The spinning wheel in the shop is tucked away, buried under and behind gods only know what. When he digs it out, sets it up in the middle of the back room, it is covered in a layer of dust twenty-eight years thick. He spends long minutes dusting every corner and crevice. It is something of a cruel irony that he managed all this time without it, and now the one thing that should make him deliriously happy has him pulling it out for the first time in this world.
He sits on the little stool and sets up the wool, carefully tying the first little bit around the spindle, hundreds of years of practice not dulled by a few mere cursed decades. With a heavy heart, he turns the old wheel, hears it creek back to life, and slowly lets out the wool.
He should be happy she's alive. He is happy. But everything is clouded by pain and sorrow and regret, and for all that he might wish it, he knows there is no way this can turn out well. He knows he has a heart – she proved that to him many years ago – and just as surely, he knows that it is a twisted, broken, useless, barely-living little thing, full of darkness and bleeding despair. His love for her is infected, diseased from growing in his heart, and it would destroy him to see her heart poisoned with pain because of him. Any more than it already has been, anyway.
He is halfway into the shop before he even realizes he is standing. He fetches his precious little keepsake from under the counter, cradling it with all the care of a lover, and carries it back. He sets it beside him, just far enough to the side that he'll only see it if he turns to look. He spins, trying to dull the ache in his heart.
… …
The wind the creature whips up is cold and fierce, but she ventures out without the slightest hesitation. Still, when she finds a little restaurant down the street, with the lights on and a handful of people inside, she seeks refuge. She sits at a little table near the back, wanting nothing more than a quiet place to wallow and think and process all that has happened to her in the space of a day. A man who works there, seemingly the only one here at the moment, comes over and asks what she wants. He offers tea even when she tells him she has no money, and she is grateful for the small kindness. So she sits, for how long she doesn't know, and thinks.
She is still furious with him for going against her wishes, for misleading her if not directly lying, for speaking to her so harshly and dismissively. But, in retrospect, she can't really say she's surprised. Upset and hurt, yes, but not surprised. He is still so much the man she knew so long ago, the man spoken of in whispers for centuries before. She knows, through rumors if not so much her own experiences, that he is capable of being cruel and vicious and violent.
But still… there is kindness and goodness in his heart. She has seen it and felt it firsthand. Perhaps it is long forgotten, buried under so many centuries of wrong choices and cruelty and loneliness and deals. She thought – hoped – that it was his curse that darkened his heart so, that without it he would be the kind and gentle man she had seen beneath. She sees now how wrong she was, that his anger and cruelty and lack of compassion were his own doing, and it breaks her heart. Still, she sees the kindness in him, buried and broken and forgotten though it may be.
The truth is, she loves him, and even after all that he is done, she wants nothing more than to love him and be with him. He pushed her away once, and for all that she gave him a piece of her mind and told him how foolish he was being, for all that she tried to return to him afterwards, he had gotten what he claimed to want – she left him. She knows he doesn't see the goodness in his heart as she does, doesn't think he's redeemable or that he can be a good person. He hates himself, on some level, and so he doesn't truly believe he deserves her love. She'll be damned if she lets him push her away again, lets him decide her future for her when it's clear as day he wants to be with her, too.
She knows better than to think she can change him, or force him to change. But there is goodness in him – perhaps she can coax him to see it, to know that it is there, to know that he could be a good man. Perhaps, with time and patience and love, she can help him to see that it's worth the risk to trust another person, to make the right choices, to show him what those right choices are. She loves him, and she knows he can be a good person, if he chooses to be. There is certainly no one else who will be there to guide him down that path.
She can only hope that he's willing to try.
When the creature's storm passes, she musters up her courage and fights down the butterflies in her stomach, and heads back towards his shop. It is only a few blocks down, not a two minute walk, yet it feels so very far away. When she finally arrives, she is grateful to see a light on in the back, that he's still there. As she grasps the doorknob, the butterflies in her stomach swarm again. She rests her forehead against the doorframe, taking slow, steadying breaths. Just be brave, Belle, she tells herself. You can do this. She must do this, for the sake of the man she loves, and for her own happiness. She can make this work.
She sets her jaw, and opens the door.
She finds him spinning when she pushes past the curtain and steps into his office. There's something wonderfully familiar and relaxing about the sight, and in spite of her nerves, she can't help but smile. "Hi."
"Hey," he offers back, weakly, sounding so very nervous.
"I, uh… went for a long walk," she offers, not sure how to start this conversation.
"I thought you didn't want to see me," he says quietly, so meek, his eyes full of sadness and the tiniest flicker of hope.
"I didn't. But, I was worried." In spite of how badly it turned out the last time she returned to him, carrying a basket of fine straw, she still believes that the truth is best. She can hardly expect anything they build between them to last if they aren't honest. And she was so very worried for this poor broken man who needs her desperately, whether he realizes it or not.
"Well, the beast is gone," he says, and she wonders if he thinks that's what she feared. "Regina… lives." He says it with all the frustration of a man bested at his own game, but – thankfully – very little hate or anger.
"So," she says, licking her lips, "you didn't get what you wanted?" She waits on edge, scarcely breathing as he looks into her eyes, staring with longing, and the slightest twinge of a smile flashes across his lips before it is gone.
"That remains to be seen." She sighs in relief and the butterflies calm a bit. It's far from the worst answer he could give.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, nearly hidden away behind him, she sees it, and her heart melts with overwhelming joy. She takes it carefully, gently, holding it like the tangible bit of love that it is. "You still have it! My chipped cup." She says the words with all the amusement he once did, teasing her back in the castle decades and worlds away, and her voice nearly breaks. Any lingering fear, any tiny shadowed doubts that remain in her heart fall away forever as she cradles the little keepsake in her hands. He may be so very flawed and broken, and a damned idiot half the time. But here, in her hands, is proof that no matter all the rest, he loves her, truly.
When she looks to him, he licks his lips just a little. She studies his eyes, watches as they fill with fear and trepidation, and she watches as, almost miraculously, he musters up just the tiniest bit of courage. She has never seen such a thing in his eyes before, and her heart soars with hope as he stands and moves close to her.
"There are many many things in this shop," he murmurs, gently taking the cup from her hands, and she beams up at him. "But this? This is the only thing I truly cherish." He looks almost happy for a moment before he sends the world crashing down. "And now you must leave."
As quickly as it came, her joy vanishes, and her heart sinks. "What –?"
"You must leave because despite what you hope… I'm still a monster." His eyes are full of sincerity and gentle love, and his voice rings with sadness and resignation. Belle can't quite tell if the thrumming in her heart is from sorrow or love or happiness. As a smile spreads across her face of its own accord, she thinks it might be a bit of all three.
The very fact that he has said the words, told her with absolute honesty why he wants her to leave, rather than hiding behind a mask of anger and indifference to make her think that he never wanted her at all, the fact that he has admitted freely just how much he loves and values her, makes all the difference in the world. It is such a fundamental change from that dreadful morning so long ago that she can't help but laugh. He is still being an utter idiot, to be sure, but even with just this tiny baby step, he has done something huge. It makes her love him all the more, and gives her hope.
"Don't you see?" she says, taking his shoulders and squeezing gently. "That's exactly the reason I have to stay."
But for all that she smiles at him, he doesn't smile back. She sees his mind working behind his eyes as he stares between her and the cup. He wants to agree, wants her to stay – she can see it – but instead all he does is pull away looking heartbroken.
"Belle, you must trust me," he whispers. "This is the best thing we could do for each other."
"But I love you," she argues, trying to keep her voice light and let her feelings come through. "I want to be with you." It was only a baby step, after all – she hardly expects him to take it well or go along willingly. She tries to stay patient and calm, knowing that if anything can sway him, it's her love.
"And I love you, too," he says, meaning every word. "But you deserve far better than me, Belle." And he means every word of that, too.
She takes a step forward, closing the distance between them again. "To hell with deserve. I want you."
"You won't when it's all said and done. Best if we just skip the middle bits… You go on and find someone else to be happy with… without having your heart broken in between." He strokes the cup tenderly, avoiding her eyes, as if it's still the only thing he has left of her in all the world. His face is miserable, but resolute as stone.
"That's what you want?" she presses, incredulously, willing him to see how foolish he's being.
"I've lived thirty years without you, darling," he says, and she has no idea how he can use the endearment as he knows he's hurting her so terribly. "A few centuries before that alone as well. I'm used to it. It's no trouble living that way again. There's no sense in doing this to you just so I can spend a little while with you. I'll only hurt you."
"If you push me away you'll hurt me no matter what." Her resolve and confidence are breaking, slowly but surely crumbling away into nothing. Her bravery is not what it once was, before she was taken prisoner.
"It's better this way, Belle," he says, barely a whisper, but the words scream that he doesn't even believe them himself. He turns and retreats, moving behind the desk to the shelf where he stood when she found him this morning. He sets the cup down with great care, keeping it safe, not looking at her. "You get to go out and find the life you deserve… and I'll know that you're alive and safe and happy." He braces his hands against the counter, as if he thinks that's the end of it, as if he expects her to leave without another word.
Belle sets her jaw, glaring at the back of his head. She clenches her hands into fists, and stands as tall as she can.
"No."
He turns back around, as stunned as he was this morning. "No?"
"You don't get to do this," she bites out, barreling ahead before she loses her nerve. "You don't get to dictate what happens between us. No one decides my fate but me, Rumpelstiltskin. Not even you." Her voice is shaky, but strong.
"I'll only hurt you, Belle." He shakes his head, looking like he's on the verge of tears.
"Are you not even willing to try to find happiness?" Slowly, he limps back to her, sighing like he's being patient with a particularly stubborn child. "If you're strong enough to tolerate a life of loneliness and misery, a life that you hate, why aren't you strong enough to do something and try to create a life that will make you happy?"
"Belle…" he sighs. "I wish this could work. I truly do. But I am what I am, and you –"
Frustrated and utterly fed up with his excuses, she grabs his head in both hands and drags him to her, and shuts him up with a kiss. She holds him tight against her when he tries to pull back, letting her mouth slide across his until his bottom lip is between hers, and she sucks on it insistently.
Swaying him with logic and love clearly isn't working. She'll just have to use something a bit more tangible and forceful.
When she pulls away to let him breathe, his eyes are wide and nearly black. He still looks miserable that he couldn't make her to go, but his resolve is shattered, and he knows he'll never be able to convince her now.
She drags him back down and crushes her mouth to his, this time wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he clings to her waist. He kisses her frantically, his tongue entering her mouth the first chance he gets. He plunders her, desperately seeking out every inch of her, while his arms crush her against his chest. He cradles the back of her neck with one hand, his fingers threading through her hair, tracing wonderful little patterns against her scalp.
He kisses her like a man dying, as if he'll never get this chance again. She's not about to let that continue.
She lets her tongue battle with his, offering every bit of pleasure he seems so desperate to take. He flicks his tongue against the roof of her mouth, and lets out a low rumble that reverberates from his body into hers. As their frantic pace eases into something a little less desperate, she finally begins to notice the heat flooding through her body, and how good it feels to hold him in her arms and kiss him so. This began as an attempt to show him how strong her love is, to prove to him that he can't push her away, but now that the initial need to keep him close is fading away, the pleasure of his touch and closeness is taking over. With all the confusion this day has brought, her desire for him remained dormant, but now her body is reacting, and she remembers how much she has wanted him for so long. And, much to her delight, she can feel how much he wants her, too.
And now there are no curses, no wretched meddling queens, no fear to get in their way, nothing but his own stupidity. Fortunately, even that does not seem to be enough to stand up to his desire. She starts tugging at the knot of his tie while sucking gently on his tongue. She has it loose enough to pull off over his head by the time he notices what she's doing.
"Belle –" he gasps, pulling away enough to stare at her, wide-eyed and panting. "Are you –"
"Yes," she insists, pulling the tie off before kissing him again. He groans into her mouth as she plucks open his buttons one by one.
When she has his shirt halfway open, she moves to kiss his neck and collarbone. He cradles her against him as she trails messy, passionate kisses down his chest. Back in the castle, he always wore vests that exposed this bit of his body, tempting her with this tiny, innocent glimpse of skin that always made her want so much more. Her heart pounds in her chest as she finally gets to touch as she wanted to for so long.
He grabs a handful of her hair and tugs, pulling her back up so he can slant his mouth over hers again. She fumbles with the last two buttons until she can shove the shirt off of him. She gasps at the feel of a warm hand against the bare skin of her back, and realizes he opened the back of her dress while she was distracted. She smiles and runs both hands up his naked back, letting him feel what he's doing to her. He groans and tugs frantically at her dress, all finesse lost. She can hardly blame him, though, once he has her standing in her underthings and it takes all her concentration to unbuckle his belt and figure out the fastenings on his trousers. As she fumbles, her hands brush against his hard length, drawing the most flattering groans from his throat, and once she can finally slip her hand inside, she cups him in her palm and squeezes gently.
He leans against her for balance, kissing frantically as he toes off his shoes and socks and stumbles out of his trousers. She kicks away her own shoes, and the dress that has pooled around her feet. They don't quite manage, and she loses her balance, making them tumble to the floor. She blushes, burying her face in her hands as she giggles. He grabs her wrists and makes her look at him, and then he's kissing her again with such ferocity that her embarrassment vanishes, along with most coherent thought. Together, they manage to fumble out of their remaining undergarments without breaking the kiss, until they find themselves sitting completely naked on his shop floor.
She pulls back enough to smile tenderly at him, caressing the sides of his face and marveling at the stunned, feral, hungry look in his eyes. She lets her eyes wander down his body, studying the lean muscles and soft skin and his hard length eagerly awaiting her touch, and she feels his eyes roaming over her body as well. He pulls her back for another kiss, tugging her closer and wrapping his arms around her. He spreads one hand against the small of her back, flat against her skin. She barely notices the not-quite-rhythmic tapping of his fingertips, like he's trying to concentrate on something besides the kiss, until a powerful burst of heat and pleasure race through her chest and stomach and curl down into her core. She mewls into the kiss as the sensations focus, like the most impossibly skilled fingertips between her legs, caressing her in exactly the right places and driving her absolutely mad with touch.
With a strangled cry she pulls out of the kiss, staring at him wide-eyed and panting. Fear flashes over his face, and the magical fingers retreat, like he thinks he's hurt her or frightened her. For all that she tries, she can't find the words to tell him please or more or oh gods yes, all her mental capacities shot to hell with the tiniest brush of magic at her core. Instead, she just hauls him back to her, pulling him down to the floor as she all but crushes his skull with her fingertips, and this time it's her turn to kiss like she'll never get the chance again.
And thank gods, her wonderful fool of a lover gets the message, and he sends the magic back down through her body, stronger and more insistent this time, and everything else in the entire world ceases to exist.
He lifts her head a few inches off the floor, and she feels him shove something soft - her dress? - beneath her as a pillow, and if her mouth were free, she would be smiling like a schoolgirl. She parts her legs and maneuvers so that he's lying between them, his erection pressing against her hip. His hands roam over her body, one caressing her side and the other squeezing her breast and teasing her nipple mercilessly. With just a few touches and a bit of magic, he's managed to drive her nearly out of her mind with pleasure, and she's already close to what is sure to be the first of many climaxes this night. And still, with all that, he's doing nothing but caressing and thrusting the tiniest bit against her hip. And the hell with that - she wants every last bit of him, everything he has to give and then some.
She spreads her legs more and plants her feet flat on the floor, making him slide down her body until his cock is pressed just between her legs. She bucks beneath him to make her point, and still all he does is groan her name. The sound of it shoots straight to her core, and she all but growls into the kiss, taking his tongue in her mouth and sucking insistently, and she reaches down and grabs his ass with both hands and pulls. With a broken howl he tears his mouth away, looking down at her with desperate eyes. "Belle –"
"Yes," she hisses, as adamantly as she can in her state, and finally - finally - he shifts until he's pressing at her entrance, and sheathes himself inside her with one smooth thrust.
He doesn't bother with slow, seemingly as desperate for connection and release as she is. He thrusts into her over and over, somehow hitting just the right spot, and she wraps her legs tight around his waist. The feeling of him inside her body mingles with the magic spiraling furiously at her core, driving her forward relentlessly. She bucks beneath him, moaning and whimpering and crying out incoherent sounds of pleasure, and before she even realizes she's there, she's screaming and arching beneath him, every muscle in her body shaking and tightening as she comes. He draws out every sensation, kissing and nipping at her neck, touching her everywhere, never slowing his thrusts or easing the magic as she convulses, the pleasure shattering through her body like an earthquake. Finally, when she thinks she can't take any more, the magic abates, and she collapses against the floor, struggling for each breath.
He kisses his way down her cheek and jaw and neck, this time tending to her other breast with strong, gentle fingers. He keeps thrusting, harder and faster now. He builds the magic at her core, pleasuring her again even as his hips start to lose their rhythm. He watches her eyes, stares at her like he's trying to peer down into her soul. He reaches for her leg and pulls it higher around his waist, until her knee is nearly pressing against her shoulder, and gods if that doesn't somehow let him thrust deeper still.
Her heart races with anticipation as the magic builds her pleasure, knowing that he's sure to make her come again. He breaks his searing gaze to give her an equally searing kiss, and she returns it with fervor. She buries one hand in his hair as their tongues play against each other, letting her other hand roam over his back as she arches beneath him. He moves frantically, desperately against her, sweat beading on his forehead. She hopes he's close - she wants him to be close - and just as she reaches down to squeeze his ass affectionately, he tears his mouth from hers and cries her name. He snaps his hips forward in his own climax, and without warning the magic at her core surges and forces her to climax with him. Her unprepared body arches almost violently beneath his, screaming, the pleasure raging through her with such force it all but tears her apart.
When it's over, she can barely focus on anything, barely comprehends the world around her, save for the hard floor beneath her, and the vague sensation of strong arms holding her. Her entire system is numb from the overwhelming sensations. It could be minutes or hours before she comes back to herself, before she feels tender hands running over her hypersensitive skin, soft lips kissing her legs and hips and the plane of her stomach. She shifts with a moan, and feels soft, worn leather beneath her skin. When she finally manages to open her eyes and take in her surroundings, she finds herself lying across an oversized leather armchair, halfway across the room from their original spot, with her lover kneeling between her legs and lavishing her with attention.
"Rum," she manages, barely a whisper, and he glances up and smiles at her so tenderly she thinks it might break her heart. Then he buries his lips between her legs, pressing a kiss to the precious little bit of nerves at her core, and she gasps at the wonderful new sensation. She arches into him as he drags his tongue over her, sending a flicker of magic into her. He builds her up slowly with licks and swirling magic, gradually giving her more, exactly what she needs. When he buries two fingers inside of her, she is lost, and completely falls apart for him.
He's gentler this time, more careful as he pleasures her. Between the magic, his fingers and his wonderful tongue, his ministrations are controlled and precise, neither pleasuring her and dragging her over the edge too soon, nor making her wait too long for her release. She doesn't know if he uses magic to make her body ready again sooner, or if she is simply so immersed in a haze of ecstasy that time has lost all meaning. She certainly loses track of how many times he makes her come like this, lavishing every bit of his attention at her core, as if his only purpose in life is to give her this, as if nothing and no one else exists in the entire world.
"Rum, please," she hears herself whisper as he pushes her towards yet another orgasm, not sure what it is she wants, only that he can give it to her. She sinks her hands into his soft hair, needing to touch him too, and she rubs her fingertips against his scalp as the pleasure crests within her, and he makes her come yet again.
This time, as she comes down, he kisses his way up her body and eases his fingers out of her. She tries to sit up, but can't quite convince her body to follow her commands. Instead, she catches her breath - or tries, at least - as he kisses his way over her belly, her ribs, her breasts, her neck. She expects him to kiss her properly next, needs him to, but instead he nips at her earlobe and jaw, avoiding her mouth even when she turns toward him. Mustering up every bit of energy she can, she turns enough to capture his lips with her own. She slips her tongue into his mouth, mewling as she realizes why he wouldn't kiss her. She can taste herself on his tongue, rich and heady, and he must have thought she wouldn't want to taste that, to kiss him like this. Instead, she just kisses him more fervently, playing with his tongue, teasing hers against every corner of his mouth she can reach, and he groans appreciatively.
Somehow - she has absolutely no idea how - he pulls her up, supporting her with strong arms around her waist. Without breaking their kiss, he slowly moves them across the room, past the spinning wheel, to the desk. He backs her up against it, his erection trapped between them, pressing against her stomach as he moves things around behind her. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are heavy and nearly black. She yelps in surprise as he spins her around, pressing her forward until she's bent over the desk. He presses into her, shifting until he finds the right angle, and she moans as thrusts inside, hot and hard and filling every last bit of her. He moves slowly, his thrusts unhurried, and drapes himself over her back, pushing her hair to one side and kissing the nape of her neck.
"Belle," he murmurs, his lips brushing her skin. "My darling Belle. I love you so much." He kisses his way slowly across her back to her shoulder, each kiss punctuated by a thrust and a flare of magic. She whimpers, her body so on edge and exhausted from pleasure, yet still pleading for more, and she grips the edge of the desk until her knuckles are white.
"I've missed you so much, dreamt of you every single day." He nuzzles against her spine, letting the magic build in her core. "You're so beautiful..." he murmurs, kissing a spot below her shoulder blade. "And kind... and loving... and gentle... and brave..." He kisses a random spot on her back between each word, and Belle doesn't think she's ever felt more loved than she does at this moment.
He nips lightly at her skin, just barely grazing his teeth across her flesh, and the sensation pushing her right up to the edge. "I'll never understand how you managed to show any kindness to an old monster like me... but I'm so very glad you did." He gently bites her shoulder and flares the magic at her core, and any hope of denying his words is shattered as her orgasm rips a wail of ecstasy from her throat. She clenches around him, bucking back into him and riding out the wave of pleasure, until she lies limp and dizzy atop the desk once again. "I'm so sorry, Belle. For everything. I love you so much, my darling."
She wants to tell him that he's wrong, that he's not a monster, never was, that he can be a good man if he only chooses it. But she can't find the words or the will to speak, doesn't think she could to save her life, and the frustration would make her want to rip her hair out if she wasn't awash in pleasure. Instead, she cranes her head around, far enough to reach his lips. He meets her halfway, kissing her fiercely, and she matches his fervor with every last bit of passion she has, teasing his tongue and biting his lip.
He growls against the kiss and snaps his hips against her in hard, rough thrusts, apparently enjoying her aggression. He manages to hit some perfect spot deep inside her with those thrusts, his roughness something wonderful in itself, and her mouth slips from his. "Oh, Gods, harder, yes -" she pants, frustrated that these words simply fall from her lips when the ones she wants to say won't even form. But the thought is driven away as he obeys, letting instinct take over rutting into her. He seeps more magic into her body, pushing her towards the edge yet again, and she whimpers. She reaches around and grabs his wrist, squeezing tightly. Hanging onto her sanity with her fingernails, she fights to find the words she needs, forces her lips to speak them.
"Please..." she whispers. "Want you to come. Please."
He stops then and pulls out of her, leaving her whimpering for only a moment before he pulls her back up and turns her around. He lifts her to sit on the edge of the desk, facing him. He's inside her again as quickly as he left, kissing her fiercely and lying them back against the desk. She wraps her arms and legs around him, holding him as tight as she possibly can, cradling him against her body. He moves against her and works the magic with a desperate kind of urgency, and she just rubs his back, holding on as he pushes them to the edge.
He makes her come, and as she clenches around him, he comes too, letting out the most broken, wonderful sounds she's ever heard.
For a long time, they don't move, just lie together on the desk, letting their hearts slow and catching their breath. He rests most of his weight on her, just balancing himself with his legs, and the gentle pressure of him is soothing and perfect. She cards her hands through his hair, marveling as the tension slowly falls out of him until he is completely boneless atop her.
"I love you," she finally manages, her voice hoarse from screaming. "You're not a monster. You have a kind heart deep down." She feels him shift so he can look at her. She can't see his face, but she imagines it is full of confusion and bewilderment. "I know you can be a good person. You just have to try." She smiles, to herself more than him. "You can't do that all by yourself. And I hardly think anyone else will want to help you through it."
He's quiet for a long time, letting her words sink in. Eventually, he stands without a word, slipping out of her and helping her to sit up. He finds his cane, and gathers up their clothes, bringing them over so they can get dressed. She worries at his silence, but for all that his eyes are nervous and disbelieving, there's no fight in them, no desire or ability to deny a thing she's said.
When she's back in her dress, and he's fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, she stands on shaky legs, taking over the task and slipping each button through its hole, one by one.
"You deserve better, love," he murmurs. But it is only a statement, not a protest or a plea. He isn't trying to push her away. She smiles up at him brightly, genuinely.
"I deserve what will make me happy." She stands on her toes and kisses him chastely. "And that's you."
He pulls her into his arms at that, holding her as gently as she did him just minutes ago. She sighs, and rests her head against his chest. "Take me home."
He kisses the crown of her head. "As you wish."