Acknowledgements:I wanna thank Pamplemicefor her awesome title and Scarletclarinet(Stark) for all her help Beta-reading the first part of this fic.
He saw her every day as she passed by, on her way to work, he presumed. She'd stop at the coffee shop near the alley where he had his makeshift refuge all built up out of old blankets, a mattress and some boxes and he'd make sure he woke up with enough time to make himself as presentable as he could and huddle at the exit of the alley, just to watch her walk by him. After some weeks she'd noticed him, the mountain of rags that moved, and had offered a polite hello, followed by a more-than-just-polite smile. The day after, he'd made sure to return the greeting, peaking at her through his lashes and matted hair and, two days later, she'd given him a sandwich, muttering something about "being on a diet". After that she'd always have something for him, sometimes a pastry from the coffee shop and other times something obviously home-cooked. The idea of accepting charity from her had at first repulsed him. He might beg for a living, but to... do that with the pretty brunette seemed beyond shameful. But she always looked so happy to give him something that to refuse her seemed even worse than accepting.
She had given him her name, Belle, sometime after the third thermos of soup, and he'd treasured the knowledge. He hadn't volunteered his own, sure she wouldn't be interested in it. When he hit a bad day and he ended up completely smashed he made sure to stay in his little cardboard house, away from her. It was enough that she saw him filthy and stick thin, he could never face her again if she saw him drunk.
When she wouldn't show up, for some reason or another, he'd fret, wondering if she might be ill, or hurt or in any sort of trouble. Mal, a corner hooker he was sort of friends with, would tease him for his worries, calling him an "idiot in love". He'd blush and deny it all, but his red face betrayed his thoughts quite nicely.
It wasn't that Belle was beautiful, even though she was probably the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen. It was her personality, the smile that was always about her lips, the way she'd offer him something to eat, the boundless curiosity she had, tempered with the sense to notice when someone didn't want to share. He saw her as a kind, brave soul, always looking ahead, always with a smile. He'd seen her valiantly try to feed a stray cat hundreds of times before she'd been able to pet it, and it had sealed the deal for him. He had been a goner since then.
Her hands were always busy with a book, to the point that she was quite a danger walking down the street while trying to finish one last passage. He'd watch her cross the street with the utmost attention, senses trained to detect any hint of incoming traffic or any other danger that might befall her. His clumsy little angel, he'd think fondly.
He knew most of his Belle was a dream, a fantasy he'd constructed from bits and pieces of what he knew of her, but he didn't care. She brightened up his mornings, his ray of sunshine in a life that was comprised mostly of filth, alcohol and scraps, and he loved her for it the way someone might love a priceless object on a display case: from afar, silently, longingly.
When it was too cold he had to go to the shelter on most nights, but he made sure he would hurry out with enough time to make it to his alley, skipping without much fuss the breakfast they served. The shelter itself was not a bad place, ran by a young couple, the Nolans. They had no problem feeding the hookers or the junkies, and always had time to listen to whatever poor soul wanted their help. They were good people, and good people made Rum ashamed, so he steered clear of them most of the time, and kept to himself. His only friends were Mal and Hatter, whose list of mental problems, he was sure, was rather impressive. He lived in a world of his own and had different names for everyone. He called him "Beast", for the way his matted hair looked like a mane and the way he would never make eye contact with anyone and tended to lash out at people when they got too close.
He knew of Belle, and called her Beauty. This pleased Rum in ways that would have been too embarrassing to admit out loud.
There was an unpleasant drunk, Leroy, who was always in and out of jail and didn't particularly like him. An older man, Marco, was in and out of the shelter, sometimes getting enough work to pay the rent on a tiny one-bedroom apartment somewhere.
Rum had tried to get work over the years. He was sober most of the time and, though cripple, he was still able to do all sorts of manual labour. The problem was that the lady down at the employment agency, a scary harpy by the name of Mills, didn't particularly like him, or other homeless people, and made sure he would never find a job. He hated her, but was also deeply afraid of her, so he seldom went there to try and find employment anymore.
One day, however, Marco managed to convince him to join one of the many seasonal programs arranged by the Nolans to try and rehabilitate those in a precarious situation. That particular one was called "A Working Christmas" and many of the neighbouring businesses had signed up. It was a way to give homeless people partial employment as helpers in different shops for the month. It meant that no participant would have to worry for food or money during the month of Christmas and that those who wished it could get a decent reference with which to find a more permanent form of employment. Rum had shied away from such an idea at once; he had a limp and was scrawny and malnourished, hardly fit to help anyone at all.
"But they are looking for skill, Rum, not strength, and I know you have plenty of that," Marco had argued, his faint Italian accent thickening. "And your employer will give you new clothes and you'll get the chance to shower every day down here... It's worth a try, my friend."
He had signed up, writing down whatever... skills he had that he thought others might find interesting, expecting a swift and resolute rejection. Instead when December 1st arrived Mr Nolan patted him on the back, gave him a ratty but clean set of clothes to change into and told him that he was expected at Rossum's Rare Books and Antiques at ten o'clock on the dot. He was surprised enough to not be too upset that his sudden bout of good fortune would mean that he probably wouldn't get to see his little Belle for an entire month. Perhaps, with whatever wages he'd manage to earn he'd be able to buy her something for a change.
Washed up and dressed less rattily he was still a homeless skinny old man with a limp, but he felt slightly less ashamed as he leant on his misshapen crutch to walk to the address David had given him. The shop, from the outside, was a charming thing, decorated in an old style that suited what it sold, which was mostly old books and some lovely antiques. It made him remember his past in such an acute way that it felt like a physical stab for a moment, but he quickly dismissed it. No use crying over spilled milk, they said.
He entered the shop cautiously, like he did most things, and spotted a figure partly hidden under the counter, apparently looking for something.
"Hello?" he called out, timidly. "I'm your new help for the month..."
His words died on his lips when the figure straightened out and he saw startling blue eyes and a mass of chestnut curls.
"Belle," he stuttered out, frozen in place by his surprise. She was smiling at him, wearing a soft rose skirt, a burgundy blouse with tights and a cardigan to ward off the seasonal chill. For a moment he feared he might be dreaming, because there certainly was no way he'd be so lucky as to...
"It's you!" the brunette smiled even wider as she approached him, taking him by the hand and leading him further into the shop and then taking his coat, a second-hand blazer not worth anything anymore, and hung it up along with her own soft-looking wool Chesterfield coat. "I can't believe I'm so lucky!" she kept talking as she led him to the back of the shop, dominated by a work table and a couple of chairs, and urged him to sit. "I mean, I admit I was... a little apprehensive about the whole idea, even if David swore by it but, now I don't have to be afraid because it's you and it's wonderful."
He was clearly hearing things. She was saying he was wonderful and it just didn't make any sort of sense. He just sat there, dumbfounded, as she poured him a cup of tea and offered him sugar and milk, both of which he declined through some sort of gesture he managed to make. All the while Belle was still making conversation, introducing herself properly as Isabelle Marie French- "just Belle, please,"- and telling him about her past employer who had founded the business, an antiques expert who'd liked to travel all over the world. She had apparently developed more of a taste for rare books, keeping the antiques because they made the store more profitable.
"But I don't know as much as I should, certainly not enough to acquire any pieces by myself, though I do know the proper way to care for them. I use the services of retired dealers who accompany me when I go to auctions and state sells, which is not ideal but it suffices. What the store needs most is dusting; the artefacts need to be impeccable for people to be tempted to buy them. It's not complicated work, if a bit boring, and it'll be nice to have someone to chat with between customers." She took a sip of her honeyed tea, humming in pleasure in a way that made Rum's skin rise in tiny little goosebumps, and, when she finished, stood up to examine him, head tilted to the side.
"You have quite a slim build," she muttered, going behind his chair and lightly skimming her hands along his shoulders, making Rum fight the urge to shiver and lean his head back against her chest. "I think it might be a perfect fit. Just wait here, will you?"
She patted his shoulders and went towards a door that looked like it went down to a basement. Storage, he dimly thought as he fought to remember how it felt to have her so close and touching, for the heavier furniture and whatever was not on display at the front of the shop. When she returned she was carrying a garment bag, which she unzipped to reveal a pinstripe grey suit, in an old style, complete with a vest and bow tie draped around the hanger.
"It used to belong to the man who built the store, Mr Rossum," Belle said, lovingly stroking the fabric. "He hired me right out of college, when my father's medical bills threatened to drown me, and taught me a lot, even though his specialty was antiques, not books. He was a kind man, if a bit lonely, and left me the store when he passed on. I couldn't bear to part with his suits, he loved them so and I owed him so much... He was about your height, perhaps a bit... less skinny. You don't have to wear the whole thing, but I still have some suspenders and many of his shirts, as well as a wool overcoat that would help with the weather. Come on, let's try it all on for size."
She stepped out of the work room, and Rum scrambled to remove the threadbare rags he was wearing, glad Mr Nolan had given him some new underwear before coming. He put the new clothes on, feeling the quality of the fabric, the softness of it and the way it smelled faintly of sandalwood, and he sighed in utter bliss. The suspenders helped deal with his thinness and the sleeve garters would help keep the cuffs of the white shirt from getting soiled by the work he'd be doing.
He noticed she'd also left shoes, and he put them on even though they were two sizes too big. He'd stuff them later full of paper or something, anything to not wear his ratty sneakers with the suit. When he looked at himself in the mirror he could hardly recognize himself. He still looked scrawny and slightly unkempt, but he also looked... decent. Worth something.
"I'm done," he called out timidly, combing his fingers through his longish hair in a desperate attempt to appear less like a wild animal. Belle smiled at his appearance, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping slightly in surprise at the sight of him. She had a comb in her hand, which she handed to him so he could finish making himself presentable.
"It fits, I see," she said, studying him in a way that made him blush. He nodded.
"Like a dream." He managed a wavering smile, picking up his old crutch.
"Do you need a crutch, or could you use a cane?" Belle asked as she showed him an umbrella rack filled with old, polished wooden canes "It would be less cumbersome to manage around the cluttered shop, and it would be less likely that something would get broken. Only if you can, that is."
He accepted, after some prodding, a reddish maple cane with a wooden handle that felt a thousand times better than the overly-large crutch he'd been using. He allowed her to show him the cleaning tools he'd be using, familiar with most of them from his past experience in his own shop in Scotland. Soon he was immersed in the scent of old books, leather, wood polish and antiques, talking quietly to Belle about everything and nothing, and feeling like he might purr if humans could do that.
He was, on the one hand, quite certain he had struck his head and was currently experiencing some kind of comatose dreamlike state. On the other hand, he couldn't find it in himself to care. He endeavoured to be useful, trying to recall all of his past knowledge about furniture restoration to bring a shine to the wood and brass of the Levasseur cabinet Belle had entrusted to him. It was old, badly in need of a cleaning and probably worth quite a lot of money, so he took his time with it. He only took a break for lunch and tea, and only because he could not resist Belle's gentle tug on his arm. Over food they had more of a chance to talk and Belle did most of it, encouraged by his questions and gentle enquiries. As she talked it became staggeringly clear that the real Belle was much like the Belle he had pictured in his head, only better. She was an only child, both her parents dead, who had a small circle of friends and loved the smell and texture of old books. She lived in a big apartment so old the pipes were rather loud and the heat left much to be desired- "oh, but it's so old and lovely, with one of those charming iron elevators with such gorgeous details, that I couldn't bear to move, really"- and was tired of Mary Margaret, the woman he knew as Mrs Nolan, trying to set her up with men.
"I mean, the last time she introduced me to someone he ended up going out with Ruby. I swear Archie's ready to propose, and I kinda use him as an excuse to get Mary Margaret off my back every time she even hints at introducing anyone to me," she said as she finished applying restoration leather conditioner to a stack of first-edition Gothic novels. "There is a difference between being alone and being lonely. I'm not lonely. I have my friends, my job... and you."
Her smile was so lovely his mind refused to dwell on the fact that he was, indeed, lonely but for her. A stranger he saw for five minutes every day, except that... she was not a stranger anymore. And, for a month, he could spend six hours a day five days a week with her, mostly alone save for the odd customer or two. Most were curators for private collections, though sometimes the collectors themselves showed up, and he'd usually make himself as small and as unassuming as possible while Belle dealt with them. Sometimes people didn't come to buy but to seek Belle's knowledge and her skills as a restorer, mostly to either do some maintenance to some really rare pieces or to salvage family heirlooms or lucky finds at used books stores.
The shift ended too soon for him, though he got to spend an extra ten minutes with Belle as he tried to give back the cane he'd borrowed from her in favour of his crutch, even though the cane was more comfortable. When he went back to the shelter, Marco greeted him with an exaggerated double-take.
"Look at you, my friend!" he exclaimed, his smile blinding "Someone seems to have had a good day. Your new boss treating you well?"
He blushed through all his recounting of his day at supper, incredibly aware of the loaded stares Marco and Mal, who was there only for supper, were giving him.
"You must go for it, Rum," the Italian-American tried to encourage him, elbowing him in the ribs. "This might be the turning of a new leaf. An opportunity to not only find a job but also find some happiness."
Rum shook his head, his mane of hair covering his face as he muttered something about "not having anything to offer" to Belle.
"Why would she look at me twice?"
Mal smirked, eyeing the man up and down.
"Hon, the way you look I'd do you for free. Believe me, that's quite a compliment."
Working with Belle was like a dream. He was back handling antiques, his old skills returning to his fingers like he'd never stopped working in the first place. With so much else he'd lost he hadn't noticed how he'd missed coaxing old furniture or artefacts back into life, restoring them to their former glory. Belle had inherited from the previous owner of the store a hefty amount of books dealing with the subject of antiques and he devoured them whole whenever Belle left him alone to run an errand or deliver an order to a customer.
The rest of the time, however, he focused on his job, and Belle. She loved to talk while she worked, probing him gently for any detail of his personal life he'd be willing to disclose. He told her haltingly about having "lost a wife and son", the vague phrasing hiding all manner of details, and about growing up in Scotland. There was much more he wished to disclose, but he was happy with the way Belle seemed to like him and did not wish to risk losing that. She told him stories of her childhood too, of the mother whom she had only known as a sick woman in bed but whom she'd loved very much, of the father who couldn't really understand her but always encouraged her, and of coming to the States to study.
"I was so afraid, it was all so different. I looked at it as an adventure and tried so hard to pretend I wasn't scared, but... I was terrified, to tell you the truth." She looked at him from underneath her lashes, half her mouth curving upwards. Gold loved that one smile above all, because she didn't use it on clients or other people. It was his smile.
"But... you're so brave." He said, sounding incredulous.
She laughed, a gentle, self-deprecating sound.
"I'm not brave, but I believe in doing the brave thing and hoping bravery will follow. It hasn't failed me yet."
She gave him another one of his smiles before gently squeezing one of his shoulders and moving to the back, no doubt to look for some more glue with which to pull together an old copy of Titus Livius for a private collector. She was wonderfully affectionate when she got comfortable with someone, and it usually meant a kiss in greeting and another when they parted ways for the day, as well as hugs when she got excited about a buy or a sell and gentle touches when she passed by him.
It was getting out of hand, this crush he was nursing for her, but he couldn't bring himself to care. As silly and impossible as it might be, it sustained him like nothing else had since he'd lost his wee boy years ago. He had a month with her, and he would not let it go to waste. He'd work hard and be useful, so she'd remember her time with him fondly. He began trying to coax her into learning a few tricks of the trade that experience had taught him, finally confessing with a blush and a stammer that he'd had an antiques shop back in Glasgow. She had gently pressed for more details but, seeing his eyes evade hers and his shoulders tense, she had dropped the subject, mercifully. He taught her what to look for in a piece, how to feel the wood to know if there was something wrong with it or to spot the fakes from the real deal. He realized that there was nothing more arousing in the world than to stand directly behind Belle as he guided one of her hands with his to caress and probe the sleek surface of a turn-of-the-century writing desk, the roughened skin of his palm flush against her own, as he told her in a slow voice how the wood should feel beneath her fingers.
As part of the program he had a spot at the shelter each night for the month, which meant he could keep his new clothes clean and safe, to return them to Belle in a pristine condition. Mal even gave his hair a much-needed trim, and Mr Nolan provided him with shaving cream and a razor to keep himself presentable. Regular meals quickly had him looking less emaciated, and the tentative happiness in his face shaved years off him. Still, he knew himself to be foolish, when he caught himself wearing a silly, dreamy little smile. December wouldn't last forever, he knew, and soon he'd no longer have a reason to see Belle. Maybe, if he managed to get a permanent job with her recommendation, he could stop by the shop from time to time, make it look like he was just passing through and thought to say hi. Belle would always welcome him, he was sure of that.
He'd discovered too that the cat he'd seen her feed often had now set up camp inside the shop. It was a mangled, ugly thing, with a missing eye and bald spots in certain places, visible because of the stark blackness of its fur. Easily-scared and bad-tempered, it had, however, taken a shine to him almost since the beginning, which had thrilled Belle.
"Imp is usually terrible with people but he adores you."
He'd shrugged, feeling bashful when she'd beamed at him. He'd patted the cat's back, letting him rub up against his leg affectionately.
"Must be a good judge of character," Belle had remarked softly, something warm and loving in her eyes. Looks like that made his heart stutter and then pound strongly, and his hands shake slightly, and he'd managed a small, shy smile in return.
Two weeks into this new arrangement, the opportunity to go to an estate sale came up, and Belle made the appropriate arrangements, asking Rum to stay in charge of the store if he felt comfortable handling a customer or two by himself. He felt elated that she trusted him so much, terrified by the idea of failing and put out at the realization that he wouldn't see Belle for more than twenty minutes that day, if he was lucky. He nodded all the same, eager to make himself useful, and took extra care dressing that morning, wanting to look the part of responsible store owner so Belle would be proud of him.
He arrived just as Belle was finishing opening up. Her appearance caught him off-guard. Though usually very well put together, she had dressed up that day, donning a lovely blue dress and burgundy peep-toe heels, her curls glossy and artfully arranged. He felt a stab of jealousy thinking about all the men at the sale, ogling her, probably entertaining inappropriate fantasies about her. He didn't like that at all, but at least she'd be accompanied, having retained the services of a retired dealer, a friend of Rossum's, to help her pick out some good pieces.
"Remember to get something from Granny's, I don't want you skipping lunch because you're utterly absorbed in your work, like you're prone to..." Her cell phone interrupted her affectionate scolding and she smiled apologetically before answering. The moment her face fell he knew it was a bad call.
"No, I understand and I hope you get better soon, Saul. Thank you for calling me to let me know, and say hi to Miriam for me."
She hung up with a sigh, only to look sideways at him with a speculative gleam in her eyes. Finally she took one of his hands, the one not grasping the cane, in both of hers.
"Rum, I need you."
The words sent a jolt of... something down his body and he fought the urge to sputter and both flee her touch and crush her to him.
"I'm sorry?"
His voice came out squeaky, but not overly so, for which he was proud and grateful.
"I need you to go to the sale with me. It's too big to pass up, but I don't have half the knowledge about antiques that you do. I can't afford not to go, but I can't trust myself to pick out the best pieces or get the best prices. You... you're wonderful with these things. You've guessed what I've paid for the pieces here correctly, you know which ones can be fixed up and which are beyond salvation... Please, Rum?"
She squeezed his hand between hers gently and he was a goner. He'd jump off a cliff had she gently requested it of him. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak coherently, and fought to hide a whimper when she let go, going to the back of the shop and coming back with a dark navy tie that she expertly tied around his neck, replacing the bowtie he'd put on hours ago. She also placed a matching handkerchief peeking artfully from his breast pocket and, finally, switched his wooden cane for a brass-tipped one. She took a few steps away from him and tilted her head at the side, smiling.
"You're even more handsome now. And you completely look the part."
He was blushing from the roots of his hair to the base of his neck, but it was a pleased sort of embarrassment. He couldn't imagine Belle jesting with him or lying to him, being cruel for cruelty's sake, which meant it was a genuine compliment. He helped her into her caramel-coloured coat and shrugged on his own long overcoat before she hailed a cab and filled him in on the details of the sale on the way.
The place was big, and not at all packed, quite exclusive. Memories of past events such as this one flooded his head but he pushed them away. He wanted to cherish the present, the feel of Belle pressed up against him, her arms looped around his as she surveyed the different pieces on display. Everything, he could tell, was rather high quality, and some of the prices were exorbitant. He steered Belle clear of those, knowing she couldn't afford most of it, and settled on finding something that was in bad enough condition to be cheap but that he could restore and sell for a hefty sum. He straightened his back, assuming a detached, slightly menacing sort of facade. The Antiques world was a cruel and ruthless one and he'd learned a long time ago how not to get trampled in it, or swindled.
The first finding, a pair of incredibly neglected French bronze vase lamps he managed to acquire without much fuss at a thousand dollars total, easily a third of their value once restored, when the exquisite detailing on the surface of the metal could be seen again. They skipped the whole section on Asian art, since neither had the expertise to purchase anything, and lingered around the 19th Century furniture on display. He managed to snag a French tulipwood bureau plat that needed a bit of dusting and was being sold at least seven hundred dollars too cheap and almost gasped aloud when he encountered a solid mahogany Serpentine pedestal partners desk, a Gillows if he'd ever seen one. In good conditions it could be sold for close to seventy five thousand easy and so, surreptitiously, he asked Belle if she had any clients who might be in the position of buying something that expensive. Once she said yes he moved in, inspecting the desk for any fatal flaw before deciding that, despite the poor shape, it could be restored completely. Trying to tone down his nervousness he asked some pertinent questions before going straight to bargaining, pointing out tiny flaws and haggling without showing a hint of the anxiety he was feeling inside. He was ruthless and scathing, letting false bravado give him confidence. When he finally got the desk at thirty thousand dollars he was ready to sit down and put his head between his legs till the dizziness abated.
"Are you okay, Rum?" Belle rubbed his back as he leaned heavily on his cane, barely standing up. He smiled tremulously and nodded, noticing how her eyes shone. She was pleased with him.
"What you did back there was... wow," she sighed and bit her lip and everything male in him purred in delight at how her cheeks were flushed and her pupils dilated. "I didn't know you could do that."
He hadn't done it in ages, not since losing his own business in Glasgow. He'd never gotten the money to open one in the US after Millie had insisted they move, having to settle for working in an already established shop till he had been fired due to not showing up for work several days. He'd been severely depressed after he had lost custody of his boy and Millie had moved with the kid to California. He'd spent most of his time in bed, letting his life pass him by as bills piled up, rent was late and he was fired. After that came a haze of alcohol and numbness till he'd found himself on the streets, begging for a meal. Flexing his old dealing muscles had felt good, like recovering a part of himself he'd lost a long time ago. And Belle seemed to have liked it.
He caught her eyeing a mahogany Edwardian desk, which he got for two hundred bucks. It was a lovely but inexpensive piece which Belle wanted for her still painfully unfurnished apartment. He'd restore it lovingly for her so that every time she used it she'd think of him, if only fleetingly.
They decided to hit the books before going and just as they turned they bumped into someone. Sleekly dressed in black and grey, Regina Mills cut quite the imposing figure, ruby-red lips stretched into a false smile. Rum felt the urge to recoil, to hide behind Belle and let her bravery and calm soothe him, but he forced himself not to move an inch, to be the dealer for a minute longer.
"Terribly sorry, dearie," he apologized with a mocking edge to his voice, wanting to drive Miss Mills away as soon as possible. She looked at him with a frown, as if trying to place him, and then, to his horror, gave him a once over and a flirtatious grin.
"No need to apologize, it was my mistake. A lucky one, it seems."
All of his newfound sense of worth and false bravado couldn't help him then. Flirting often reduced him to a whimpering mess, and Regina Mills already set his teeth on edge. He was fumbling for a reply when he felt Belle wrapped herself around his cane-less arm.
"Ready to hit the books, darling? Someone told me there's a first edition of Frankenstein I simply have to get my hands on."
Belle's warmth calmed him down, allowing him to nod and deliver one last, slightly mocking smile to Regina before strolling past her. She hadn't recognized him at all. Somehow that made him feel better. He watched Belle haggle, noticing how she used her sweet nature and the assumptions other people made of her to catch people off guard and cajole them into ridiculously low prices.
She was perfect and, though soon he'd have to leave her, he'd never forget what it was to be a part of her world, of her life, even if it was for just a month. After their purchases were done, arranging for delivery later in the week, Belle dragged him to a little café for some hot chocolate and pastries. When he entered the establishment he noticed no sign of the owner or the employees figuring him out for a bum, and got nothing but respect out of the waitress. Belle animatedly talked about her purchases, sighing over each book in an adorable way, and smiled constantly at him. He'd never felt so happy, and only the absence of his wee boy kept the moment from being perfect. Maybe, if he got a job after the month was up, he'd try and locate Millie, and demand she let him get in touch with Bae. His boy would be almost twelve, and he'd seen him last when he was six.
"What are you thinking about?"
Belle gently rested her hand atop his, her face open and inviting, but not pushy. And, unlike other times where everything in him urged him to pull back, to close in on himself, he felt the whole story about his wife, his son and his depression pour out of him. It was terrifying and liberating at the same time and he couldn't bring himself to regret it when Belle kissed his hand and told him how thankful she was that he'd confided in her. He'd never felt such need to change his life, and a certainty that he could. And he would.
Days later found him working on the Serpentine desk, carefully coaxing the wood back to its original shine. It had been badly cleaned for years and at some point had been left in a dank space, and the humidity had done it no favours. Belle finally had to pull him out of the shop by force and it was then that he realized it was almost ten, and the shelter would soon close. He hurried home after seeing Belle safely to the main street, still lighted and safe. The shelter was a ways off, in a not-so-nice part of town, but he walked as fast as he could, confident he'd make it in time. He realized too late that he'd dropped a cufflink somewhere outside the shop and, remembering how fond Belle was of Mr Rossum's belongings, retraced his steps, looking intently at the floor to spot it. If he got locked out of the shelter he could sleep just outside and shower in the morning before work.
So intent was he on looking down to try and spot the missing cufflink that he almost missed the hooded figure trying to pry the front door of Belle's shop open with a crowbar. He saw him at the last minute and reacted instinctively, hiding away from sight. Life on the street had taught him to leave the unsavoury characters that came out at night alone, it was the way to keep safe. But... Belle's whole life was in that shop. He had to do something.
He didn't know how he got the courage to move but one moment he was cowering behind a solid wall and the other he was smashing his cane against the hooded man's head, hearing him scream in pain. But he must not have hit him hard enough because the man recovered far too quickly, turning towards him. It was then that he saw the glint of steel in the hand that wasn't holding the bar. A knife, which reached his ribs just as he twisted away. He felt the edge graze him, the cut superficial because of the vest and shirt he was wearing, and quickly knocked the weapon out of the man's hands, managing to slide it towards a storm drain, where it dropped. The would-be robber did not seem to appreciate his actions, grabbing the crowbar in his hands and swinging it hard against his back. He yelped in pain, dropping to the ground and curling up in a ball, trying to protect himself as much as possible. A cop car passing by seemed to finally scare him away and Rum stayed down, dragging himself to the entrance to the shop. He'd catch his breath, recover his strength and stagger back towards the shelter. He just needed a minute or two to... to...
"Rum? Rum!"
Belle's voice seemed to come from far away but when he opened his eyes she was right above him, looking worried and about ready to cry. It was then that he registered he was lying on the sidewalk, every muscle in his body aching. Trying to breath was painful but possible, and he relaxed, pretty sure none of his ribs were broken.
"Belle?" Talking was difficult but he managed. "What are you doing here? It's late, it's not safe."
She smiled down at him and petted his hair, leaning down to kiss his forehead.
"I came back to the shop because I forgot the account books and popped in to retrieve them" She was babbling, but didn't seem to be able to stop herself. "On my way out I saw you huddled in the shadows, unconscious. Can you stand up, sweetheart?"
The pain barely let him linger on the fact that she had called him sweetheart. With her help and a lot of patience he managed to stand up, leaning heavily on his cane and on Belle. She kissed him once more on his left temple before nudging him towards the corner, where she hailed a cab. She encouraged him to lean against her on the journey, murmuring soothing nonsense and checking him over in the dim light of the vehicle.
They ride lasted twenty minutes and when they got out they were in a part of town Rum wasn't very familiar with. The buildings looked old but the streets were well-lit and looked clean.
"Come on, Rum, we're almost there."
Belle nudged him towards a door, which she opened. As soon as he saw the ancient iron elevator, he knew that it was the building where she lived. She'd brought him to her home. The notion filled him with warmth, making the pain bearable. She lived on the top floor, in a lovely, if a bit bare, apartment that was, like she'd said, freezing. She steered him towards a bedroom, letting him collapse upon the mattress after removing his coat and suit jacket and, then stepped out for a moment. She returned with a first aid kit, carefully peeling away his shirt and undershirt before setting to work on him. He didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed about being naked from the waist up in front of Belle, who carefully prodded his ribs to see if anything was amiss.
"I think nothing is broken, but we should get you to the hospital tomorrow, for painkillers at least. Tonight you'll have to make do with bandages, alcohol and ibuprofen."
Carefully she dabbed at his cuts with rubbing alcohol and alternated between Band-Aids and gauze, depending on the size of the injury. She tried to keep him awake, asking him what had happened. He told her as much as he could through the haze of pain, wanting to downplay the beating. Belle shouldn't have to worry about him.
"Oh, Rum, it wasn't worth it. He could've killed you," she admonished gently and he saw tears run down her face. He'd made her cry. He was officially a horrible person. He attempted to apologize but Belle hushed him.
"Don't be silly. Just rest, and we'll go see a doctor in the morning."
She gently arranged him so he was lying beneath the covers. The bed was soft and warm and smelled nice, and soon he found himself warm and comfortable. Belle kept caressing his hair and temples and murmuring soft, soothing words into his ear when he whimpered. Soon he felt the pull of sleep, wishing he didn't wake up to find it was all some sort of wonderful dream.
Waking up was not a pleasant experience at first. Everything seemed to hurt, every bone, joint and muscle in his entire body. His skin stung in places, his head pounded and his leg throbbed painfully. But he was warm and comfortable and there was a delicious smell in the air. Pancakes, he guessed, and tea. He struggled to sit up and then to stand, his lame leg screaming in pain. He found his cane propped up near the bed and a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of sweats folded atop a chair, which he put on after realizing he was dressed in his suit pants and nothing else. He felt better with the clean and warm clothes and decided to venture outside.
The sight that greeted him seemed taken straight out of his most domestic fantasies. Belle was dressed in pair of rose-coloured pyjamas, a long, knit coat over it to keep out the chill. She was flipping pancakes, humming to herself and dancing on the spot. She looked adorable and homely and for a moment he let his mind wonder, to imagine they were married and this was how his mornings always were, except he woke up wrapped around Belle.
When the humming stopped he realized she'd spotted him leaning against the door jamb and he smiled, watching as she turned off the stove and flipped the last pancake onto a stack before approaching him and pressing a hand against his forehead.
"Hi. How do you feel?"
He mumbled something unintelligible, her touch and her proximity, as well as the whole domestic setting, turning his head into mush. She took hold of one of his hands and carefully guided him towards a wooden table, motioning for him to sit down before setting breakfast. She handed him a cup of tea, some orange juice, scrambled eggs and pancakes and asked him to help himself to as much as he wanted, popping a few pieces of bread into the toaster for herself. He hesitated for a second before going for the pancakes, pouring honey on them before wolfing them down, trying to be as well-behaved as possible. Homeless people learned to wolf down their food before it could be taken from them and the itch to just shove as much food as possible into his mouth was still strong, even after a few weeks of regular meals.
They ate in companionable silence and it was only when he looked like he was done that she told him to put on his shoes and his coat to go to the Hospital. He tried to protest... he had no money, but she waved his excuses away.
"The shop is thriving with you working there. I need you in your best shape to keep it that way."
She bullied him into donning his coat, his shoes and getting into a cab. The hospital visit wasn't as bad as others he remembered. The staff treated him with more respect than he remembered. The cut on his abdomen needed a few stitches, but overall there was little that wouldn't heal with time and some medicine. The bruising on his ribcage and the swelling of his bad ankle would make it painful for him to move. Belle listened intently to the doctor's instructions but Rum's mind was far away, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. He doubted the Nolans would turn him away while injured, but they'd not allow him to go to work, which didn't sit well with him. He had little time left with Belle, and he wouldn't allow anyone to take it from him.
He tried to protest when Belle made a stop to fill out his prescriptions, unwilling to let her waste her money on him, but it got him nowhere. She herded him back into another cab and he figured she was taking him to the shelter. He was surprised when he found himself back in the room he'd woken up in, having Belle arranging the covers to make sure he was warm. She proceeded to hand him a bunch of pills and then some chicken soup. It was the utterly befuddled expression on her face that got her to finally slow down.
"What's the matter?"
He stumbled over his words, not knowing how to phrase his thoughts.
"I... I thought... Why am I back here, Belle? I should be back in the shelter."
"Not if you don't want to be."
She spoke softly, calmly, and for a moment he didn't understand what she was implying. Of course he had to go to the shelter, where else would he...?
Oh.
"You... you want me to stay here?"
"Just while you recover, if that's okay with you. It's the least I can do."
For a moment he stared blankly at her, at a loss for what to say or do. He worried she was feeling like she owed him something. Belle was far too good, and he couldn't take advantage of that.
"It's not necessary. Really, Belle, you don't need to..."
She stopped him with a hand on his lips, which made his heart stutter rather embarrassingly. He wrestled with the urge to kiss her, focusing instead on Belle's words.
"It's not about gratitude, Rum. You're... you're my friend, right? And I want to take care of you, if you'll let me. Mary Margaret and David can hardly give you special treatment and business is a bit slow around the holidays, so I don't need to open the shop every day. I can restore books here and handle my clientele over the phone and on the computer. If you don't feel comfortable and want to go to the shelter I'll completely understand..."
He interrupted her brusquely, a part of him afraid that if he didn't jump at the opportunity presenting itself he'd lose it. He fought her over him doing work, resolute to at least help in any way he could while recovering. He had an inkling that Belle was mostly humouring him and wouldn't really let him do much at all, and the idea secretly pleased him. It'd been years since he had felt... taken care of.
Loved.
The medicine had him sleeping for most of the day and he woke up to a warm meal, soup again. Belle was dressed in yoga pants and a too-big powder-blue sweater, walking around in thick socks. It was a surprisingly erotic sight, watching her being so domestic and relaxed. She allowed him the small trek to the living-room sofa after dinner, both curling up to watch an old movie- The Nun's Story- while Belle cooed over Audrey Hepburn's classical elegance. Mindful of his injuries, she lay her head on his shoulder when the hour grew late and she grew sleepy. Rum, on the other hand, felt glaringly awake and aware. Tentatively, hoping against hope he wasn't about to cross some invisible line, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. Belle made a small, content little noise and he melted against her, snuggling close and enjoying the moment.
He wished he could go back in time, to when he was but a bundle of rags lying on the street, waiting with baited breath for Belle to pass by and smile at him. He wanted to tell that poor schmuck that one day he'd be warm and happy, resting his head against Belle's crown, his nose full of her scent. He knew it wouldn't last, but he wanted to bask in the moment, to breathe it in, to commit it to memory. He wanted to store it so it would give him strength later on. He was not going back to the street come the New Year. He was going to rebuild his life.
Working from the apartment turned out to be possible for both of them. Belle had a rather large workroom, as cold as the rest of the place, but dry and dark and with a space for a portable heater. She accepted to move a couple of the lighter pieces Rum had been working on to the apartment, and brought over books from the shop, and handled clients over the phone and such.
They took several breaks over the day, Belle wanting him to rest as much as possible. At first he had worried that he was taking her away from work too much, but she seemed to still be meeting the deadlines set out and conducting business normally. Her line of business didn't require a shop per se and he knew from experience that as long as she was reachable by phone she could take a small time off without repercussions.
He was often surprised at how well she'd managed to run the business by herself, taking into account all the work that it implied, not only taking care of the shop but also scouting, buying and restoring. Back when he had managed his own shop he'd had at least two employees at all times, and even then it had been rather daunting.
"I just... I haven't wanted to, I guess," she answered when he asked her while they both applied varnish to their respective Davenport desks. "I suppose I'm not an easy person to work with. I'm a bit odd and it tends to put people off."
She scrunched up her nose, smiling to take the bite out of her words. Rum snorted, wondering who on Earth would be stupid enough not to jump at the chance of working with Belle. He held his tongue, however, and squashed the urge to propose- or beg - that he kept working with her. Forever. Belle seemed to be doing fine on her own, he wasn't about to try and insinuate himself permanently into her work.
When he looked the tiniest bit tired she forced them both to stop and usually fixed him something to eat and herded him towards bed or, if he pleaded enough and looked at her with soulful eyes, onto the couch, to watch a movie or a documentary. Belle's tactile nature meant she often draped herself over him, but his injuries kept her at bay, somehow, and it took gentle coaxing to get her to stop worrying. He was most successful when she got sleepy and tended to cuddle up against him, seeking his warmth. A warm bed, hot meals, care, they all paled in comparison to his one great reward for his "brave deed", as Belle liked to call it. Contact, in general, was something he hadn't gotten much of on the streets. No one wanted to touch a homeless person, or be anywhere near one, and so he'd gone without much touch for years, and most of the contact was perfunctory, cold. For most people he was a bother, an undesirable. Belle touched him like he was worth something.
When it got too late he gently woke her up. She worked too hard and needed to sleep in a comfortable bed. He let her fuss over him one last time and tried not to look too eager when she kissed him on the cheek and wished him a good night.
The holidays snuck up on him and, before he knew it, it was Christmas Eve and Belle was trying to see whether he was healthy enough to attend the shelter's little gathering. The prospect of getting out and seeing the two or three people he could call his friends had him looking the picture of health and, truthfully, he did feel almost as good as new, though some tender spots remained. He showered thoroughly and dressed with care, leaving Belle to do the same. While he waited for her he fished out a plain, small pouch and took out what was inside. The enamelled, butterfly-shaped hairpins had been nothing much to look at when he had seen them displayed on a thrift shop near the shelter days ago. Finding himself with cash in his pocket for a change, money he had had before the beginning of the month that he'd reserved for a bottle of something cheap when he had bought them, painstakingly cleaning them up and restoring them as much as his expertise allowed him, with the help of online articles on the subject of Art Nouveau jewellery. Now they shone, amber, pink, blue and green and he couldn't wait to give them to her, to see them adorning her hair. Every time she'd used them she'd think of him, even if only for a second.
When she finally stepped out of her room she was a vision in an oriental-inspired, black and pink dress, a bit on the short side but compensated by the use of black tights. She had her hair down and light make-up and looked radiant as she shrugged on her coat and grabbed her clutch.
By the time they got there the "party" was in full swing, which mostly meant Leroy was on his fourth beer and Mal had already made three people cry. They were greeted by the Nolans, David patting Rumford a little too hard on the back and apologizing profusely while Mary Margaret squealed over Belle's dress. Whatever anxiousness he harboured over Belle meeting his friends was null and void when Marco gallantly approached her, introducing himself and offering her a drink. Belle mingled expertly, not shying away from anyone- not even Jefferson, who tried to waltz her across the room at the only time there was no music. He stuck as close to her as possible, feeling stupidly proud at how she won everyone over, including Leroy. Whenever he had participated on festivities like that at the shelter all had seemed a little gloomy and more than a bit depressing. He'd think of his boy and on how he was not spending the holiday with him. Christmas, specially, had always been a hard day but it didn't feel like that, not with Belle. He still missed his boy like crazy but he now had hope, tangible hope, of getting his life together and seeing him again.
Mal approached them, dressed more like a soccer mom than a hooker in a nude dress with a high neckline and a conservative hemline and discrete black pumps, minimal make-up on her face and her hair done in a severe chignon. He stiffened for a moment, knowing how her sarcastic, shrewish attitude tended to rub people the wrong way, a fact which she liked. He approached Belle ready to test her out fully, and all his efforts to steer the conversation into something safe were rebuffed. His old friend grilled Belle about everything and nothing, trying then to embarrass her by talking of her profession, clearly wanting the brunette to feel uncomfortable or object. Belle did neither, seeming to honestly like conversing with the prostitute. While she excused herself to get something to drink Mal patted him rather forcefully in the back, smirking.
"I like her, Rum. She's tough, but doesn't show it, yet soft enough to suit you. A keeper, definitely."
"I don't know what you're talking about." he tried to dodge the issue, staring at his cup full of non-alcoholic eggnog like it was riveting. The blonde's smirk widened and she shook her head.
"You're like a little lost puppy that has just gotten a new owner, you're trying hard not to wag your tail. It's oddly endearing, really."
He frowned at her, trying to come up with the words to deny her affirmation but he couldn't find any. She was right, after all. Marco, who was blissfully nearby, reined their friend in, engaging her in a conversation about cars, a subject Mallory was passionate about. Rum foolishly let his guard down, thinking he had somehow dodged the bullet for the evening. He didn't think to check the ceiling, nor did he spot Leroy's amused leer until it was too late and he was calling out to Belle and him.
"Hey, you two, look up!"
It didn't take a genius to know what one would find hanging from the ceiling in a Christmas Eve party but Rum still craned his neck up to stare at the ball of green leaves and tiny red berries. Unlike most of the sprigs of mistletoe that seemed to appear everywhere in December the ones inside the Nolans's shelter were real. He stared at it, as if he'd make it magically disappear and tried very hard to keep himself from blushing furiously. He dared look down at Belle's face, relief washing over him when he saw she seemed merely amused, not disgusted or upset.
"Might as well kiss. They won't shut up till we do."
He nodded, trying not to let her see his eagerness, and dipped his head down, careful to only brush his lips against hers softly, keeping it as light and platonic as possible. He didn't know who pushed him, it was either Mal or Leroy, but suddenly he was flush against Belle, whose back collided gently with a wall, and somehow her lips were parted and he couldn't pull himself back any more. He kissed her hungrily, tilting his head to have better access to her mouth, which tasted divinely. He heard her make a delicious little sound on the back of her throat and everything that was male in him purred in pleasure, goading him on. He swiped his tongue across her lower lip, delighting in the taste of her before slipping inside her. She hummed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he own tongue met his, gently delving her hands into his hair, her fingernails scratching against his scalp in a way that had him biting back a groan, pressing her tighter against him. Kissing Belle was utterly perfect and it seemed now such a waste not to have done it ages ago...
Someone coughed rather loudly and the spell was broken. He staggered away from her, eyes wide and incredulous. What had he done? How could he have been so stupid? He could tell without looking around that every single person in the room was staring at them, but he only cared for one. Belle looked... nothing. Her face was completely devoid of expression, blank, and he felt unease creep up on him. He stuttered an apology of sorts, Mal clapped him on the back and made a joke he couldn't quite catch and the people diverted their attention elsewhere.
"I'm sorry, Belle," he said again, his tone pleading "I... I got caught up in the moment, I didn't mean to upset you, I..."
He was ready to grovel at her feet, to beg her to forgive him, but she raised a hand and gestured for him to stop.
"It's all right, Rum." She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. "Don't worry, really."
The ghost of the kiss seemed to follow them for the rest of the evening and when midnight came and everyone toasted he could hardly muster an ounce of cheer. He'd fucked up, clearly, and Belle was just too nice to tell him.
The ride back to her apartment was silent, the cabbie vainly trying to strike up a conversation with either of them. Rum sought to make himself as small in his side of the passenger seat as possible, wanting Belle to feel at ease. She looked out the window, her face carefully blank, and seemed to be miles away. The sudden disconnection between them, the distance the seemed to be there, galled him. He'd gotten used to Belle's closeness absurdly fast and now he was suffering the consequences. He'd gotten too close, too attached. He'd been foolish and presumptuous and should've known better. This was all his fault.
After the most awkward elevator ride ever experienced by man they arrived at her apartment. Rum watched as Belle removed her coat, studiously avoiding his gaze and decided to be brave and address the issue. Maybe he could salvage things between them, maybe it wasn't too late and Belle might still be his friend after the month was over. He approached her cautiously and moved until he was standing in front of her, forcing her to look at him.
"Look, Belle, I'm really, really sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Can't we... can't we let it go? Be friends again? I promise I'll never touch you unless you give me permission. I'll be good, Belle, so good if you could only..."
One moment he was practically on his knees before her, babbling about being friends and respecting her space and the next his arms were full of her and his mouth was flush against her own. The kiss was messy and demanding, Belle taking absolute control as she all but devoured him, her hands fisting on his woollen coat and yanking him close. It was deliciously possessive, strangely violent and utterly erotic and Rum eagerly welcomed the experience, relieved and aroused by the way she took charge. Little by little the dominance bled away and gave way to tenderness, Belle slanting her lips across his lovingly, gently coaxing him to open up. He did so immediately, sliding his tongue against hers shyly, pleased when she hummed in appreciation and pressed herself closer against him, one hand sinking into his hair and the other caressing his nape, making him shudder all over. He had to keep a hold on his cane but his other arm settled across her waist, feeling the soft fabric of her dress, fingers itching to travel south and delve beneath the hemline of the garment, feel the heat of her even through her tights.
When their lips parted he heard a faint popping sound that had his ears burning, but his mind was muddled enough not to panic.
"What are we doing?" he asked, nuzzling against her temple, needing to touch her as much as she'd allow. Belle licked her lips and he made a whining sound at the sight.
"I don't want to be friends with you. I don't want you to apologize for kissing me. I just want you to never stop."
For a moment he wondered if he'd fallen asleep in the cab and was having a wonderful dream. But never had any dream of his been so vivid. He could smell her and feel the lingering taste of her in his mouth, could sense the heat of her as she pressed up against him.
"I don't understand."
She smiled and bumped her nose gently against his, prompting a nervous smile out of him. Her hands came to rest on his chest, near his shoulders, caressing him through thick layers of clothing.
"I thought I was being quite obvious, actually. I thought that you had to know by now how I felt." She petted his hair, sighing and burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. "It's all right if you don't... feel the same, but I wanted you to know. And I don't want you to think this affects in any way your work with me, but I don't want to miss the opportunity to let you know that..."
He stopped her then, awkwardly bending down to kiss her. He wished to imagine she was about to confess her love to him and poured his own feelings into the kiss, letting her guide him around the apartment while he concentrated on fusing their mouths together. They tripped several times but made it somehow unharmed to her bedroom. It was a big room, with a king-sized bed sporting a dark-rose bedspread Belle promptly fell on top of when the back of her knees hit the mattress. He tumbled down after her bracing his hands and knees on either side of her to avoid crushing her and hesitated again. Somehow being on a bed made whatever they were about to do more real, and he needed to reassure himself that she wanted this. Belle looked up at him, mouth curved into a gentle smile and hair splayed around her face and cupped his face in her hands.
"Do you want this?" She asked, her voice loud in the silence of the room.
"Like I've never wanted anything before."
The idea of hiding his eagerness, his desperation for her, had never crossed his mind. Though his experience with Millie and his life on the streets had conditioned him to be constantly guarding his thoughts and feelings, to conceal his weaknesses lest other exploit them, he could never bring himself to hide from Belle. She'd gently and unassumingly broken through every single barrier he'd ever manage to put up to protect himself and somehow the notion did not terrify him as he thought it would. Taking a final leap of fate he lowered his head to kiss her again, taking her lover lip between his and sucking gently, encouraged by the way she arched beneath him and sighed softly. What had started as hurried, charged was now slow and languid. Her hands wrapped around his neck to pull him closer, threading through his hair to angle his face just so before lowering to his nape, caressing him there with soft, feathery touches. She smelt of raspberries felt incredible underneath him, soft, warm and pliant. Towards the end of their marriage Millie had become supremely disinterested in him, almost cold, and had felt rigid and distant. He had kept the memory of her coldness with him for years but Belle felt so vastly different he couldn't bring himself to compare both experiences. He shuddered when she pulled away from his mouth only to trace her lips across his jaw, planting tiny, lingering kisses all the way up to his right ear.
"You're overdressed." she told him flippantly, her hands lightly tugging at his overcoat insistently. He rose to his knees and shrugged it off, letting his suit jacket fall to the floor as well before Belle grabbed him by his festive red suspenders and tugged him down hard, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him even closer, taking his mouth again. She seemed to notice his slight hesitation over everything, taking the lead without being overpowering. He encouraged him to explore, placing one of his hands on her upper thigh, over her black tights. He squeezed the soft flesh there before timidly letting it stroke up and down, his long fingers lingering over the small of her knee and she giggled into his mouth, causing him to smile. He caressed her calf before encountering the patent leather of one of her shoes. Her shoes fascinated him, the way her heels were long, slim and sharp and contrasted with her round softness. He had more than once fantasized about her dominating him with stilettos, imagining her marking him only to chase the pain away with her lips and hands and tongue. As erotic as such an idea was he liked the loving, content Belle in his arms much more than the soft-spoken dominatrix in his dreams so he concentrated on the then and there, letting the shoe in his hands fall to the floor. He did the same with the other leg, his fingers carefully massaging the soles of her feet, feeling pleased whenever she groaned.
Somehow she managed to pull his suspenders off his shoulders, her hands lingering on his tie for a moment before sliding the silk off his neck, playfully tossing it aside. She attacked his buttons then, slow enough that he knew she was giving him an opportunity to object if he felt uncomfortable. But with his hands on her thighs and his tongue languidly licking her neck he was nothing but content, his skin tingling all over. He tossed the shirt aside as soon as she was done with the buttons, losing his balance as he tugged his arms out of the garment. Belle took advantage of that and, flipped them over, pinning him beneath her while she reached for the zipper of her dress. To see her contort above him was a thing of beauty, the movement going all the way down to her hips, making them wiggle against his pelvis. He groaned as he watched the dress peel off of her letting him see the lacy black bra beneath, delicate and beautiful. His hands reverently traced nonsensical patterns across her exposed stomach before sliding down to finger the edge of her tights. She paused above him, resting most of her weight in her hands as she stared down at him, an encouraging smile on her lips. He carefully peeled the tights off her legs, letting the pads of his thumbs graze the skin being exposed till she was in nothing but her underwear.
She bent down and kissed his forehead, petting his hair before moving away from him and dropping to her knees on the floor. He almost had a heart attack then and there, his brain going off on different tangents at once before he felt her tug both his shoes off, slipping her hands underneath his pant leg to remove his blue socks. One of her hands lingered on his calf, the rough texture of his scar catching her attention. He froze beneath her touch, wanting to pull away and hobble over to his room, to curl up on his bed. But he forced himself to relax, to let her explore the tissue to her heart's content. Finally, with shaking fingers, he undid his belt buckle, lifting his hips to let his pants pool at his feet. He lifted himself into a standing position and looked at Belle, clad only in dark blue boxers. His ribs weren't showing any more, and most of the superficial wounds he'd received a few days earlier were barely visible, but he wasn't much to look at. All he had to offer was a bit of bravery, enough to let her see him all.
She nudged his knees apart, coming to stand between them before taking one of his hands and placing it high on her back, right above the clasp of her bra. She nuzzled his left cheek, letting him take his time, make his move. When he finally worked up the courage to undo the tiny clasp she kissed him lightly on the lips as a reward and let the garment flutter down her arms and onto the floor. He rested his forehead between her breasts, inhaling deeply to catch her scent before licking the skin right beneath his lips, moving his hands to lightly ghost over her sides before carefully cupping her breasts. She made a delicious little noise above him, her hands burying themselves in his hair, tugging at it in a way that sent pleasurable jolts through his body. Her hold on his hair allowed her to guide him to the side till her left nipple was between his lips. For a moment he just closed his eyes and lightly skimmed his lips over the bud, committing the moment to memory. The next second he was enveloping the nipple with his mouth, growing bold when he felt it harden against his tongue. He carefully used his teeth to tease her further, getting past the embarrassment of his first clumsy attempts and paying close attention to the way her body told him what she liked and what she didn't.
She yanked on his hair when the stimulation of her right breast became too much and he happily switched to her left one, this time experience making him grow bold. His hands splayed across her back, warming up the cold skin there as he urged her closer till she was back to straddling him on the bed, her hips teasing him by pressing up against his and then lifting again, causing him to whine in a way she seemed to find adorable. A new series of tugs allowed her to lead him further onto the bed, Belle giggling as he tried to both scoot back and keep his lips firmly around her nipple.
"This," she murmured, motioning to the way she was still holding him by his rather long hair "is very, very useful."
He nodded before reluctantly leaving her chest to ask for her mouth again. Kissing was an activity that he felt very comfortable with by now and so he indulged on it, barely paying attention to the growing need between his thighs. It was only when she readjusted herself and pressed one of her knees against his groin that he howled and squirmed, suddenly very aware of how hard he was. He dropped his gaze to the covers, ashamed of his unbecoming eagerness.
"It's okay, sweetheart," she crooned, kissing the shell of his left ear and guiding one of his hands to slip inside his panties, curling against her sex to show him how ready she was for him as well. He inhaled deeply, feeling his fingers slip across her lips, coating in her juices.
"You're so wet."
The sheer shock in his voice was enough to turn Belle into a puddle and she pressed herself against him as much as possible.
"Just for you, Rum. Only you."
Somehow it seemed like the right thing to say because next thing she knew he was tugging on his boxers, tossing them to a side before flipping them over and taking hold of Belle's delicate boy shorts, taking them off with as much care as he could. He seemed to lose his steam then, once again pausing, and uncertainty creeping up on him. Without missing a beat Belle gently took him in her hand and guided him to her entrance. Her other hand wrapped around his nape, tugging him down so she could kiss him.
"I need you, Rum. Please."
Her words broke whatever silly little impulse had kept him from her. With a clumsy but decided thrust of his hips he entered her, barely managing to contain a groan when he felt her envelop him. She was warm and tight... almost to an uncomfortable point. He forced himself to still, to wait till it felt like the simplest movement wouldn't have him coming, and focused his attention on Belle, whispering to her that he adored her and she was the best thing to have ever happened to him, that he was undeserving and unworthy and he couldn't fathom what had made her look at him twice. Finally when it didn't look like he'd be disgracing himself he slowly pulled away from her, snapping his hips forward when he was almost all the way out. The cry she let out was almost inhuman and her nails bit into the skin of his shoulder blades as he repeated the motion over and over again, desperate to find some kind of rhythm that'd satisfy her and help him last. Through a haze of mounting pleasure her cries of "Harder", "There!" and "God, Rum!" reached him, feeling him with a warm sort of satisfaction. Belle was very vocal, her voice getting more and more hoarse just as welts started to form on his back. He felt her hitch her legs upwards, her feet hooking somewhere in the middle of his back and the new angle had him cursing under his breath.
With the last bit of coherent thought he had left he slid one of his hands to where they were joined, biting his lips to keep from groaning when he felt again how wet she was. Fumbling desperately he managed to find the bundle of nerves he was looking for, quickly capturing it between his time and forefinger and lightly pinching it. Belle reached up and buried her teeth on his neck as she came, her inner muscles gripping him tight and sending him over the edge. His orgasm seemed to last forever and once it abated he all but fell over Belle, spent.
"I'm sorry," he muttered into her hair as he tried to roll to the side. He felt sluggish, and the bruises and contusions he'd completely forgotten about minutes ago were now hurting like hell. Belle carefully turned them both to the side, and he whimpered when he felt himself slip from her.
"Come on, sweetheart, it's freezing. Help me get us under the covers."
Grunting he got on his hands and knees and pawed unhelpfully at the covers, Belle giggling as she turned down the bed and practically shoved him under the blankets, moving to spoon against him, her front to his back.
"I'm sorry I bit you," she whispered as she traced the mark on his neck.
"I'm not," he replied, snuggling up against her "I love you, Belle."
He hadn't meant to say it, it'd just slipped out, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. He'd kept that secret for so long that it didn't matter if she rejected him, as long as she didn't stop seeing him.
"... I love you too."
Her face was pressed up against the nape of his neck but her words reached him loud and clear. She loved him. Belle loved him. It seemed ridiculous and wonderful and he covertly pinched himself on the arm, happy to feel the sting. He was awake, sober, and Belle had told him she loved him.
They talked throughout the night, neither particularly eager to go to sleep. She confided in him her wish to curate the impressive section of medieval manuscripts house at the local library. She'd been offered the job several times but she couldn't take it and run the shop at the same time, so she had unhappily declined. But maybe, if he would consent to run the shop, maybe with a bit of hired help and take up most of the restoring she could finally fulfil her wish. He found the idea that her giving him a job would be him doing her a favour ridiculous and he told her so over and over before accepting her offering. Marco had approached him earlier at the party with the idea of renting an apartment between the both of them and sharing the expenses. He'd contact him later and tell him he accepted, and then, once he got settled, he'd find out Millie's number and contact his son. No one decided his fate but him and it was time he begun to make the right decisions.
But first he'd give Belle her Christmas present and see about getting her to wear nothing but the butterfly pins for the day.
Or the entire weekend.
As he paced up and down the hallway he began to feel more and more impatient. He checked his watch three times before noticing he hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention to the time, so he checked it again. Sitting a few feet away from him Belle eyed him, impeccably dressed in a burgundy blouse, a rose-coloured skirt and nude pumps. His bow tie matched her blouse, as did his suspenders beneath the jacket of his suit.
"Did they mention anything about the flight being delayed? Or maybe he got into the wrong flight, or Millie decided not to let him come, or.
"Rum, stop." Belle's tone was soft but firm and he blushed before nodding.
"I know, I know. But I can't help it, Belle. He's so close."
It was a year ago that he'd managed to get his life together, with some heavy help from the woman next to him, and he was still afraid, sometimes, that it was all nothing but a dream. He'd moved in with Marco a week after New Year's, finding an apartment near the shop that was also next to the repair shop Marco worked at. Soon after that he'd managed to get, from Millie's prickly lawyer, her phone number, and had begun a hesitant relationship with his son, his Bae. Millie hadn't been amused at hearing from him again but, surprisingly, his wee boy had been delighted. Belle had helped him discover the wonders of telecommunications, particularly a strange little program called Skype, which had allowed him to get a glimpse of his son for the first time in six years.
Most of their earlier talks consisted on Rum apologizing profusely and Bae humouring him. Baden was too good, too understanding, and so he had tried to repay him by being honest. Without burdening with most of the unsavoury details he told him of his depression, of his financial troubles and his life on the street. And he told him too of his little light, his wonderful Belle, and how he'd helped him get it together. He'd managed to drag her in front of the computer one day and his boy and his girlfriend had finally met, both taking to each other immediately.
Eight months after moving in with Marco he'd temporarily moved back with Belle while Marco and his estranged son, August, patched things up. Apparently the old man's son had moved to Tahiti or something like that a long time ago, seeking to escape any and all responsibilities and had contracted some kind of illness. Fearing he'd not live much longer he'd come back to the States to make peace with his papa, and Rum had felt they needed to spend as much time together as possible. He was doing much better with treatment and with a less chaotic lifestyle but Rum hadn't moved back in. Neither Belle nor him desired to live apart, so it was tacitly decided that he wouldn't. The spare bedroom in her apartment- their apartment - was quickly turned into a room for Bae and now he was on his way there to stay for the holidays.
He paused and took hold of Belle's hand, marvelling at the way she seemed to radiate calmness.
"What if he doesn't like the blue we picked out for his room? Or if he doesn't find anything fun to do? What if he misses Millie or doesn't know how to act around me or..."
"Papa?"
Rumford Gold stiffened, afraid to look back. Belle squeezed his hand and motioned him to turn. When he did he spotted a brown-eyed boy with floofy hair and gangly limbs. He was smiling, the most perfect smile he'd ever seen, and suddenly everything was all right with the world. His boy was there, just a few feet away, and he looked happy.
"Bae."
He had his arms-full of teenage boy before he could blink and he tried not to cry. He didn't want his son to think his father was weak. But Bae was crying a bit too, so he surely wouldn't care too much, and Belle was openly sobbing, and she was the strongest person he knew.
"Welcome home, Bae." He whispered into the boy's mane of hair "I missed you so much."
It seemed like he spent a lifetime just hugging his son in the middle of an airport hallway, but too soon he was slipping out of his arms and going over to Belle. As he watched them meet formally and then embrace he wondered what he'd done to be so lucky. A year ago he had nothing and now he was a father, a friend, a lover. He had an apartment, a job and a family and as much as he wanted to take credit for it he knew most of it had been Belle. Belle had guided him there.
"Rum? Rum." Belle's voice snapped him out of his inner musings. She was holding onto one of Bae's hands, offering the other to him "Let's go home."
He nodded, reaching out and clasping her hand in his.
"Yeah. Home."