Oh look, more trash from Hannah. Surprise, surprise. As usual, there is a lot of Wrongness and Twisted Power Dynamics. And a mention of Rumbelle and a (vaguer) reference to Outlaw Queen. There's also a tiny reference to the Queen's teacher kink, too.
Rumplestiltskin doesn't sleep. He's the Dark One, so it's a mixture of he doesn't need to and he can't. The darkness likes a bit of madness, and what better way to provoke madness than by keeping your host awake, under a constant barrage of thoughts? It's a philosophy he put to use when he was mentoring Regina — popped into her chambers at all hours of the night, impromptu magic lessons that had to be done Right that second, when she wouldn't be missed. Kept her awake, to make her irritable and short tempered and more prone to listen to his talk about accepting the darkness to achieve her vengeance.
And he knows full well that her interrupted sleeping patterns took its toll over the years, and the more she lost herself to the darkness, the more trouble she had sleeping.
They make quite the pair of bedmates, he supposes as he stares out the window. Behind him, he hears her stirring, the rustle of his bedcovers as she shifts underneath them. Everyone else is asleep, he's sure, the dusk of the day given way to the shadow of night hours ago. It feels fitting that they're awake, two dark beings inexorably drawn to one another.
"It's never going to work, you know."
He breathes deep, tries to ignore her. He could kick her out, but he's past that at this point, isn't he?
"You can't make her love you again," the Queen continues, and finally he turns away from the window to look at her in the dim light of the room. She's turned on her side, propping her head up on her elbow, the sheet slipping down her bare shoulder. Her hair is loose now, pulled from the updo and mussed by his eager fingers.
He doesn't want to talk about Belle, not ever with her, but especially not now when she's naked in his bed.
"I should know," she murmurs, and it draws him out of his musing, brings his eyes from that uncovered expanse of her shoulder to her face. Her expression is oddly mournful, and he almost wonders what she's thinking about.
The peasants who wouldn't accept her when she was there Queen? Henry when he wouldn't forgive her for her darkness?
But then the moment is lost, and her mask slips back into place. It's a mixture of her face hardening while trying to look nonchalant as well, something he knows she's mastered over the years. "So. Best just to move on," she says, and her mouth forms something like a smile.
He scowls at her. "I don't believe I asked for your opinion," he tells her primly, and she rolls her eyes. "Belle will see one way or another that she needs me. If I have to force her along, then so be it."
The Queen shrugs that shoulder, rolls it delicately as she replies, "Suit yourself, though I don't understand what you see in that bookworm. She's so… vanilla."
His jaw clenches with every word she speaks about Belle, but she's shifting again. She raises up onto her hand now, and the sheet slips down her body, revealing more of her. The swell of her breasts, the smooth expanse of her stomach.
"And is that what you really want, Rumple?" she purrs, arching her back, purposefully drawing his eyes to her body. "Vanilla?"
He can just see the gleam of the gold collar around her throat, the only thing he left on her after stripping her in his shop. He had touched it, traced the metal under his fingers as he murmured against her lips, "Did you wear this for me?" And when she had gasped out yes, he could barely contain his aroused moan. Things had proceeded quickly from there, had resulted in the Queen bent over one of the counters, her palms pressed to the glass as he took her from behind.
Rumple isn't sure how they ended up like that, except he is. He's resisted this long, but he's been intrigued by this woman who is and is not his monster. She lacks the deep-seated love that made Regina perfect for casting his curse, but has the fire, the darkness that he cultivated. The game playing, the flirtation, the deviousness.
How could he resist the darkness when he knew how it tasted?
He takes a step toward the bed, another, holding her gaze as he approaches. "I think we both know that this isn't what — or who — either of us really want," he murmurs, his voice low, husky. Her face flickers at the implication, a ghost of a scowl to match the the ghost lingering where her heart used to be. "But we can make do."
That brings the seductive smirk back to her face, has her shifting onto her knees and crawling to the edge of the bed. "We do work well together," she says, enunciating the word carefully, reaching out to toy with the belt of the robe he's wearing. "As we discovered in your shop."
Rumple swallows as his thoughts turn back to the way he fucked her there. It's got his blood flowing southward, arousal churning in his gut, as the images play out in his mind. He shouldn't want this, shouldn't want her, but he does. Even if she's not what he really wants, even though he knows he's not what she really wants.
He stretches his hand out, draws a path from her collarbone to the gold collar and then up to her cheek. She leans into his touch, her mouth opening in a small gasp. Rumple's thumb plays over her lips, slips between as she opens her eyes. They're dark and hooded, lust playing in the brown depths as she kisses the pad of his finger before flicking her tongue over it.
She lets him dip his thumb into the well of her mouth, her tongue wrapping around it, and he can't contain the soft sound that escapes him. Something about the sight of her, his thumb sliding past her lips, and the feel of it, her mouth closing over the digit as she sucks.
Rumple pulls it free, then uses the same hand to pull her into a kiss, unable to resist any longer. The Queen responds eagerly, her fingers gripping the belt of his robe and tugging him closer. His tongue seeks out the seam of her lips, pushing past and sliding into the warmth of her mouth, slipping against her tongue.
He doesn't want this, he shouldn't want this, but it calls to him. Her darkness, the darkness he helped create, that he drew out of her just to cast his curse. And he remembers her words about Belle, about how she'd never accept him, and he knows it to be true. Belle could never understand this desire, this pull. His hand slides from into her hair, gripping there as his other one finds her hip.
The Queen moans unabashedly into his mouth, her hands seeking out the belt of his robe, untying it and shoving the fabric off his shoulders. Then she's tugging at his shoulders, urging him onto the bed with her, pressing her body against his.
Rumple breaks away from her mouth, trails kisses down her jaw to her ear, nipping at the lobe. "On your back, Regina," he whispers hotly, trying to urge her backwards and encountering resistance.
With a throaty laugh, she digs her nails into his scalp, pulling him away from her neck. "I've told you, it's Your Majesty," she smirks, biting his lower lip hard enough to make him groan. "And you get on your back, Rumplestiltskin."
He growls, capturing her mouth again, punishing her for her cheek with the force of his lips and tongue moving against hers. He presses into her, forcing her back, but then she's shifting under him, using leverage and a bit of magic to roll him over.
She grins down at him, dark and lustful, her hair falling in riotous waves over her shoulders as she shakes her head. She tuts at him, schools her features into a seductive pout. "Did you really think you could have me on my back?"
"Considering how eager you were for me to bend you over in my shop…" He raises an eyebrow at her, enjoying the way she scowls instead of finishing the thought.
The scowl turns back into a smirk as she straddles him, grinding her pelvis against his. She's wet, he can feel her sliding over his growing erection, and it has his eyes falling shut as she chuckles. "A momentary lapse, I assure you," she murmurs, rolling her hips a little faster.
He's barely aware of the way she plants her hands on his chest and bends over him, too focused on the way her hips move over him. She kisses his mouth, his chin, down to his neck and sinks her teeth into his pulse.
"Did you enjoy it, Rumple? Getting to bend me over like that? Did you feel in control?" she murmurs into his skin, and he bites the inside of his cheek to hold in his moan. "Don't you know, dear, that I've been in control this entire time?"
She lifts her hips, taking that delightful friction with her as suddenly she's crawling up his body. He opens his eyes, looks up to find her hovering over his chest, a devilish grin dancing upon her lips. He can smell her arousal, can see how wet she is for him, and he unconsciously licks his lips.
"Do you want to taste me, Rumple?" she whispers, moving once more until she's straddling his face.
And he does, of course he does, he wants to devour her like the darkness did. So he nods, almost imperceptibly, and she laughs as she sinks down onto his waiting mouth. He grips her hips, holding her against his tongue as he licks at her sex. He eats her out with fervor, flicking his tongue and circling it against her in turns, then fucking it into her as her moans get higher and more frequent.
He's going to make her come like this, and then he's going to fuck her and fuck her and fuck her until even he'll be tired enough to sleep. The thought beckons the darkness inside of him, his blood pulsing with it, and fuck, he's so hard for her as she rides his face.
She comes with a long moaning cry, bitten off, and he smirks against her. She might have tried to hide the sound, but he heard it even with her thighs pressed to his ears. He knows exactly how well he pleasured her, the evidence of it coating his tongue as he licks up her arousal. She sags against him, squirming in his hold, but he keeps her there longer, sucking and licking at her as she becomes oversensitive.
For a second, he considers doing it all over again, making her come with just his mouth. But then she's pressing at his head, pushing him into the bedding, and her hips fight against his hands. So instead, he drops away from her sex, licking his lips and enjoying the way she lingers on his tongue.
"Was that… satisfactory, Regina?" he murmurs, raising his voice on her name just to watch her face scrunch with disdain.
"Fuck you," she mutters, still a little breathless, and he almost chuckles. Before he can respond, she's scrambling backward, saying something that might be Now there's an idea, and he hears her laughing at her own joke right before his mind goes blank.
Her wetness envelops his cock, and fuck, he wasn't prepared at all for the feel of her wrapping around him. It has a breathless expletive escaping him, his fingers finding her hips again and squeezing hard enough to bruise. She feels so good, unlike anything else, and he knows it's a mixture of magic and darkness. It's wrong, but right, and when has he ever gave a damn about what was wrong and right anyway?
Above him, the Queen whines, because she can't roll her hips the way she wants when he's holding so tight. She rocks instead, little circular motions that send shivers of pleasure over his skin. He opens his eyes, dares to look at her as she undulates over him, and Rumplestiltskin doesn't believe in higher beings. He knows well that gods are just tricksters, but at this moment, with Regina above him, she looks like some dark, avenging angel.
His eyes linger on the picture she makes, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark heart, and that gold collar around her neck.
Mine, the darkness inside of him whispers, and his hands ghost from her hips to her breasts. He kneads them, enjoying the way she moans, the way her head falls back and her hips pick up the pace. Mine, he thinks as his fingers pinch her nipples and her mouth hangs open in a gasp.
One hand drops down, finds her clit with his thumb and rubs, and he fucks up into her, plants his feet and meets her thrust for thrust. All the while, the darkness churns inside of him, rising, chanting, Mine mine mine.
His other hand slides up, until it touches the collar, the gold metal heated from her skin. The Queen's head drops so that her eyes can meet his, and his fingers slip around her throat, not squeezing, just holding.
"Mine," he says, voice thick with magic and darkness, hips thrusting and drawing another gasping cry from her.
"No," she scowls, brows knitting with pleasure. She shakes her head, and she's trembling, he realizes, feels her clench around him and oh, she's close. Despite her protest, she keeps moving, and he pulls her down by her neck to meet him in a bruising kiss.
Rumple bites at her lips, doesn't let go of her throat. Holds her against him and fucks into her as she tightens around him. "Come for me, Regina," he orders, and the way her muscles squeeze his cock has him groaning.
"It's — oh! — Your — Majesty," she grits out, speech broken up by her own gasps and moans. "Fuck, fuck, I'm—" She cries out, her nails digging into his chest as her abdomen scrunches up.
"That's it, Regina," Rumple murmurs to her, his jaw clenching as he feels his own orgasm building. He wants to wait for her, he is going to wait for her, going to make her come for him again and again and again, because this — this darkness is — fuck.
"Hnnng, oh Gods, I'm so — that's it," she encourages, her hips losing their rhythm, forcing him to let go of her throat to hold her hip, keeping her pace as she loses herself in her climax. "Fuuu — Rumple!"
Her cry of his name is music to his ears, as is the way she cries out through her orgasm, her body shaking apart above him as she comes and comes. He fucks her through it, grabs her hips with both hands and pulls her down against him as he continues to thrust into her. And then when she sags against him, he flips her, smirking down at her when she looks affronted even through her post-orgasm bliss.
It doesn't take much for him to follow her over, maybe half a dozen thrusts before he's coming apart inside of her, driving into her a final time as he spills into her with a gasp of her name, the name of her weaker half.
They lie there for a moment, breathing heavily, bodies sated, and then she's shoving at him. "Get off of me," she growls, pushing at his shoulder, until he rolls off of her. She sits up, tugging the sheet with her as she stands, and she disappears into his bathroom.
Rumple lies there, alone with the darkness still awake inside of him, always awake inside of him. He stands, reaching for his robe and putting it back on, and then he's by the window again. He doesn't look over his shoulder when he hears the bathroom door open, or when she pads back into the bedroom.
But he does speak. "Why are you doing this?" he asks, and she comes up behind him, until he can see her reflection in the glass of the window. He meets her eyes over his shoulder. "You said yourself that I'm not what you really want."
"And you said I'm not what you want, either," the Queen points out, raising an eyebrow. "And yet, here we are." She grins, that mixture of seduction and smugness she always tries to wear.
"But why?"
She laughs, dark and bitter like chocolate. "Oh, my dear Rumple, I think you know," she says, and she's pressing into his back, her chin resting on one shoulder while a hand rests on the other. "After all, you taught me so well… Teacher," she breathes into his ear, nipping at the lobe, and she giggles when his breath catches, just enough for her to notice.
The Evil Queen might be Regina's darkest half, but oh, she is as much his monster as she is Regina's. He created this inside of her, manipulated and molded her into what he needed to get to this land. He thinks now he might have underestimated how well she paid attention to his lessons.
She's nibbling at his ear, down his neck now. She's insatiable, he thinks, and he wonders how much that is to do with that void where her heart used to be. Wonders if all this bluster and desire is really just about filling that hole in the only way she can.
Rumple turns around, dislodging her mouth from his neck. His eyes flick down to her throat, and the gold collar is gone, abandoned in his bathroom, he suspects. He smirks, "Perhaps a few more lessons are in order?"
The Queen smiles devilishly at him, biting her bottom lip in anticipation. "Sounds like fun," she says, eyes dancing with lust.
The darkness in him shivers, Yes it does, and Rumple knows he shouldn't do this. He doesn't want her, not really, and she doesn't want him. But there's always been this pull between them, this game playing and manipulation, and it intrigues him to play it out. To see where she's going with this.
He reaches for her neck, smoke swirling around his fingers, and the Queen bristles as the gold collar settles back around her neck. "I rather like this," he murmurs, leaning in until his lips can brush hers. "I'd like you to keep it on, Regina."
She's scowling again, starts to open her mouth — to correct him, he's sure. But he places a fingertip to her lips, chastising her gently. "No, no, dearie," he whispers. "Be a good student, now," and oh, the way her eyes dilate at that.
She swallows, and he watches the collar move with the motion. "Yes, teacher," she breathes, and Rumple smiles.
It's still early in the night, and neither of them are capable of sleeping. This seems like a great way to pass all that time.