Rumbelle Secret Santa 2013 Prompt.
Muirgen258 prompted: Spinner!Rumple x Belle
Here is the first part of the Spinner's Tale. Definitely NC-17.
Spinner AU: Young Rumplestiltskin has fallen in love with his new apprentice, but she is forbidden to him. A princess who must wed as dictated by the crown, Belle has no desire to marry into another noble house. Can she and her spinner ever find their happy ending?
FINDING BEAUTY, Part 1
"Rumplestiltskin!" Elsinore's rusty voice grated on him from the other room, "Rumplestiltskin, a new apprentice has arrived, we'd like you to get started with her right away." He frowned, hearing the shuffle of footsteps as someone was ushered unwillingly into the spinning room, "Come along now, lassie, everything will be fine."
A young child? Rumplestiltskin clenched his jaw, but his hands remained steady as he spun, letting out just the right amount of wool with each twist of the whorl. His productive time would be severely limited by the time it would take to teach a young girl to spin competently and he would have to work extra to make his quotas. Anyone could learn the technique, but either you had the knack of it or you didn't. He didn't look up when they entered the room, his lips pressed together in a taut line the only evidence of his displeasure.
Elsinore herded the girl into the comfortably furnished room with a firm hand upon her shoulder. The child was tiny, but dressed in clothing that was finely made from rich cloth. Her head was bowed, hiding her face behind a curtain of chestnut curls, and her shoulders shook silently. She was crying. An unwilling student was even worse than a young one, but Rumplestiltskin had no choice, he must do as the spinsters bid.
"Isobel, this is Rumplestiltskin, to whom you will be apprenticed," Elsinore's creaking voice did nothing to calm the girl, who, if anything, curled further into herself. It was the creak of an old wheel, rusted from long disuse. "Rumplestiltskin, this is Isobel, she has come to us from Avonlea. She," Elsinore hesitated, as if not knowing exactly what to say, "was a princess there. She will learn to make fine threads for needlepoint and tapestry." Rumple knew from rumours that Avonlea had been utterly destroyed in the Ogre's War, one of the first kingdoms to fall to this new menace from the north. She must be one of only a handful of survivors.
"Over there," Rumplestiltskin gestured in an offhand way without looking up to a small wheel that sat in the corner of the room. "Sit at the wheel, and I will be there as soon as I'm finished." He heard Elsinore turn and leave the room in a rustle of skirts and the hollow clap of her heels against the worn, old, wood floor.
The wheel creaked and spun as he pumped the treadle in a steady rhythm, playing out the last of the wool he held in his hand, each bit of carefully carded fibre following the next until it joined the twisting, growing strand as it slipped hypnotically through the flyer to wind around the bobbin. Rumplestiltskin's deft fingers worked fibres of any kind like magic. The luxurious threads and yarns he produced were in constant demand as much amongst the craftspeople and artisans patronized by the royals of King George's court as in the market stalls of the villages scattered throughout the countryside. As young man, now in his early twenties, he had already been spinning for more than half his life.
He was a quiet boy, shy and solitary, but polite and friendly when required; he spent his days working at the wheel or the distaff or carding fibres to be spun. Sometimes he could be found working with quiet patience, drawing and smoothing precious gold foils for a special thread he himself had developed. He spoke little unless urged or drawn out, preferring to keep to himself and his work, his hands and mind constantly occupied. He had rarely socialized with the other children of the village, and that changed little as he grew into adulthood. Long past was the time when his caretakers would have married him off to some butcher or weaver's daughter, but his worth as a spinner was far greater to them than any dowry a common wife would bring.
Rumplestiltskin was best known for the exceptionally perfect and lustrous gold thread he produced by spinning the finest silk with delicate gold foil, beaten and drawn until it was nearly invisible. His skill with the technique was unsurpassed and his threads were worked into fine tapestries and gowns of great beauty that graced the walls and ballrooms of royal courts across the land. Courtesans, princesses and queens wore cloth of gold embellished with the product of his labours, though he did not know it at the time.
The spinsters who had taken him in as an orphan would exclaim, "I'd swear the lad could spin even straw into gold!" whenever they watched him at his craft, but Rumplestiltskin never knew the extent to which his work was coveted and admired. As a boy of just nine, he had found himself alone in the world with no family to speak of, and the spinsters had taken him in and put him to work for his room and board. Though they weren't cruel or harsh with him, neither did they let on the value of his work or how much it had benefitted the spinsters' now finely appointed home.
The women were not cruel, not really, but practical. When they took in children, which was rare, they were expected to work long but fair hours for their keep. They did all manner of chores about the house, from the raising of the livestock to the cooking, cleaning and washing. A choice few throughout the years were trained to spin or dye the wool if they demonstrated their suitability to the task, one or two in a generation chose to dedicate their lives to the craft and join the spinsterhood.
By the king's law, they owned any orphans they accepted into their care and their work until their twenty-fifth birthday or until the women found them a suitable match. Rumplestiltskin's value was never in his worth as a husband, but in the gift of his clever mind and nimble fingers, as well as the almost magical gold thread he had developed and mastered. They took in boys rarely, Rumplestiltskin was the only one in living memory. More often they took in girls to be reared to young adulthood and then bundled off to marry some minor lord or merchant in exchange for their promised patronage.
This one was a princess, a rare prize indeed. Her political worth to the king immense, hidden here in this little-known village, to be brought out as a pearl of great price when the time was ripe. She would be intended for marriage to a noble or perhaps even a royal house, he supposed it depended on just how badly the ogres had razed her lands, and whether or not they could be run off again to reclaim workable farmland. When he looked up, she was still standing where Elsinore had left her, head bowed, white-knuckled hands clenched tightly, fisted in her skirts. Rumplestiltskin suddenly felt bad for the frightened child who stood before him trembling.
"Isobel, come and sit at the wheel," Rumplestiltskin stood to show her, and she looked up at him. Blue eyes the color of a winter sky stopped him in his tracks, his voice catching in his throat. She was no child, she was perhaps fourteen, her alabaster skin smooth and flawless, the bow of her lips a delicate pink. Thick chestnut curls framed a face that was both lovely and wise beyond the appearance of her years. Rumplestiltskin's heart was lost in that moment, his hand shaking as he stilled the creaking wheel; he stood dumb, staring at the girl with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, finding no words as they rattled about, just out of reach in his head.
"Please call me Belle," her voice was warm, even through it quivered with her fear.
"What's that?" Rumplestilskin started, his brogue thick in his distraction. He shook his head to clear it, to wipe away the vision that suddenly came to him, of her, wrapped in his embrace. The days of his life until this moment had been filled with his craft and his mentoring, he had hardly even given thought to notions of a carnal nature. Those notions blossomed in him now, though he knew that her station was far above his, and that in her youth and her rank, she was most certainly forbidden to him.
"My name, Rumplestiltskin," she said, her voice a little stronger, her chin lifted as if to defy her fate. She unclenched her hands, smoothing down her skirts and took a breath that seemed to calm her, "My name is Belle. No one has ever called me Isobel, though it is my given name."
"Well then, Belle," he'd finally got hold of himself, and he smiled at her, giving her a little half bow from the waist, "please call me Rumple, if you don't mind. Rumplestiltskin is quite a mouthful."
Belle smiled and curtseyed, "Lovely to meet you, Rumple."
Rumplestiltskin treated her always with the utmost respect. He knew his purpose, to teach her the skills of spinning and weaving without thinking about how much her companionship wrenched his heart into thoughts of becoming a man and to whom he would eventually be married. His thoughts had never really led there before, as he had never considered himself worth much more than the straw on which the animals he kept bedded, how would he ever win a wife? And surely never Belle, patient, kind, and lovely Belle; his heart's desire and completely out of reach.
So he kept dutifully to his task, and taught her his most intricate skills, watching over her always, protecting her from a distance, being sure the men and boys of the village kept respectful tongues as well as respectful distance in their dealings with her. Though he thought she didn't know it, and to his own surprise, Rumple held his own in more than a few fights with village boys who had less than pure notions about Belle.
He gave fierce lickings to any he discovered to be eyeing her or speaking of her to the other boys, disabusing them quickly of such thoughts of a girl so far above any of them. A few times he'd ended up on the bloodier end of such encounters, especially with a number of the older men he'd caught leering at her, speaking in hushed tones to their compatriots and laughing suggestively. But he never failed to get his point across, in one way or another, and soon Belle found herself given a wide and respectable berth by all the males of the village. And for the first time in his life, Rumplestiltskin found himself feared and did not dislike it.
Gaston Fletcher was one of his most difficult and most obstinate opponents. The town drunkard, the village lout, he was useless to everyone but his own over-inflated self-worth. He was a widower, and lonely, and no nubile, unattached girl was safe from his lecherous scrutiny. On market days he would lurk among the stalls and harass the the young women sellers with his foul breath and his even fouler jokes.
Rumplestiltskin had seen Gaston's eyes light up when he caught sight of Belle for the first time. Practically licking his lips as he watched them bring their wares to market, and Rumple resolved to put an end to his fruitless suit posthaste. Dark rumours circulated now and then about him, about his rough handling of the tavern wenches and village prostitutes, and even darker ones about what exactly had befallen his late wife. It made him see red to think of Gaston's meaty hamfists anywhere near Belle, and he had no doubt what would happen if Gaston found her out alone and unescorted.
Gaston was a trained fighter, and he was big, and strong. But Rumple was small and lithe and for a blow to injure, it had first to land. Rumple frustrated him, especially when Gaston was drunk and stumbling, which was nearly always. Rumple had hit him more than once when he'd been particularly crass in his dealings with Belle, usually when Gaston was at his most inebriated, warning shots across the bow as it were. When Gaston hadn't relented after several market days, continuing to pester Belle, teasing her and making suggestive comments to her, Rumple caught the miserable sot out one night and used his wits to thrash him.
The fight was legendary amongst the tavern patrons who witnessed it. Rumplestiltskin waited until evening fell and Gaston was three sheets to the wind, he called out to Gaston, goading him into throwing the first punch. That punch never landed, infuriating Gaston and sending him into a blind rage. Rumple ducked several clumsy, overwrought punches as Gaston staggered about, determined to land a knockout blow all at once on this insolent, pestering fly.
But, Rumple was quick, and though Gaston managed to get in a couple of blows that would have been staggering had they truly landed, they were only glancing instead. A cut above the eye that trickled blood and a split lip hardly troubled him. Rumple laughed and shook them off, taunting Gaston even further, his blood high and pumping furiously in his ears. Gaston charged like an angry bull, determined to take Rumplestiltskin out. Rumple saw the glint of a hidden blade, and shaking his head, knew it was time to end this. He let Gaston get close, and in the moment before impact, stepped into the blow, using Gaston's own momentum against him, twisting and flipping the larger man over to land in a heap.
Gaston managed to stab himself in the thigh with the dagger he had concealed in his hand and nearly bled to death behind the tavern. If it weren't for his cronies finding and tending him, he probably would have, and perhaps it would have served him right to do so. It wasn't for Rumple to say. He was only glad that Gaston accepted his exile from Belle's presence with sullen ill-humour and did not dare even look in Belle's direction when she was in town, or Rumple's direction either for that matter. Rumple was sure he would someday pay for Gaston's humiliation, but it was a price he was willing to pay for Belle's comfort and safety.
Rumple shrugged off his own wounds after these encounters, chalking most of the injuries up to being generally disliked by the others. He hid behind the mask of the shy and bullied coward whenever Belle asked him how he had acquired the various cuts and black eyes that occasionally decorated his features. "I guess I'm a difficult man to love," he would tease her with a shrug and a flippant smirk as he ducked away from her clucking, motherly concern whenever she saw blood or bruises.
She would look after him, her brows knit and her lovely mouth drawn into a pout as he danced lithely away from her scrutiny as well as her damp handkerchief. Tossing his long hair forward and hiding behind a curtain of sandy strands and a rapidly spinning wheel while Belle frowned and protested, "Rumple! Let me tend that before it festers. Please. If you don't, I'll tell Elsinore or Margarethe." But he would only chuckle and feel a little better knowing that she was safe from the cretins of this backwater village.
But Rumple found he could not protect her from one thing, the demons that haunted her dreams. He heard her in her room at night, crying out and sobbing in her sleep, endlessly fleeing the monsters who had destroyed her home and family. Once, Rumple got up the nerve to ask her what had happened, but she only shook her head and fled from him, sobbing into her hand. When she had returned to her wheel, her tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes had been enough to keep him from asking again.
Over the course of the year, Belle flourished as a spinner of fine threads, she was well schooled, being of royal blood, and learned things quickly. She was particularly adroit with the finest threads and Rumple looked forward to showing her his technique for spinning gold thread. She would be the envy of her sewing circle someday.
Belle spent much of her free time roaming the village and making friends with the women and girls there. But most often she could be found sitting by the creek that ran beyond the fields and reading the one book of stories that she had managed to bring with her. It was her most precious and prized possession.
Belle was far more gregarious than he and her easy chatter once she had come out of her shell had somewhat overwhelmed him, though Rumple never complained. One afternoon, she was chatting away as they spun side by side. She was telling him one of the stories in her book, it was one of adventure and intrigue in a far off land, of Agrabah beyond the sea, and one that Rumple had heard many times already. Rumple nodded, not really listening, but absorbed with his spinning and his own thoughts of her soft hands when they had happened to touch him while they were oiling the spinning wheels and winding hanks of yarn before breakfast.
Belle had stopped spinning. "You would?" She exclaimed, smiling, a satisfied look on her face, "Oh, that's wonderful, I can't wait, we should start straight away, tonight after supper. We might have to sneak, I'm not sure how the old ladies will feel about it."
Belle finished the skein she was working on and busied herself winding it with careful patience. Not so loose as to allow the strands to tangle, nor so tight as to stretch the fibres, but just as Rumple had shown her, crisscrossed lightly and without tension. "I'll even help you feed the animals so we can get started earlier." She bustled out of the room, humming to herself.
Rumple's heart squeezed in his chest, tightening in panic, he had no idea what he had just agreed to. He closed his eyes, well, whatever it was he was committed now. He sighed to himself and hoped to the gods it was nothing he would regret too badly. Though knowing Belle…
After a supper where he was more withdrawn than usual, hiding behind his curtain of sandy hair and making no eye-contact, Rumple slunk away to quickly tend the sheep and the chickens. He was hoping to hide amongst the haystacks until Belle forgot what it was that she wanted from him, but she was already there and working when he arrived at the pens.
Belle's hair was caught up in a pair of blue ribbons that just matched the color of her eyes. Her skirts were hitched high and tucked so that he could see the curve of her calves and her slender ankles. He almost turned away, but Belle turned first and he was caught out, his face flushed crimson, staring like one of the letchers he had been trouncing regularly on her behalf.
Rumple looked away, his mouth working, though not his voice, but not before he saw Belle's smile. "I'm finished with the sheep, all we have to do is feed the chickens and we can go," Belle said. She was measuring grain into two cloth-lined baskets, she handed one to Rumple as she passed by. "Where do you think we should do it?" Belle asked, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.
Rumplestiltskin nearly tripped over a branch that had no earthly substance, catching himself and the basket of grain at the moment just before all passed the point of recovery. "Um, I'm not sure, Belle, what were you thinking?" he stammered over the words, feeling like a fool. They reached the chicken yard and began to scatter grain for the feisty birds as they pecked and scratched around their feet.
"I was thinking in your room or mine, but if we get caught, the old ladies might pitch a fit," Belle said thoughtfully. She paused a moment, her hand in the grain basket. "There's the barn or the hayloft, but we'd need to pinch a lantern and that might be difficult."
Belle turned at the sound of uproarious cackling and the beating wings of startled chickens, and her eyes widened in surprise before she stifled an unladylike snigger behind her hand, her eyes sparkling with laughter, "Rumple! What happened? We'll probably get only a few eggs tomorrow!"
Rumple was sitting in the dirt and chicken feed, without a clear thought in his head, trying for his life to figure out what in the heavens she was talking about. It couldn't possibly be what he was thinking! He waved off Belle's attempt to help him up, so she stooped instead to pick up his empty basket and kicked around the pile of feed. "Belle, I'm not sure this is a good idea, perhaps another time…" he tried to gather his wits as he gathered himself up off the ground, brushing down his tunic and leggings.
"Of course it's a good idea, Rumple. I think everyone should know how to read and write, no matter what their class or station in life." Belle shook her head, becoming serious. "I know it's frowned upon, and most of the common folk have no time for proper schooling, but I truly believe everyone should have the opportunity to learn the basics if they wish to. Reading, writing and ciphering."
Belle's blue eyes shone and her cheeks flushed a vivid pink, her conviction and sincere feeling in every word. "I know Elsie and Mags taught you basic ciphering to keep tallies and records of your production," Belle put her hand on his arm and he turned to look at her, "but what about your letters? Think of how your world will expand, Rumple. Please let me teach you."
"Elsie and Mags?" Rumple laughed. "I think they would fall over stone dead if they ever heard you call them by such names."
"It's what they call each other, in private," Belle said, giggling. "Of course, I would never speak them within earshot of the old bats," she clarified with a vehement shake of her head.
Rumple laughed and she looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with expectation, and his heart beat a strange tattoo against his ribs, "Well? Will you let me teach you?"
"Ah, I dunno, Belle," Rumple gave his head a helpless shake, "if you think you can teach an old sheepdog like me a trick like that, we'll give it a try I suppose." He looked away, towards the now lit windows of the house, "Though you're right, Elsie and Mags won't cotton to it at all, I've a notion they want to keep me for themselves as long as they can, so we'd best keep out of sight. I'm thinking the hayloft."
"I can do it," Belle assured him. "The hayloft it is, we should stagger our times, so no one wonders where we are, I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes." Belle trotted off, letting her skirts fall and brushing them down as she disappeared into the house. Rumple watched after her for long minutes wondering what he'd gotten himself in for.
He wanted desperately to ask the spinsters if there was any possibility of Belle being granted permission to marry him, but he knew the answer already. Nor could he seriously consider taking Belle from the privileged, comfortable life she was born to, to one of hard work and struggle. It was unthinkable to him. Only his most selfish heart wanted her for his own. The heart that loved her wanted her to have all the luxury and ease that the promise of her royal life could provide
Rumple kicked stones about the yard as he waited for her. Finally getting up the nerve to climb up into the hayloft and settle himself to wait. He hadn't been sitting long, idly twisting pieces of straw into a length of golden twine, when Belle's scrubbed and smiling face appeared at the top of the ladder.
"You're so talented, Rumple. I hope you don't waste your life here in this backwater village," Belle sighed watching him with rapt attention as his fingers twisted the straw with deft economy. "You could go to one of the larger towns and make a good living."
He motioned for her to give him her wrist and she held her arm out to him, "I dunno, Belle. I've never known any place but this." He hesitated, shaking his head, "I had always hoped my father would come back to get me." He worked in silence for a few minutes, and when he let go of her hand, she was wearing a delicate bracelet of straw braids that looked almost like gold. A neat bow decorated one side.
Belle put her hands in her lap, chewing her bottom lip, her features clouded, "I thought you were an orphan, like me."
"I don't really know, Belle. The last time I saw my father, he was very much alive," Rumple looked away. He didn't want Belle to see the tears that gathered in his eyes whenever he thought of his father. A dark chuckle broke from his lips, "But who knows now, it's been too many years, and my father was nae very good at making friends. He was much better at making enemies," he observed. Rumple waved his hand, "But enough of that, you were were going to teach me my letters."
They settled into the straw side by side with Belle's beloved book and a few scraps of stolen parchment spread before them, and by that and many other afternoons and evenings of dim lantern light, Rumplestiltskin learned his letters. His mind was as quick and clever as his hands, and Belle was an excellent teacher. Soon enough she had Rumple reading aloud to her from her book of stories.
As his facility increased, he took to reading with more feeling and emotion, to play-acting the different voices and parts for her. Belle would laugh at him, her eyes shining as she lay in the straw, her chin propped in her hand and looking at him as though he were the only other person in existence. Rumplestiltskin could not think of anything in the whole world that was more beautiful to him than the sound of Belle's laughter if it were not the sight of her lying beside him, tousled in the hay.
One evening at the height of summer, when the crickets were chirping and Elsie and Mags believed Belle to be tucked safely in her bed, Rumple was reading to her of the far shores of Agrabah. Belle sat with unwavering attention, her eyes closed as he read to her. She had told him the story a thousand times while they spun, but she never seemed to tire of it. He read to her of the rich marketplaces, of bazaars filled with fine silks and exotic delicacies, of evil genies bottled by great sorcerers - slaves to their lamps and the masters who were granted three wishes to use for good or for ill. He read to her of the lush tropical seacoasts and the vast fiery deserts, of fertile oases of date palms and blue springs of clear water. When he closed the book, Belle opened her eyes and looked at him, her steady blue gaze pinning him.
"Why couldn't we take ship for such a place, Rumple?"
He looked sharply at her, "What?" Surely his ears had not heard her correctly.
Belle sat on her knees, placing her hands on Rumple's thighs. He flinched away from her, but Belle held him fast. He felt her fingers brush his cheek, softly, and he closed his eyes, "Belle," the word was choked. His throat too tight to speak.
"I want the same thing as you, Rumple," Belle's face was so close to his now, he could feel her breath on his skin. She smelled of strawberries and summer wheat. "I want you to ask for my hand." She pressed her lips to his, and he opened his eyes, startled. Hers were closed, she parted her lips and he felt the soft warmth of her tongue brush gently against his lips. His startled intake of breath granted her the access she needed and suddenly she had filled his mouth with the warm wetness of her tongue.
Instinct brought his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him while her fingers carded through his long hair, playing gently with the ends. Shivers ran down his spine, and Rumple trembled from head to toe. He felt every curve of her body and his own begin to react as he held her and kissed her, their tongues and lips finding a sweet rhythm together. It was everything he'd ever imagined, having her in his arms, her body fitted perfectly with his. Belle's mouth every bit as intoxicating as his most fevered dreams had promised.
He pulled away first, breathing hard, and pressed his forehead to hers. Rumple could barely speak, every word a breathy struggle, "Belle, you know as well as I do that they will never allow us to marry. Your lands are still held in title to you, and if they are recovered, would be returned to your rule, and your husband's. King George is not going to allow the blood of an orphan peasant to ascend rank to a noble house. My father was a criminal, a swindler, it's widely known."
"Then let's run away, take ship and sail across the sea," Belle gripped his hair tight in her fists, tugging him toward her. "We can make a life together. I'm not afraid."
"Belle, I'll not take you from the life that you were born to. You deserve all of the comforts and privileges that I can never provide you," his face was pinched with pain and he could not look at her. He tried to turn away, he wanted to flee, down the ladder and into the night, but Belle held tight and would not let him escape her.
"I don't care about living a life of privilege with someone I do not love, Rumple. I have lived that life, I've had every material thing my heart desired, and it means nothing to me," Belle's fingers dug hard against his scalp, but he welcomed the small hurt, it grounded him, kept him from simply floating away. "Everyone else I've ever loved is dead. What does wealth mean in the face of that?"
"You can't eat love, Belle," Rumple said, a note of bitter sadness coloring his voice. Rising and turning away at last, his hands balled into fists so tight he could feel the sharp crescents of pain where his nails bit hard into the flesh of his palms, he struggled for control. His heart was tight in his chest and it hurt to draw a breath. Belle's hands came around his waist and she pressed her face between his shoulders, her breaths as ragged and barely controlled as his.
"I cannot make you into a criminal, an outcast, because that is what we'd always be," Rumple shook his head, trapping her small hands beneath his own. "I have nothing, I own nothing. If we leave here, it will be with nothing. Except the clothes on our backs and the law at our heels. I cannot, Belle. I love you too much."
"You love me?" Belle asked, her voice small. "I knew you cared for me, that you have protected me and watched over me. That some of the cuts and bruises and black eyes you've suffered were received in defense of my honor. But you do love me?"
"From the moment I first set eyes on you, Belle," Rumple breathed, "I've loved you." He laughed through the tears that had pooled in his eyes, he had never dreamed of having this conversation with her. His lips tingling from kisses he could still taste. "You knew about the fights? I couldn't stand to see them look at you or talk about you like that."
"I figured it out a while ago, Rumple," Belle laughed softly. "It became evident when no one would speak to or even look at me when I walked by. When Gaston stopped harassing me and wouldn't even look at you, I knew. I wanted to tell you I could take care of myself, but it made me feel safe to know you were always there watching out for me. "
He stroked the back of her hand, pushing back the sleeves of her dress to run his fingers softly up her arms. On the wrist upon which he had fastened it months ago, he found the little straw bracelet still tied with its neat bow. He lifted her arm to look at it, running his thumb over the delicate loops. "You kept it. Why?"
"Because I love you as well," Belle's muffled whisper ran through his body like a blow to the gut. He nearly doubled over, the urge to flee even stronger than before. Only the shock of her revelation rooted him to the spot. How could he reject her love? The thing he had longed for since the moment he saw her, beautiful and strong and trembling with loss and fear. He must. He must! No matter the cost to himself.
"Belle, I can't." His mouth was so dry, why couldn't he swallow? Breathe?
"I know." They stood there like that for a long while without speaking, tears slipping silently down each of their faces. His landing on their joined hands, hers leaving damp patches on the back of his tunic.
"If I must do my duty and marry someone I do not love," Belle spoke fiercely, squeezing him with her arms, "then there is one thing I would ask of you, Rumple."
"Anything I have to offer is yours, Belle." Rumple turned and held her by the waist. He tried not to shake, to be steady for her, though his own heart was torn in two.
"A memory," Belle whispered, reaching up on tiptoes to pull him down to her. He resisted, closing his eyes and shaking his head, but she did not relent. "If I am to spend my life as a broodmare to some noble house, I want to know what it is to lie with the man I love at least once in my life and to take that with me as a cherished memory."
"You're too young!" Rumple protested, trying to disengage, but Belle did not back away. She didn't even know what she was asking!
"I'm not. I know how it works. My mother made certain my governess taught me well what to expect when my husband lay between my thighs. The only reason I am still here in this no-name village is so King George can use me to his best political advantage when the time is right. I know that, Rumple." Belle's temper flared, her words were contained but hot.
"I would be married and with child already if it were to King George's advantage. Believe me, I know that. Please, Rumple, don't deny me this. If you love me as you say you do. Please," a single tear slid down her cheek and she gripped his arms as though she were falling. "Please." The last was barely a whisper.
Rumplestiltskin was lost. He barely knew the basics of what she was asking and fear took his heart, both of what he was about to do and the consequences to her if anyone ever found out. By the king's law and long-held tradition, her virginity was the property of her father, to be passed to her husband, and of the king himself, since she was of noble birth.
But Belle put her arms around his shoulders and her fingers in his long hair and tugged him down to lie with her in the sweet-smelling hay. His body and his heart could not refuse even though his mind wanted to, for her sake, and for the sake of his own bursting joy at the thought of her wrapped in his arms as he'd dreamed from that very first day.
Belle lay on her back, her head pillowed in drifts of summer straw, and Rumple lay next to her on his side, half covering her, one hand gripping her waist like a lifeline, knuckles white, as he lowered his face to kiss her. His moan was soft as their lips met, though every nerve in his body was on fire for her already, his kiss was still hesitant where hers was not.
"Belle, oh," he whispered into her mouth as she parted her lips and their tongues met once again. He had seen men and women kissing in the dark corners of the tavern and had felt his blood rise, but nothing prepared him for the sheer feeling of her warm sweetness filling his senses. For the taste of her mouth and the way she bit at his bottom lip in her desire and impatience for his touch.
As a young lad, he'd sometimes encountered pairs of revelers coupling behind the tavern under cover of darkness. Politeness and discretion had wanted him to turn away, but curiosity had won out and he had watched with both fascination and arousal at the obvious pleasure of the participants. He'd slunk away when they were finished, a mix of emotions tangled inside him. Aroused, but also shamefaced for spying on such private moments and fearful of the day when he might perform such acts himself. Now Rumplestiltskin understood the urgency he had witnessed as Belle's desire stoked and drove his own, his body reacting in earnest as he pressed himself against the soft flesh of her hips.
Rumple's heart beat like a trapped bird as he ran his hand over the bodice of her dress, tracing the delicate piping with his fingertips and plucking gently at the ribbon that laced it tight. His hand trembling as he moved his fingers with butterfly lightness over the bare skin just above the soft, cerulean fabric, the gentle swell of her breasts tugging at something primal, deep within. He felt his belly tighten when Belle arched up into him, gasping for breath as he dragged his clumsy kisses down her neck to the small mounds of her breasts. He ran his lips and tongue across the rise and fall, dipping his nose into the space between and inhaling deeply while Belle keened with pleasure, her limbs shaking as she clutched at him.
He hesitated there, but Belle's quiet moans and her grasping hands reassured him that she wanted his mouth to explore as much of her soft, soap-scented skin as he desired. Rumple moved to kneel between her thighs, her dress hitched up to expose more creamy, porcelain skin than he'd ever seen in his life. He ran his hands from her ankles, over her shapely calves, to her knees and over cotton covered thighs to her waist, teasing open the ribbons that held up her knickers at the waist and knee as well as the one that laced her bodice.
Belle made a frustrated sound, tugging at Rumple's tunic and he hesitated for just a moment before allowing her to pull it over his head, tossing it aside, fully conscious of the gauntness of his frame. He was small, though he towered over Belle by a full four inches. But he was shy about the way his ribs jutted, clearly visible beneath his skin, and the hollowness of his belly, though Belle seemed not to be troubled by these things in the least.
"I want to feel the heat of your skin against mine," she whispered, her voice husky but with a slight tremble, "I want to know all of you. To remember everything, the way you look, the way you smell, the way you taste…everything." Belle pulled herself up and pressed her lips to his shoulder.
Belle kissed across his chest and up his neck, her mouth warm silk as it explored his chin and jaw before finding his mouth again and claiming it hungrily while her hands stroked his back, his waist, his ribs. He loved the way she wrapped her tongue around his when they kissed. He felt like he could kiss her until time stood still, delving into every corner of her mouth, flicking his tongue across her palate, feeling her shiver against him when his teeth plucked greedily at her lips.
Rumple ran his fingers gently through her hair, brushing lightly against her jaw, trailing down her neck and across her shoulders while they breathed each others kisses. His fingers hesitated at the first loop of ribbon that tied her bodice, but Belle reached down and with a quick tug, pulled it through. A moan escaped him as she tugged through three more turns before he stayed her hands, taking them between his own and kissing them. He took the next turn himself, and Rumple's breathing quickened with each tug of his fingers until he pulled the pink satin free and held it in his trembling hands as though it were made of glass.
"I want you to look at me, touch me. I want you to remember me forever," Belle whispered, trying to catch his eyes.
He met Belle's gaze, her smile shy but welcoming, her blue eyes dancing, and Rumple took a deep breath, somehow managing to stand gracefully and offer his hands, lifting her up to stand before him. He held her face in his hands and kissed her, her hands resting lightly on his hips.
"Belle, of course I'll not forget you, love, never. Even before … this." His mind could not conceive that he was about to undress and lie with her, his vision of beauty that had danced naked in summer meadows only in his dreams.
His palms skimmed lightly over her neck and collarbone, he closed his eyes and swallowed hard as his hands moved under fabric and stroked her naked shoulders, his fingertips on fire. Rumplestiltskin began to tremble as her dress and chemise fell away together to pool around her feet, taking with them her half-tied drawers. All of her was bare and beautiful and his eyes devoured her with a hunger he hadn't known he possessed.
He wanted to gaze at Belle forever, the graceful curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the perfect rondure of her rose-tipped breasts, the soft mound of her belly that led his eyes to the dark thatch of chestnut curls that nestled between her thighs. His heart clenched. He had no right to such perfection, such loveliness. A sob escaped him and he lowered his head, "Belle…"
Belle pressed herself to him and his thoughts scattered like dry leaves. She lifted her face to kiss him, her soft lips distracting him from her hands at his waist as they untied his leggings and pushed them down over his slim hips. He flushed from head to toe in his naked state of arousal, hiding his face behind his curtain of hair, eyes cast down and away.
"You're beautiful," Belle murmured against his neck.
A sound somewhere between a sob and a snort erupted from him, "I don't think anyone has ever considered me beautiful before." His hands skimmed up her back and he curled his fingers over her shoulders, trying to look at her and smile. "In fact, I'm sure of it."
"You are to me," she insisted, her eyes taking him in. Her breath hitched when her eyes found his erect cock, standing proud against his belly, a breathy "Oh!" escaping her lips even as her eyes widened. Belle slowly lifted her eyes to his and they were alight with desire and mischief.
"Is that beautiful, too?" Rumple's nervous laugh was as shaky as he felt.
Belle's laugh was a little shaky as well, the tremble in her voice betraying the truth of her innocence. "It is, Rumple. I think all of you is lovely." She lowered her eyes, "I'm just a jangle of nerves."
He lifted her chin with a finger until their eyes met, "We can stop right now, if you want." He was proud of the way his voice shook only slightly. "Just seeing you like this is something I will never forget."
She gripped his arms and pressed herself against him. Rumple felt her belly slide against his hard length, and he hissed, biting his lip as his cock twitched, caught tightly between their bodies. She lifted herself on tiptoes and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck and shaking her head, "I want this with you," she breathed into his mouth.
Rumple nodded. He released her and picked up their scattered clothing, spreading out his tunic and her chemise over a deep drift of hay. Belle smiled as he drew her down once again to lie with him. She on her back with Rumple nestled between her thighs, belly to belly and his cock hard against her damp curls.
He could hear her quickened breathing as he considered what he should do, he knew he would place himself inside her, but he had only the faintest idea of where. So he leaned in to kiss her lips, propped on an elbow and the other hand tangling in her hair, tracing down her cheek and neck and with a deep sigh, brushing a taut nipple. She gasped into his mouth and he lingered there, teasing the firm bud with the palm of his hand, cupping her breast and massaging it while she held her breath and watched him with wide eyes.
A gasping little cry escaped her lips and he grinned, flushing. "That feels good, then?"
Belle nodded, panting. Without words, but with her fingers buried in his hair, she led him down her neck to kiss at her shoulder and the hollow of her neck. She urged him lower, and he shook as he traced the upper contours of her breasts with his lips and Belle groaned with pleasure. He couldn't believe himself as he mouthed lower, surely she would stop him. But Belle only arched herself into him, lifting her nipple to to his mouth, tugging him lower until his lips brushed one firm, pink bud. He ground his hips and his hardness into her folds, gasping just as she thrust her chest upward. Before he could think, his lips were around her hardened nipple and Belle cried out, burying her fingers in his hair and holding him there.
His mouth was filled with the softness of her breast, and he let his tongue press forward to taste her sweetness, circling the hard nub of her nipple. His own shock was tempered by Belle's rapture and he began to kiss her breast as he had her neck and shoulders, mouthing and suckling and enjoying thoroughly both the sensation of not only her hard nipple against his tongue but her shudders and moans as she writhed and panted beneath him.
"Gods, Rumple, don't stop," Belle begged clutching her fingers in his scalp and kissing the top of his head. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he could feel her slick, hot center where his cock nestled in her folds, coating him in a silky moisture.
He couldn't stop suckling at her breast, mouthing and licking and even nipping her with his teeth as he lost himself in her pleasure. Rumple moved his hand down over her ribs, her hip, pressing his thumb into the crease of her thigh. Belle lifted her hips and rolled herself against him, his cock slipping easily through the slick wetness that surrounded him. He had to breathe through his nose as his hips began to buck against her involuntarily, his cock so hard it was painful. If he wasn't careful, he would spill himself before he even discovered how to be inside her.
He lifted his face to look at her, her face and chest were flushed a deep, rosy pink, her pupils blown wide in her pale blue eyes, her chestnut curls tossed back and spread around her in the hay. Stray tendrils of her hair were stuck in the sheen of sweat that had coated her forehead and chest. She had never looked more lovely. Her mouth was puffed and crimson from the friction of their kisses and her disarray was utterly arousing to him.
Urgency overcame him, and he groaned into the hollow place between her breasts, flicking out his tongue to taste the drops of sweat that gathered there, every ounce of self control brought to bear against the tightness building in his groin. He slipped his hand between them and slid his fingers through her thick, damp curls, rubbing and teasing until he found her entrance. Rumple slipped a finger inside her and Belle bucked hard against his hand, "Rumple, please…" she begged, shuddering.
Rumple took his cock in hand and guided the tip of it to line up with her. He searched her eyes for the least reluctance but found only the flush of desire in her face. He pressed into her and Belle lifted her hips to take him in. She breathed deep as he met the resistance within her.
"You're certain?" he breathed.
"Be inside me, Rumple," she keened.
Rumple thrust his hips forward and sheathed himself within her. Belle closed her eyes and a quiet sob wracked her slight frame, her fingers digging painfully into his shoulders. Fear washed over him that he had done something wrong, that he was hurting her. He cupped her face, "Belle…Belle, are you all right? Have I hurt you? Please." His voice shook, his hair falling around his face as he trembled inside her.
But Belle shook her head, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him deeper inside. A single tear caught in her lashes, "No, no, it only hurt for a moment, and now it is the most wonderful feeling in the whole world. It's wonderful, and now I'm truly yours. I will always be yours."
Rumple drew himself out, gazing down at where their bodies joined. His arousal nearly overcame him as he watched his cock sink back into her and Belle thrust her hips up to meet him and bury him deep with a sharp cry.
Rumple had known only the rough pull of his own hand to accompany his lustful thoughts of her in the lonely, dark hours of the night, and nothing in the world compared to being inside Belle. He'd had no idea what a woman would feel like, but she was a marvel of silk and warmth wrapped around his cock and moving inside her was like breathing again after being underwater until his lungs felt like they would burst. Rumple thrust his hips, lust and love mingled with a primal instinct that seemed to come from nowhere, ruled his brain and body.
Belle sought his mouth at the nadir of his thrust, clutching his body close. He covered her, propped on his elbows with his arms tucked under hers and his hands curled up over her shoulders, pulling her down onto his cock even as he thrust up into her. Her fingers dug crimson furrows into the flesh of his shoulder blades as his rhythm built and her high-pitched, musical cries quickly turned to deep, guttural moans.
Belle reached one hand down between them and pressed her fingers into her own folds, and in a moment threw her head back, her sweat slicked breasts arched into him and she began to convulse around him. The muscles of her thighs went rigid and then trembled violently as her inner walls milked his cock, massaging him with the contractions of her climax. Belle didn't breathe or cry out for a long moment, her mouth a silent 'oh' as he continued to thrust into her, her delightful, little breasts bouncing vigorously against his chest. Belle writhed silently, until all at once the tension left her body and she gasped his name while she clutched at him, running her hands over his back and shoulders.
Rumple was undone, her shuddering cries as the last of her orgasm wrung her pushed him over the edge. He buried his face in her neck, his nose in her hair, his fingers pressing bruises into her pale shoulders. She kissed his shoulder as he came inside her, his entire body convulsing, three, four, five times as he spilled himself.
"Belle!" he gasped as the last of his seed flowed into her. They lay there, joined and sticky with sweat, their breaths coming in great heaving gulps. Belle's fingers tangled in his hair and she held on to him, shivering when his softening cock slipped out of her.
Rumple collapsed to the side, rolling onto his back, his breathing still heavy and ragged, choked with the enormity of what they had just done. Belle curled up against his side, bits of straw clinging to her arms and tangled in her hair, and her beauty overwhelmed him. He reached out to draw her over him, cradled in his arms, her head pillowed on his chest, their legs intertwined.
Belle kissed his chest, running her hand over his stomach. He pulled his tunic over their cooling bodies when she shivered a second time, "You're cold." he murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. He didn't want to let her go. Rumple couldn't imagine ever letting her go.
Belle shook her head, squeezing him around the middle, "No, not cold, sleepy," she smiled, wriggling against his side, snuggling into him. She sighed the most contented sigh he'd ever heard and he just held her, one hand rubbing lazy circles on her arm, the other stroking her soft curls. Idly plucking out bits of straw.
Rumple heard Belle's breathing slow, becoming soft and even, and he just lay there holding her while she slept. He half expected her to wake, startled and crying as she usually did in the night, but she slept like a babe, ensconced in the loving comfort of his arms.
He lay there, his mind a confusion of joy, love, longing, and overwhelming sadness that her fate and his would take her from him. He had wild thoughts of spiriting her away, running as she wished. They could take ship and, what? Beg, try to find work in a country whose language they did not speak, starve?
Rumplestiltskin warred with himself, an internal struggle that felt like it would pull him asunder. Belle rolled over, nudging her plush bottom against his thigh and murmuring contentedly in her sleep. How could his bursting heart deny that they should spend their days and nights like this, together and happy?
Rumple soothed himself by spinning with his fingers while Belle lay sleeping. He didn't have the heart to wake her from her peaceful slumber, knowing how she lacked. And as long as she lay warm and soft against his side, he could dream that it would always be so.
When Belle woke, it was too soon, a couple of peaceful hours at most. Belle stretched luxuriously against his side, turning on her belly and kissing his chest, her fingers spread against his hip. She brought her hands up to prop her chin on her fist and smile at him like a cat that had just eaten a plump pet canary. "Hello," she said cheerfully, "I hope you weren't bored while I slept. I haven't slept like that for…" she paused, her brow furrowing.
"Two years would be my guess," Rumple offered, "and I how could I ever be bored with such a beautiful woman nestled at my side?" He chucked under her chin with a crooked finger and she lowered her eyes.
Belle blushed, "How did you know that?"
"I've heard you every night since you've been here. It's why I asked what happened to you," Rumple said quietly. "I've lain awake more nights than I can count, listening to you and wishing I could comfort you." He touched her hair, his fingers playing with her soft ringlets.
"I'm sorry," Belle said, abashed.
"No need to be. I only ever wanted to protect you from the moment we met," he brushed her cheek and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes with a soft, "hmmmm" of contentment.
Belle looked up at him, "I don't want to sully this perfect night with such black memories." The set of her jaw was firm, and he could see the pain in her eyes, "But I will tell you everything one day. I would have you know everything." The muscle in her jaw clenched and released, and she closed her eyes again, "I am going to hold on to my hope that we will be together somehow."
"I made you something while you slept," Rumple changed the subject, avoiding her eyes. He put his hand on her wrist. Her eyes widened in surprise at the delicate gold wristlet that now adorned her arm.
"Where is my straw bracelet?" she asked, a note of panic creeping into her voice.
He held up his own wrist, and she relaxed into him, "Straw for me, gold for my Lady," he said and heard his voice crack slightly. "You can have it back."
"No!" Belle stayed his hand with her own, "No, now we each have one, it's fitting." She held up her arm to study the cleverly braided gold band that encircled her wrist, Tiny strands of gold glistened in the lamplight as she turned her hand. "It's astonishing, Rumple, you made this while I slept?"
"Yes, I needed a distraction," he touched it gently, reverently. "I had a bit of the foil, but no silk, so I spun the threads from strands of our hair. One of the threads is spun from your hair, one from mine and the third from ours together. Then I wove the strands into…this." Rumple shrugged, turning the bracelet on her wrist. "Consider it an early Yule gift," he smiled shyly. "Do you like it?"
Belle touched it to her lips, "I love it. I love you." A single tear slipped down her cheek to splash on his chest and he hugged her close, kissing the top of her head.
"And I love you. I did not imagine that you would ever feel about me the way I have felt about you since the moment our eyes first met," he whispered into her hair, his voice breathy and choked with the emotion that burned in his chest. Her fingertips dug into his sides, but she was silent. "I promise, if there is a way for us to be together, I will find it." Rumple's arms held her tight.
Belle slid up to kiss his mouth, she gripped the back of his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. She simply pressed her lips to his and held them there for a long moment, her eyes squeezed shut. When she released him, she licked her lips and sighed. Without another word, she sat up, slipping her chemise over her head and veiling her radiance once once again. Rumple felt as though a candle had been snuffed out and he let out the breath he had been holding. She smiled at him as she stood and slipped into her dress, lacing herself quickly. She gathered her things and in a few short moments she slipped over the edge and onto the ladder.
"I believe you, Rumple." Belle whispered just before she disappeared down the ladder and into the night.
Rumplestiltskin lay in the straw. He knew at that moment that he would do anything it took to make a life with her. He would find a way, scrape, save, squirrel away anything he could find to make a start for them. Then they would disappear one night, as though they had never been.
His heart full of Belle, and his mind whirling with plans, Rumplestiltskin dressed quickly and slipped down the ladder and into the house, into his bed. He took himself in hand, and recalled the last few perfect hours. His hand was a poor substitute for her silky warmth, but he could almost feel her, and he could imagine her as she lay beneath him, lovely in her throes and in her dishabille. He slept sound, dreaming of the future.
Market day, he thought as he woke, rolling over and squinting at the sun as its slanting, golden light fell across his eyes. He dressed quickly and made his way to the table for breakfast. Belle's place was empty, unusual for her, but he thought she might be tired from the previous night's activities.
He felt refreshed. Resolve and hope in his heart made him more open and gregarious than his usual demeanor. He ate with gusto, noticing the taste of the food and enjoying it. It was only as he finished that worry began to creep into the back of his mind. Belle was never late for breakfast.
The worry grew as he did chores in the pens and he did not see her, or hear her cheerful chatter from the open windows. He was in the barn, preparing the basket to collect eggs, Belle's chore, but he decided to help in case she was ill, when he felt a shadow loom behind him.
"You must go. Now. Rumplestiltskin," Margarethe's voice cut through him like a knife, fear clutched at his heart. He turned to look at her, but the bright sun at her back kept him from seeing her face.
"Where's Belle?" he asked, the frantic pounding in his ears was clouding his thoughts.
"You have disgraced this house, Rumplestiltskin." Her voice was cold, unyielding. "You are no longer welcome here. We trusted you and you have betrayed us. You must go, now."
"Where is Belle!" he bared his teeth, spitting as he shouted. He stepped toward her, his voice shaking, his whole body trembling, but she did not step back. He stood in front of her, his fingers flexing into fists.
"She's gone, Rumplestiltskin." The words were like daggers, cutting into his flesh, piercing, and letting the blood flow out of him.
"Gone where?" his breath was coming in ragged pants, the panic rising and overtaking him.
"The king's men came for her this morning." Margarethe's words were like a sledgehammer to his gut. Cold. Final. "She was never meant for you. She's gone. And now you too must go."
He collapsed there, falling to his knees on the floor in front of her, sobbing silently while tears coursed freely down his face.
"She's gone." The words echoed in the hollow of his breast while he knelt there, sobbing into his hands, fingers grasping at his own hair, unable to fathom what he had once accepted as truth. The old spinster turned and walked away without a word.