Belle sips her evening tea, running her bare toes over the grain of the unfinished wood floors. Gold's cabin is secluded, well hidden in the woods even though it is only a few minutes' drive from town. Surrounded by trees and nature, with no television or radio, rustic and simple, this little place is like stepping into another world all its own. She finds she enjoys it very much.
It isn't the sort of second home most in Storybrooke would expect him to have - in truth, it surprised even Belle when he first ushered her in the door. But now, after a candlelight dinner and easy conversation, she understands why he likes it. It suits the softer side of him, that part that he lets none in the world see but her. Belle smiles against the rim of her teacup. She's glad he suggested this little weekend trip, a lover's getaway when they wouldn't have to worry about another soul in the world but each other.
She suspects it was all on Dr. Hopper's suggestion.
Ever since Belle found her way out of the psychiatric ward - a dungeon by another name - and found her Rumpelstiltskin, things have been a constant challenge between them. She loved him, thought of him every day through more than three decades spent curled in one of the queen's prisons or another. She had always known, beyond all doubt, that Rumpelstiltskin loved her, and even in the darkest, most maddening days of her imprisonment, that one truth never left her. But, as she had long dreaded, things were not so simple when they were reunited.
He had thought her dead (another curse to break her heart as well) and the heartbreak had changed him. When she found him, with a new face and a new name, but the same hidden heart, here in this new land, he was bitter and cold, vile and vicious, perhaps even more so than on the day they met. She found him cursed anew, with a broken heart. By the time she found him, showed him the truth, his heart was so full of guilt and regret that there was hardly any room left for love to come in. And Belle herself was captive for a lifetime, with vicious spells and tiny curses lacing endless doses of pills and injections and drugs. She was isolated for a lifetime, kept not only from her loved ones, but from virtually all contact with the outside world, save for nurses and orderlies, and brief glimpses of the sky through a small, dirty window. After a time, it did drive her mad. She does her best to comfort herself with Dr. Hopper's words, telling her gently that it would have happened to anyone, no matter how strong, how brave. And now, some few months later, she is still healing from it all, learning to live again, learning how to be free. She is a long-caged bird, still learning how to fly again.
Together, she and Rumpelstiltskin make quite the pair. Both broken, each in their own ways, both trying to put themselves back together again, and trying to build a new relationship, nearly from scratch, at the same time. It is a daily challenge, learning how to be together. But she loves him, she wants this, and she tries her very best. She can see that he feels the same. She sees it in the way he looks at her, smiles lovingly with a kindness he only shows to her. She hears it in his softly whispered apologies when he grows too frustrated with it all. She feels in the way he touches her, when they eventually take to his bed and begin making love. His touches are soft, hesitant, gentle when they first start out, and turn to passionate and loving when she finally proves to him that he will not break her.
No, there is no question in Belle's mind that they share true love. Now, they are simply figuring out the rest of it, taking it one shaky step at a time, together.
She laughs to herself. He thinks she doesn't know that he's been seeing ("speaking with," as he would put it) Dr. Hopper for advice, for guidance. He thinks himself quite sneaky and clever, a master secret-keeper, but three decades of captivity haven't taken her ability to see right through Rumpelstiltskin's bluffs. And, in case she needed some measure of proof, a romantic weekend getaway at a secluded cabin in the woods is precisely the sort of thing the good doctor would recommend.
So, for now, she puts thoughts of other things away, tucked neatly back in her mind, and simply enjoys the warmth of her tea, and the gentle scratch of unfinished wood against her bare feet.
It's summer, and the days are long and warm. Even now, after sunset, the cabin and the world outside are only barely cool. She wears a violet sun dress, and one of Rum's shirts over it, left unbuttoned, to keep her shoulders warm. He gave a half-hearted protest earlier, when she first came out of the bedroom in her ensemble, but she could see the look in his eyes just as she turned to start dinner. He enjoyed the sight of her in his clothes, as though it was his claim on her, something to mark her as his. Though, in truth, it was much closer to her staking a claim on him.
Now, with dinner long over, dishes cleaned and left to dry, he emerges from the kitchen with a cup of his own, and she smiles at him. He has shed his jacket and tie, leaving only his shirt, still tucked in, but with the top two buttons undone. He doesn't normally let others see him dressed so casually, but Belle rather enjoys it. She likes the quiet reminder that she is different to him, special, that he loves her enough to let himself be vulnerable around her.
Belle makes her way to the open window, swaying her hips a bit more than is strictly necessary as she goes. She sips her tea slowly as she lets her eyes adjust to the darkness outside the cabin. Soon, she blinks, and blinks again, when she sees tiny, flickering stars in the meadow just beyond the porch. She blinks a third time before she realizes her eyes are not playing tricks on her. The sight of it, the sheer, simple, natural magic of stars on earth, the freedom to be thrilled at the sight, is something to beautiful and wonderful to bear. She barely manages to set the teacup down on a solid surface before she's racing out the door, grass beneath her feet and her lover's voice following on her heels.
She is deep amongst the fireflies, bright beneath a half moon, before she stops. The little living stars scatter, flutter out of her way, before they return to lighting up the night. And she spins, spins and spins amongst the fireflies, making them flutter and dance, until her head spins as well, and she lets herself fall to the ground below with an overjoyed laugh. When the stars and treetops above her stop spinning, she finds Rum above her as well, smiling softly. He saves that smile only for her.
"Enjoying yourself, love?"
She smiles up at him, bright-eyed and perfectly happy, free of the curses, great and small, that fill their daily lives. Here, now, there is only him, her, and fireflies, and nothing else in all the world.
"Sit with me," she murmurs. After a smirk, and a moment's pause, he carefully eases himself down with the help of his cane, until he is in the grass beside her. She smiles her gratitude, and breathes the world in.
She sits upright again, watching the fireflies blink in and out all around them. One of the glowing little bugs floats down near her lap, and she gently scoops it up into her hands. She watches it glow and twinkle, overjoyed by the tiny, simple little thing. She just makes out Rum smiling on the edge of her vision.
"I so missed being outside," she murmurs, as a second bug comes to join its friend in her hand. "They never once let me out, not even for a little bit. And all I had was one little window that faced another wall. I could barely even see any sky." The two fireflies rise up out of her hands, twirling around each other as they fly off into the night. With a content sigh, she stretches and falls back to lie in the grass.
When she looks to Rum again, his eyes are dark, and his face has fallen. Belle bites her lip when she realizes why, and wonders if she shouldn't have said anything. But no, she thinks, it is the truth, the reality of her life for so long, and pretending it never happened, skirting the memories to spare one another's feelings will only hurt them and their relationship in the end. This is simply one of a hundred things they must sort out and learn to live with, together. She reaches out a hand, and rubs the backs of her fingers up and down over his forearm until he looks at her. She smiles, genuinely, brightly. "Thank you for bringing me here."
And as easily as that, the darkness is gone from his eyes, and he grins back. Yes, he does indeed love her. Deep down, in spite of everything the world and the curse might put between them, they are in love. She is so very grateful for what she has now, for all that the future is sure to hold. She is so grateful to have Rum again, to be with him, to no longer be haunted by the heartache of loneliness and missing him. Being with him, loving him, warms her heart and makes her so brilliantly happy in a way she never was before, not before the curse, not even before she met him. And though things are still difficult, she trusts that he's in this until the end, and that they'll figure things out, somehow, eventually, together.
And this, now, the grass and the moon and the fireflies, this peaceful bit of nature, may go a long way towards healing her soul. She caresses the back of her hand against the grass beneath her, soft and cool and slightly damp, and so very exquisite. She turns her cheek into the grass as well, and wonders vaguely what it might feel like all against her bare back, her legs and arms and hips. She thinks it would feel so wonderful to make love on a bed of grass.
She feels her cheeks flush with the thought, and puts the idea out of her mind. It's such a silly little fantasy, and strange, and there is no point in indulging ideas of something she can't do.
But then her eyes fall on Rum again, peaceful and quiet, watching the fireflies dance. She bites hesitantly at her lip. Why on earth can't she do it? What is there to stop her, beyond her own thoughts? She's in love and free and happy, and why the hell shouldn't she try anything she damn well pleases?
Seizing on a sudden burst of courage, she sits up, threads her fingers around his neck, and pulls him in for a kiss. It surprises him, so she rubs little circles at the base of his skull, just how he likes, until he relaxes and lets her kiss him more deeply. Her heart races, just a little nervous, as she teases his lower lip and moves her fingers down to the buttons of his shirt, picking them open one by one. She's halfway down his chest by the time he realizes what she's doing, and he pulls back just far enough to look into her eyes. "Here?" he whispers.
She smiles. "Why not?" She must look hopeful and eager, and he must understand why she wants this, because she can see him push away a protest before he resumes the kiss.
She deepens the kiss, and hums blissfully when his tongue enters her mouth. before she can finish the buttons on his shirt, , he slides his hands beneath her open borrowed shirt, and caresses slow, gentle patterns over her shoulders and arms as he eases it off of her. She rewards him by lightly sucking on his tongue and teasing it with her own.
She returns to his half-buttoned shirt, eager to get it off of him. As she nears the last few buttons, he cups her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. She presses into his hands, distracted from her task as his thumbs tease over her nipples. She nearly tears off the last two buttons of his shirt before she yanks it out from the waist of his pants. Her hands fly to his chest, pressing into his warm skin and the subtle, strong muscles beneath. His hands leave her breasts as he tugs off his shirt, and she whimpers at the lost touch.
She feels the muscles in his chest move, and a moment later he's gripping her by her hips and pulling her to straddle his lap. She squeaks in surprise, breaking the kiss. He pulls her impossibly close, chest to chest. She can feel his erection beneath her, so she pulls herself closer still, grinding her hips against him and pulling a strangled groan from his throat. He presses a kiss to her neck, hot and determined, and he wraps his arms around her back to find the zipper of her dress.
The sensation of his hands against her bare back barely registers - instead she leans her head back, her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders for support, and marvels at the sensations as he worships her neck. He kisses and nips and worries her skin, licks that wonderful little spot behind her ear, and gently sucks the point of her racing pulse, staking his claim to her with a mark on her skin. His lips stay there, in that perfect spot against her heartbeat, as he works her skirt up over her legs and up her waist, and he leaves her neck only for the space of a breath as he pulls the dress up over her head. When he returns, it's to lavish the other side of her throat as she presses her breasts against his chest. She feels him smile against her neck. Then, just as quick as before, he holds her tight, and flips them, and she gasps as her back lands in the cool, damp grass. The sensation is even more incredible than she had imagined.
Rum slowly moves his lips, pressing hot, passionate kisses down her neck. He trails lower, across her shoulder, the length of her collarbone, and he flicks his tongue into the hollow of her throat. He kisses down her chest and between her breasts, teasing, before lavishing attention to one, then the other. He doesn't linger, though, and soon continues his journey, kissing down her belly, fluttering his tongue again in her navel and drawing a gasp from her lips.
Slowly, torturously, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties, tugging them down just far enough to expose the bones and hollows of her hips. He trails his tongue slowly down one side, to the little spot between her belly and he leg where he knows she's ticklish, and she shivers. He keeps on kissing her there, going no further, driving her mad until she can take no more and breathlessly whispers, "Rum, please..."
And as if he is incapable of denying her any bit of pleasure, he obeys, tugging off her panties to leave her completely naked in the soft grass. As he sits back to shed the rest of his own clothes, Belle takes the chance to revel in the world around her.
The grass beneath her has a soft and gentle texture, like the most luxurious of rugs. The fireflies still twinkle above them, made more beautiful by the countless stars beyond them. The temperature is nothing short of perfect, with only the faintest of breezes, drifting over her body and face and doing delightful things as it sweeps across her breasts. There is not another soul around for miles, and there is no sound of voices or cars or distant blaring televisions to mar their moment. All she can hear, beyond their own heavy breathing, are crickets and the soft rush of a stream somewhere beyond the trees.
He returns to her and settles between her legs, mindful of his knee, and she wraps her whole body around him, arms and legs, pulling him as close as she can. He seals her lips in a fierce kiss, and swallows her gasp as he thrusts into her. She tilts her hips and presses her heels deep into her lower back, and he grinds against her in response. She threads her fingers through his hair, and when he pulls back from the kiss, his grin is truly predatory. He doesn't even leave her time to gasp before he pulls back and gives a hard thrust.
His movements are rough in the most exquisite way. He is all lust, all carnal desire, desperate to devour her and leave her screaming his name. She moans and clings to him, reveling in the moment. He wants her, she knows, and it is such an incredible feeling, to be desired so, to be met with such fierce passion and pleasure after decades of dull monotony and solitude.
Rum buries his face in her neck again, his lips seeking out the same spot he lavished before. She feels the change in his thrusts, still deep and rough and wonderful, but erratic now, almost desperate, and she knows he's close. So she smiles to herself, holds him tighter still, caressing his back to feel his muscles move beneath the skin, and she savors the moment, lying in the grass with her True Love ravishing her beneath a blanket of stars.
When he comes, she arches beneath him to meet his final thrusts as he lets out a strangled, animalistic groan against her neck. It's the only thing about him, she thinks, that was ever even remotely beastly. As he lies panting on top of her, she gently nibbles and licks and teases his ear, as much to soothe him as the eagerness and pleasure tugging at her core. He smiles against her neck. He kisses her deeply, passionately, before he rises off of her and pulls out of her to trail kisses down her body. She does her best to squelch her whimper, lest he decide to prolong his torment. Sometimes he much prefers to come first, early in their lovemaking, so that he can then lavish his attention on her without feeling desperate for release. He enjoys it so because it lets him draw out her pleasure, and she learned the hard way that he has a bit of a sadistic side, and has no qualms drawing it out into something torturous if she begs too much for more and faster and harder, please- But, she also knows that he always rewards her patience in the end...
His kisses trail down her body, and he spends a few minutes kissing and caressing her belly and thighs and hips, everywhere except where she wants him most. She wills her body to be patient, to be still even as he exhales against her core, trying so hard to make her beg, the bastard. But even with all she's been through, her bravery and strong will have not left her, and tonight she is determined to make him give her what she needs without tormenting her for it. She smirks to herself when he presses his lips to her, and then all mirth and other concerns fall away.
He starts off so very gently and slowly, lightly sweeping his tongue against her core. By now he knows her body well, knows exactly what kisses and licks and touches will drive her to the brink, and which will only tease her. Fortunately, she knows him just as well, knows which reactions and sounds and touches he will deem an appropriate response to his ministrations, and which he will deem pleading, a signal to slow down and make her wait for her release. She takes a deep breath, and the air smells of nature and the night. She lifts her legs enough to let him settle down further, letting her thighs fall against his shoulders and around his neck. She reaches down and threads her fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. Her patience is rewarded when he presses against her more firmly, his tongue drawing little circles over her, his lips tending to the rest of her sensitive flesh.
She moans softly into the night air, rather enjoying the slow, steady build of pleasure he gives her. His fingers are busy caressing her legs and hips and sides. One slowly caresses its way down and closer to her core, until he teases two fingertips against her entrance, hot and wet and aching with the need to be filled again. He pushes inside slowly, gentle where earlier he had been rough and fierce. And just as much as his earlier roughness had made her feel desired and wanted, his slow gentleness makes her feel loved and cherished, and this, too, is a relief after so many years of loneliness.
He curls his fingers inside of her, drawing out a moan. He swirls his tongue faster now, and the pressure builds inside her. Her fingers tighten in his hair, holding him against her, and one by one, her muscles become tense, and any inklings he may have about drawing this out, making her wait for her climax, disappear. Soon, she's bucking just the tiniest bit, just enough so that his fingers and lips and tongue hit the perfect angle. Her eyes shut tight against the mounting pleasure, and in a moment of clarity, she can only think how incredible and wonderful and perfect this is, to be free and loved and surrounded by nature and the world again. But the clarity fades just as quickly as it came, and everything in the world vanishes save for Rum's tongue swirling wildly at her core as he drives her relentlessly towards her peak. Finally she breaks, and cries ecstasy into the night as she comes, riding his hand and mouth until he has drawn every last bit of pleasure possible from her body.
In her haze, she only barely recognizes the feel of Rum working his way back up her body, until he presses a tender kiss to her lips. He rolls off of her and onto his back, and she curls against his side, resting her head against his shoulder. The breeze brushes over her back, cooling her heated skin. She draws little patterns over his chest as she breathes, letting her heart slow. Around them, the fireflies still hover and twinkle, lighting up the night.
He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you, Belle."
She smiles, sighs, and closes her eyes as she nestles closer to him. Yes, she thinks. In spite of curses and loneliness and heartbreak and decades between them, in the end, she loves him, and he loves her, and all the rest of it will come with time.