Prompt: Rumple used to love it when Belle ran her fingers through his hair. After coming back from Zelena, he just hates it.
I've tweaked the prompt a little bit but I'm actually very proud of this bit.
Rumplestiltskin used to love it when Belle ran her fingers through his hair.
It was a familiar gesture that had always brought a layer of calm and peacefulness over his body.
Sometimes she would do it absently as they sat by each other on the couch. She would be entranced in a novel and he would just be holding her, thankful for every moment they got to spend together. She would reach one hand out to the locks trailing over his shoulders and absently twirl it through her fingertips. Sometimes she would stop when she reached a particularly exciting part of her book, too deep in her own world to even move. Then she would resume. Slow twirls sliding through her dainty fingers. He would allow this to go on for awhile before it would become too much and he would reach his own hand out, pulling hers away and gently kissing each finger tip. At this Belle would look up to him from her book and smile shyly.
He loved it when Belle purposefully buried her hand in his hair whenever they kissed, gently teasing his neck with a brush of her nails or a quick massage to his scalp. Her hands would bring him pleasure without even leaving the long entangled locks of brown and grey.
He loved the way she would use his hair to guide him to all the parts of her body that brought her pleasure when they would make love. A quick tug to pull his attentions from one swollen breast to its neglected sister. Both hands messily clinging to wild locks, nails digging into him as she held him in that singular spot, gasping at the ministrations of his clever tongue. Nearly painful grasps and desperate fumblings would come next as she would bring him back to her so that they could truly join. The sweat dampened strands at the nape of his neck were stroked repeatedly, nails scraping up and down as she went while the locks that framed his face were used to tug him down to her mouth for searing kisses.
Afterwards they would lay together, Belle sprawled across his chest, legs tangled together as he would pull her close. When her hands stroked through his hair this time it was gentle pets and caresses, so sweet and tender that if he could he probably would have been purring like a cat. The amount of love in such a gesture was always enough to lull him off into peaceful dreams of white weddings, laughter and children running around with bouncing brown curls and ocean blue eyes like their mother.
But that was before her.
That was when all the world was right because he and his true love were simply together. It didn't matter the crisis they faced each day because they faced them together.
Now he felt dirty and violated.
Seven months of hellish captivity had done him no favors. His clothing was worn and haggard, dirt clinging to the expensive fabric. His hair was longer than he normally wore it. It hung lifelessly against his shoulders matted by natural grease and streaked with more gray than it had been before. Where once he stood proud with squared shoulders he now walked hunched inward even as Belle had come into his view.
He had tried to keep her at arms length but she would have none of it and had instantly sought comfort in his arms, quiet tears rolling down her face. With a sniff and a smile she pulled away and stared at him, uncaring of his unkempt being. When she leaned in for a kiss he could not deny her. But as her arms snaked their way up along his shoulders making their way for his locks he reached and grasped them in his own hands. He wanted to shower and clean himself for her was the excuse provided. Belle hadn't cared of his appearance but he feigned vanity. Relief coursed through his veins and his heart slowly returned to its normal beating in his chest when she dropped her hands and held on to his waist instead. If she noticed that his increased heart rate wasn't caused from their reunion she never mentioned it.
He had thought that once he took a shower he could wash away all the anxiety and building within his body as well but if anything he felt worse. Worse for not being able to sit still in the local barbershop to tame his unruly locks. Worse for walking out with shampoo still in his hair as his heart beat wildly in his chest, palms sweaty, panic clawing through his entire body. Worse for ignoring the questions and concern on Belle's face as he breezed past her and up the stairs to their bedroom.
Collapsing on the edge of the bed, his head hung down between his legs, trying to regain control over his breathing, he couldn't keep his mind off of her and how wrong it had felt when she touched him. How wrong it felt when her hands were stroking his hair. He wasn't aware of Belle entering and sitting beside him until she brought a hand to his knee and squeezed it in support. He had finally looked at her then. She was so worried for him. And he was in no shape to alleviate her concerns. When she brought her right hand up to stroke against the still wet hair at his temple he visibly flinched away and jumped back a few inches away from her on the mattress.
The hurt on her face and knowing his actions had caused it was all it took to break him.
He told her.
He told her about the seven months of his captivity under the Wicked Witch and how it had changed him. The ways that she would leave him feeling so utterly violated when she would run her fingers through his locks as she told him her plans that she had in store for him. Some sick and demented story about how they would be together when her wishes were all carried out. How he would never choose any person over her. How she would make him love her as she pulled several hairs from his head for a love potion no doubt.
He told Belle about how when he would refuse to look at her when she visited his dank cell that the Witch would yank his face to her painfully by the tufts of his hair. Each pull would become more violent with every point she would try to make to him.
The Witch hadn't always gone for his hair. Sometimes she would try and caress his hands, his face. Hands would squeeze against his waist or stroke his chest. Every touch had felt so wrong. Nothing though drove him to the point of panic like when she would force him to allow her to stroke his head. That had always been Belle's source of love and comfort. Yet she took this intimacy and destroyed it with every touch.
Belle listened to every word he said with careful intent. She nodded as he told her that no matter how many times he washed his own head it was never enough to take away the feeling of dirtiness and violation. Silent tears waited behind her eyes when he described the panic attack he had begun to feel when they were reunited and then when the barber had tried to wash his hair.
She let him compose himself for a few moments before she grabbed his hand in hers. He closed his eyes and she squeezed it in reassurance.
"Do you trust me?"
Confusion had filled his face as he finally had the courage to look her in the eyes. His reply was a quick but assured nod.
Belle rose from the bed and tugged his arm so that he would follow after her. She led him to the bathroom and eased him to sit down on the lid of the toilet. She opened several drawers and dug into the linen closet before she returned to his side. With a quick flick of the wrist she had a towel wrapped around his shoulders and a pair of hair clippers laid out on the sink beside him.
"I'm going to touch your hair. If it gets to be too much then stop me," she whispered.
He tried not to flinch away from her outstretched hand but he did out of reflex anyways. Undeterred Belle pressed on, her hand cupping his cheek before sliding slowly up and back, fingers catching on knotted bits where his hair had dried without being combed. He wished that her touch felt right to him but he everything was still wrong. He took several deep breathes before Belle's petite hand pulled away.
"Don't you worry, we'll start over," was all she said as she gathered the clippers in her hand and turned them on, the steady buzzing the only noise in the air.
He wasn't exactly sure what her plan was but he knew that he trusted her and knew she wouldn't hurt him, even if his body reacted otherwise. When the first long strands of his hair fell to the floor and caught in the fabric of the towel he felt relief for the first time since he was resurrected. Another buzz and more hair joined their counterparts. As Belle continued cutting his hair he felt his body slowly relax. Muscles unclenched themselves and gradually he stopped flinching away from Belle's touch. It was like the weight of the world was slowly being moved off of his shoulders and it felt great.
When Belle was complete she turned the clippers off and admired her handy work with a smile. She pulled him back to a standing position and positioned him to gaze at his reflection in the mirror.
He didn't even recognize himself. No longer did long gray strands frame his face. No longer did he feel their weight as he imagined Zelena running her fingers through it. His own hand came up and rubbed the top of his head. The small stubs of hair felt soft and new beneath his touch and so utterly different than ever before. It was not something he would normally choose for himself but in this moment it felt right.
"No one has ever seen you like this before have they?"
He shook his head no.
"I know this is something you would never want. Your hair being this short. But I just thought that we need to start over. We need to familiarize ourselves with each other's touch again, each others love. I don't pretend that this will work overnight but it is a start. No one has touched you like this," she trailed off rubbing her fingers against the soft stubs. "And no one will touch you unwelcomed ever again. You are a new person today Rumplestiltskin than you were months ago. Just like you did for me when I was freed from the asylum, I will put you back together again and help you find yourself. We will make it through this together. I love you."
For the first time in seven months, a real smile crossed Rumplestiltskin's lips.
"How you continue to look past my flaws and love me for them anyways I shall never know. I love you too. Thank you for not giving up on me."
No further words were needed. Belle wrapped him in her arms tightly and never wanted to let him go. She brought up a tentative hand and rubbed at the pixie ears she had never noticed before underneath his wild mane. He only slightly pulled away at her touch but soon corrected himself and nuzzled into her palm.
It would be a long road before the emotional scars were fully healed but with the weight of the world removed from his shoulders and Belle by his side, he felt like he could do anything.