his lips finding hers.
"I've missed you," He murmured against her skin.
Lacey hummed against him in response, shrugging off her coat so she could feel his hands caress her back. She was tempted to say that she missed him too—if we were any other client, she would with no qualms—but with Mr. Gold, it veered too much on the side of truth.
She didn't always enjoy kissing her clients—which was why she charged extra for it. Sometimes their breath stank too much of alcohol or cigarettes, sometimes it was simply sloppy and unpleasant. This was not the case for Mr. Gold, she thought to herself as she let her fingers slip into his hair, sighing at its softness. He was aggressively tender, never missing a chance to nip her bottom lip and tease her tongue with his, but always remaining gentle, as if afraid she would push him away if he were too controlling.
"Ah, Lacey," He mumbled, burying his face in her neck. She shivered at his hot breath, her stomach flipping in anticipation. She gently walked backwards, leading him to his bedroom.
They fell on the bed together, his body blanketing hers. He gave her a feral grin before setting to work kissing her once more, nipping at her neck. Hickeys were a part of the job for her, but for all of his carefulness, there was something thrilling about him leaving his mark on her.
As his lips trailed down her neck towards her collarbone, she shoved his suit coat over his shoulders. Mr. Gold wore a suit marvelously well, she thought to herself headily working at the buttons of his shirt so she could kiss and lick his chest. There was also something intensely erotic removing his tie. His impeccable suit and tie was such a symbol of his hard exterior, an armor of sorts, and she was the only one allowed to remove it.
Her dress was up to her hips at this point, his elegant, tapering fingers sliding up her stocking clad thighs, feeling the curve of her ass.
She pushed him slightly so she was on top of him, removing his shirt and flinging it on the floor. She could feel how hard he was already and it made her palms sweat and her stomach leap.
"What do you want?" Lacey whispered, already knowing his response. She asked him every time.
"You," He growled back, pulling her down for another kiss.
XXXX
Lacey awoke to the sensation of someone brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Her eyes slowly opened and she jerked, immediately realizing that it was at least mid-morning.
Fuck. Lacey never stayed past dawn, it was presumptuous and gave clients dangerous ideas. Fortunately, Gold, who was sitting on the edge of the bed fully clothed, looked neither offended nor lecherous.
"Good morning," He said gently and Lacey rose herself on her elbows.
"Sorry," Lacey murmured sleepily. "I should've left earlier." It was usually she who left him sleeping in bed, not the other way around.
"It's all right," Mr. Gold kissed her cheek. "I have to open up the shop. The rest is on the dresser. There's tea in the kitchen if you're so obliged and food in the refrigerator."
He was so strange. He terrified and threatened the residents of Storybrooke and yet was kind and gentlemanly to her. No other client would trust a whore alone in their house, Lacey was sure of that.
She smiled at him warmly and he tucked his fingers under her chin to kiss her again. Logically, she knew that she should be charging him more for this but she couldn't seem to resist his warm lips and how his light stubble felt against her cheek. He drank her in deeply before giving her one last wistful smile and exited the bedroom.
Lacey fell back against the pillows with a sigh. She realized with a strange sort of sadness how tempting his offer was, to stroll into his kitchen, drink tea and eat breakfast like she belonged there. She almost wished that she were his real girlfriend or wife and had that right.
But she was not. She was simply Lacey the whore, the woman who sold herself outside the Rabbit Hole, who was either brave or foolish enough to let Gold take her into his bed. Resignedly, she rolled out of the bed and slipped on her rumpled purple dress, hunting for her stockings.
The rest of the day was uneventful. She spent most of it lounging in her apartment, watching bad TV and eating leftover takeout. She had just decided to walk over to Granny's diner to order a drink when she noticed a yellow bug drive by.
She frowned. That was odd. Strangers never came to Storybrooke.