Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time. I like fiddling with the characters. I also do not own Robin Hood (or the dashing William Scarlett).
Rating: T... however, depending on the direction my mind goes about midway through, there may be a few M chapters.
A/N: There will be fluff! There will also be other, sturdier things that make up the plot, but I am in love with Rumbelle. This is a fangirl moment pretty much from its conception (I only started watching Once Upon A Time a few days ago). I also happen to have just found out about Mumford & Sons at the same point. Their lyrics will be incorporated throughout the fic. Florence and the Machine will also make an appearance later on. Oh, and as a minor note, I fought a bit with the spelling of Rumplestiltskin. In the end, I stuck to the way it is spelled on the show. Anywho, end of author's note. I hope you like the intro.
From "Lover Of The Light"
And in the middle of the night I may watch you go
There'll be no value in the strength of walls that I have grown
There'll be no comfort in the shade of the shadows thrown
Rumplestiltskin clucked his tongue as he held his tea before him, fingers splayed as he kept it close. The entire situation was amiss. Yes, he had finally procured a caretaker for his estate. When he went to the Northern Mountains that fateful day, saving some comically small village from being plundered by trolls, he had not given his price thoughtlessly. He had been mulling the idea over for some time, taking pleasure in the idea of ridiculing a noble as he or she polished his treasures and beat his clothing in the washroom. A tortured soul at his disposal, to entertain him in the Dark Castle during the lulls he had in business.
When he saw her, a vision in gold, his eyes narrowed and his interest peaked. She straightened herself in his presence. Squaring her jaw, she looked him directly in the eye without fear. In that moment, that inexplicably small amount of time that she held his gaze, he thought that perhaps that was what he needed in his caretaker. Someone with spark. A woman whose conversation could amuse, whose eyes held fire.
But, as they say, the best laid plans... well, he was standing next to his table in the great hall of his castle using a porcelain tea cup as a shield. Belle was sitting on said table- something previously viewed as completely unfathomable- chattering away about the various baubles she had discovered while cleaning and the memories they produced about her childhood. She spoke excitedly, hands wandering through the air as she reminisced. A stray hair had slipped down and tickled her cheek mid-sentence. It evaded her attempt to swat it away, and Rumplestiltskin gripped his cup tighter.
He was not accustomed to holding his inhibitions in check. The stray hair mocked him. It caught in her eyelashes for a moment, causing her to laugh before she finally brushed it back in place. He had to blink several times, drawing his attention back to his tea. Staring into those depths was easier; it was safe. Chancing a glance back at Belle, at her all consuming smile and vibrant expression, he swallowed hard. Why could he not have chosen a simpleton? A vain, foolish, selfish woman lacking intellect and charm?
That laugh again, only this time he assumed it was at his expense. The sound hung in the air, like the lasting ring of a chime. Her eyes gleamed and her lips twisted into a sideways grin that made his chest tighten.
"I asked, good sir, if I might uncover at least a few mirrors," at his obvious negative reaction- the very thought of the queen spying on these unnaturally easy interactions made his face darken- she continued on quickly, "Perhaps just one. Please, I am used to having someone's help dressing. A mirror would make things so much easier. I can't very well ask you to lend a hand, can I?" She arched a brow and bit her lip, blushing softly.
The image of her undressed, skin bare and exposed before him as he attended her made him grind his teeth a little. Incessant woman. Dangerous, incessant woman.
"No mirrors," he said, voice high and resolved. She looked down pointedly at her fingers folded in her lap, face downcast. The brave smile she wore, just an instant later as she lifted her head to give a fleeting nod at his decision, did not reach her eyes.
Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips.
Something was very, very much amiss. As much as it pained him to admit it, even to himself, the situation was no longer in his control. Her happiness meant something, and it irked him. Rumplestiltskin was beyond kindness. He was beyond granting wishes to maids whose only purpose in his castle was to be a means to an end.
"I could fashion something," he moved his fingers around the edge of the teacup, "Not a mirror, mind you, but something similar to assist you. Might that suffice?"
Belle visibly brightened. She flushed and smiled with a radiance. They shared a quiet, content moment until a stillness came over her. Rumplestiltskin's grin from her reaction dimmed at the sudden apprehension. He felt her eyes burn into him as she sized him up, gaze drifting along his torso unabashedly. Her body slipped off of the table, and she hesitated briefly before she took a few steps closer.
Rumplestiltskin held his breath. She was only inches away, boldly taking the tea from his hands and setting it back on the table before approaching him once more. The curtains were open; the room was too bright. There was a beauty standing so close to him now, and he knew exactly what he looked like. The sunlight clung to his skin malignantly, making him appear slimy, a loathsome cross between man and toad.
There was the memory, the fleeting scene of a woman, a woman oh so long ago, when he had first become the Dark One, when his armor was not yet perfected. She had run a lean, determined hand up the length of his arm, fingers tickling the back of his neck. Her breath had caressed the curve of his jaw as she whispered in his ear of how intoxicating his presence was, that he radiated power. The air about him crackled in response, and when she brought up a deal of the self-serving kind, mouth bent at a snarl as she spun thoughts of revenge and blood and pain in his mind, Rumplestiltskin had not yet become the Rumplestiltskin.
He had shivered at her nearness, the nearness of another human being that he had so lacked in the months and years following his transformation. He had allowed her to slither her way close to him, and when he denied her, when he explained that the consequence of her request would be too great- for he was still very new and very much still bearing a shadow of the conscience he had once possessed- she cackled. She scraped her nails harshly across bare skin until she grasped a fistful of hair.
You're disgusting, she had said. If you're not good for a deal, what are you good for? she hissed, Do it. Do it, and you can have me. It's the only way a thing like you will ever have a willing woman.
Rumplestiltskin blinked harshly and refocused. Belle was not that woman. Belle was bright and shiny, she embodied goodness. She was strong and brave and true. And as he took in the sight of her then, the way her eyes bore into him in a way that made him feel open- vulnerable, even- for the first time in such a long time, he found that she was not looking at him as if he were a creature to be spat upon. She was careful in her movements, as if she might scare him if she moved too quickly. He smirked inwardly. Clever girl. Her hands came into contact with the front of his leather vest, fingers toying with the lacing before they splayed and smoothed over his chest. Rumplestiltskin stared at her in wonder, admiration, but most of all with fear.
Her focus lowered, she took in a shallow breath. There was something alive in the air between them. Something hot and fervent and yet somehow... inviting. She met his eyes slowly, first peeking up at him beneath long lashes. And then, a breath later, freezing him once more with the intensity of her gaze.
"You don't have to be kind to me," she said, giving him a soft smile. When she continued, it was quiet, more for her own benefit than for his, "I never expected you to be kind." Rumplestiltskin's heart swelled. He let out a shaky breath.
"You don't know me, dearie," he said, acutely aware of the way her hands were still grasping his chest. The skin beneath burned from the pressure. It was disconcerting and pleasurable at the same time.
"I know enough. You are not the monster you think you are," she said, and, as if to prove her point, she slid those small, delicate hands back until she had wrapped him fully in her embrace.
Rumplestiltskin shuddered, a movement he was certain she felt given their current proximity. And then, as he breathed in her scent and felt the way her form contoured against him, his resolve crumbled. He gathered her in his arms, pressing her closer- if that was at all possible- and elicited a happy sigh from her lips. This was not gratefulness, or friendship, or a nicety. What this was frightened him until the ache in his chest was throbbing. Rumplestilskin found himself disentangling from Belle so quickly that she stumbled from the loss of him.
Clearing his throat, he flashed his hands before him in a grand gesture, "I must be going, dearie. Deals do not make themselves." He turned to leave the room, taking care not to hasten his strides. He was not running away, this was not a retreat. And when he looked back, a glance that only lasted a fraction of a second , it was not disappointment and longing that he saw on Belle's face as she hugged her arms about herself.
It was not until he was in his study, bathed in the shadows of the room, that he allowed himself a moment to feel. How long it had been since he felt anything beyond distaste and despair, nights of loneliness paired with tired regret. There were sparks racing down his spine, a curious pain in his lungs, and even if there was something to be done about it, he was uncertain if he would want himself cured. All he knew was that walking away had hurt him, that he wished vehemently to see her smile again, that unprovoked chime of a laugh that gave him a flutter and a wisp of what he did not dare compare to happiness.
But, because he was Rumplestiltskin, and because he had never favored the lie- the sheer terror- that happiness was, his thoughts grew far too dark far too quickly. All he had to do was lift his hand to his face to remind himself of the strangeness of him, the monstrosity that he was. The beauty could spin her pretty words all she wanted. He knew what he was. He knew that it was only her bravery, her will to survive, that caused her actions. A beautiful, clever woman like her... she was trying to sift through the layers of him. To find a weakness, or to gain his favor. A curious girl wondering if the title of lover would gain her anything more. A lavish room, some time away from her chores...
An unchaperoned trip to town, perhaps.
He did wonder, though, as he put on his costume- what else could he possibly call the dragonskin jacket he donned so well?- what it would be like if Belle was someone other than a conniving woman, using her whiles to try to gain the upper hand.
She read often. A book in hand and blanket wrapped around as she perched herself in front of the fire, eyes alight with fascination as she turned the pages. If they were- he gulped silently at the thought- if they were lovers... Maybe they would sit together instead. A blanket would be before the fire, a tray of tea set out as she read to him. Her voice would be silky, and after the first few minutes the contents of the book itself would hold no sway. It would be her and only her captivating his attention. Coy fingertips would play over the fringe of the fabric beneath them, accidentally brushing against his every so often. But the way her teeth scraped against her bottom lip, the laugh barely perceptible in her voice as she continued on reading, would tell a different story. Every touch would be on purpose.
And then... he sighed, heaving his boot against a nearby chest as he worked the ties... and then he would kiss her. He would place a trembling hand against her shoulder that would cause her to pause, eyes searching his, questioning as always. It had been so long since he'd felt the sensation of lips upon lips, but he knew they would be soft and pliable beneath his. Belle would sigh, a soft, innocent sound that betrayed just how ridiculous the entire picture was. As if a magnificent woman such as she, with all her grace and sincerity, would ever contemplate such a thing.
He was the Dark One. He was the Trickster. The Rumplestiltskin, and he was beyond affection, beyond fantasizing about falling into an amorous attachment to some random woman he procured on a deal. Such things bred weakness.
Rumplestiltskin sneered. That settled that. No more daydreams. He collected his things; he put the woman downstairs out of his mind.
As he said before, there were deals to be made. And they did not make themselves.
A/N: I have a few chapters written. Hopefully this will be a weekly posting deal, but please let me know how you feel so far. Should I continue?