Author's Note: Ok, I was gonna wait at least a couple of days to post this, but so many of you wonderful people subscribed to this in such a short time I just had to reward you somehow.
Many thanks to Artemis Samhain, the only one to write an actual review thus far- I love you for it!
Also, like I said, this is going to be a series of one shots and I have no idea how many. If you have any prompts you'd like me to write, I definitely take requests! So far these all go in chronological order, but I'm not sticking to that on purpose.
Usual disclaimers apply: I own nothing. Reviews are love and get me updating faster!
A year later, Gold was in his shop, clever fingers mindlessly polishing a relic of something-or-other from the land that nobody else remembered. Times like these, he missed his spinning wheel. He may not have been able to spin gold on it here, but it sure did help to pass the time. And she had so loved to watch him spin the wheel.
He glanced at the clock for the 10th time in one hour. 12:55. Only 5 more minutes now. He took a deep breath through his sharp nostrils and tried to force his heart to slow its tattoo in his chest. He rubbed at the spot absentmindedly. He was still getting re-acquainted with the feeling of anticipation. He glanced at the clock again. 3 more minutes.
After what felt like an eternity of 3 minutes (he was beginning to wonder if time had stopped again, the tricksy bastard), the bell above his shop door jingled and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He didn't know why he'd been so nervous- she hadn't missed a day since this strange ritual had started. He carefully placed the whatever-it-was on the table in front of him and grabbed his walking stick to make his way into the front of his crammed little store.
The second he saw her, the butterflies he was also slowly becoming accustomed to began to flutter wildly in the vicinity of his stomach. Belle.
She was still so beautiful. Her long chestnut hair glinted with red-gold highlights in the stream of sunlight coming in through the window; loose curls tumbling wildly down her back. She wore a sundress today, in his favorite colour blue (a familiar color blue that brought visions of bodices and castles and roses and falling curtains to mind). The gold of her skin sparkled against the cerulean fabric and he had to clench his fingers round his stick to keep himself from reaching out to test if it was as soft and warm as it looked.
Her interest had been sparked by some random knick-knack, as was usual, and she was examining it intently. This time it was a broken clock that had rather large teeth marks round it. He smirked. She always did have a talent for picking the most interesting of pieces. He remembered cutting open a large, scaly stomach, the snag of crocodile scales against his knife, in order to get his hands on that clock. He never had bothered to figure out who the skeleton with a hook for a hand was that had been curled around it.
"That clock has a long and interesting tale, dearie," he said, a lilting tease in his voice that betrayed exactly how well he knew he was sparking her never-ending thirst for stories. He will not admit he loves telling them to her as much as she loves hearing them.
She spun around to face him, and the smile on her face nearly blinded him. She was all sunshine and roses and all the things good and bright in all the worlds, and she was smiling like that at him. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his own face.
Even after all she'd been through- being thrown away by the one person that should have loved and protected her the most (in a thousand years, he'd never forgive himself), imprisoned in the Queen's tower and tortured for months, only to be shut away in a mental asylum and fed mind-fogging drugs so powerful they wouldn't put schizophrenics on them, for 28 years- and she could still smile. Like that. At him. Brave and strong didn't even begin to cover his Belle.
It hadn't always been like this of course. At first, he had feared she really had gone mad. After her first mad dash at him when he had shown up outside her cell door, the first time he had ever really felt a semblance of being a knight in shining armour, when her sky blue eyes had widened in disbelief and (he could've sworn) joy at his appearance, and she had thrown her arms around him so strongly and held him so tightly that he nearly fell over, he had walked her out of the hospital and left her briefly in the care of the newly un-debted Emma Swann to get her a blanket and a warm drink. When he returned it was though she had built up a fortress of stone walls around herself.
She would not speak to him nor look at him and stayed huddled against the Sheriff's side. He'd swallowed the hurt as best he could- it was no less than he deserved, after all.
Emma and Mary-Margaret let her stay in the smallest bedroom of their house, and at first she rarely emerged from that room. She wouldn't talk to anyone, she wouldn't come out of her room longer than it took to eat dinner and take a shower, and she certainly did not step one foot inside of Gold's Pawnshop.
Little by little though, she began to venture forth into the world again. Maybe she was tired of Emma and Mary Margaret needling her about how she needed to get out or maybe she just finally felt safe enough to wander around alone without fear of being hauled back into a tiny, dark room. After 4 months she spent far more time outside than in, reading books by the stack in the park or at Granny's Diner, soaking up the sun and relishing in the feel of the breeze on her skin. It was the little things about freedom that captivity made you savor.
6 months after her rescue, the bell above Mr. Gold's shop had jingled at precisely 1 pm for the first time. She had glided in in a whirl of green skirts, auburn curls, and shimmering blue eyes, clutching a book to her chest, a picnic basket dangling off of one slender golden arm.
His heart had constricted in his chest like there was a snake wrapped around it and he could barely breathe for the sight of her. Belle, his Belle. Oh how he longed to rush to her, take her in his arms and never let her go, press his lips to hers and damn the consequences. But he restrained himself. She didn't really remember who he was- more likely something in the window had caught her eye. She always had been so curious. And he didn't deserve her anyway.
But his walls and reserve had never stood a chance against her in the first place, and they'd only gotten weaker over the years. She had sailed over to him, immediately demanding the story to a certain Agraban lamp, and he had been powerless to deny her. He even told her its true story, drinking in the way her blue eyes stared at him seemingly enthralled, the way she would bite ever so gently at the plump fullness of her red bottom lip in suspense, the way her whole body language just sparkled at him like he was the sun and she was soaking him up. For a few moments, it felt as though no time had passed at all, and he was surprised to find no spinning wheel under his fingertips and no gold-green shine to his skin as he spun her the tale. He was surprised and giddily delighted to find her name had not changed- he couldn't fathom calling her anything but Belle.
Every day after that, at exactly 1 pm, she would come through the door as though on a carpet of rose petals, exploring his shop and demanding stories, chatting over cups of tea. At some point she started bringing her baking experiments with her. He particularly loved her blueberry muffins, and had even cheerfully devoured her abysmal failure at pound cake simply because she'd made it for him, though she never said so.
And so the routine was born, and there was now an hour of sunshine in his day to look forward to as she took her lunch break from working at the library. There were times, glorious, teasing times that he was sure she remembered everything, that she knew who he really was. But he was too much of a coward to find out for sure. He didn't know if he could take it if she didn't.
Something about today though, felt different. She didn't jump at his bait for a story. Instead, her dazzling smile faded into something soft and warm as she gazed at him. Heat sparked in his veins. He remembered that look. It was the one she'd had in her eye before their first, and only, kiss. His heart thudded in his chest.
"I'm sure it does," she said softly, her voice as light and sweet as the first birdsong of spring, her lilting accent sending shivers down his spine that he desperately suppressed. "And you shall tell it to me another day. Today, I don't want stories about far off kingdoms and curses and princes. It's absolutely beautiful outside and I want to go for a walk with you."
Her eyes glittered up at him hopefully and he found himself opening the door for her and flipping his shop sign to 'Closed' before he'd fully registered what was happening. As they set off down the street towards the park, she looped her arm through his as natural as could be and he couldn't have wiped the grin off his face if he'd tried.
Later he found himself standing on a dirt path in the woods, surrounded by green and flowers and ignoring every bit of it because none of it could ever compare to the loveliness that was Belle showered in dappled sunlight, with that contented curl to her lips, and happy shine in her eyes, and clinging to his arm like he was the only thing keeping her from floating away in joy. He stared at her, deep brown eyes full of wonder and love and fire. She turned to him and he didn't manage to shift his glace quickly enough for her not to catch.
He smirked at her, his default expression, shoving down the panic rising in his chest as visions of her glaring in disgust at the old, crippled man that dared to stare at her in such a way flashed in front of his eyes.
But Belle was a master of the unexpected, and she only smiled that soft, warm smile with those rose red lips at him once more.
"Once upon a time," she whispered, staring up at him, eyes blue oceans he was drowning in. "I dreamed every night of seeing that look on your face."
His eyes widened with shock. Did she mean what he thought she meant? Was she talking about…back then? Or just the recent past?
"And now?" he whispered back, nerves and her closeness making his brogue thick and deep. Distantly, he noticed her shiver and clenched her against his side a little tighter, for fear she was chilly.
She took a deep breath and he watched as she made a decision, squared her shoulders. He watched her fill to the brim with determination and resolve and felt nothing but awe at this amazing woman gazing up at the face of a man feared all over town and throughout several more kingdoms with something he could swear was akin to adoration.
"Now I dream of many different kinds of wonderful looks from you, Rumpelstiltskin," she breathed, lifting a finger that proved she was exactly as soft as he'd imagined as it ran lovingly down his cheek.
All the air whooshed out of his lungs at once and he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. But in the best way possible. She remembered! She remembered him. And against all odds, it seemed she still wanted him. A resolve he didn't know he was holding onto snapped. He grabbed her upper arms, twirling her to face him, pulling her flush against him so that her chest pressed firmly against his own.
"You remember?" he demanded, suddenly ravenous to hear the words. He didn't think he could live for one more minute without knowing for certain. If there was even a chance….
Her smile was self-satisfied and sudden. "I remember everything," she breathed. "And I forgive you. And I still love you."
Her face was so close now he could feel the warm moistness of her breath ghosting over his lips. Had he leaned down towards her or had she stretched up towards him?
"Belle" was the only word he managed to form before he cheerfully waved goodbye to the last of his self-control and closed the last hairsbreadth of distance between them.
Her lips were as sweet and intoxicating as he remembered, and she still tasted like strawberries, though there was a smoky hint at play now too. Her soft, plump lips pressed against his and her arms twined around his neck. She sighed into his mouth with utter contentment, pressing herself against him as close as she could.
His tongue swept ever so gently across her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to him immediately, a wanton moan she didn't know she could sound escaping her lips.
He slipped inside her mouth instantly, tracing every ridge and bit of velvet warmth with a thoroughly skilled and curling tongue. All at once their kiss was anything but slow, anything but gentle, anything but hesitant. It was passionate and powerful, the world around them fell away, and shooting stars went off behind Belle's eyelids like fireworks as he clutched her more tightly, one arm wrapping around her waist, one hand burying itself in her tresses.
She hung onto him for all she was worth as her knees threatened to give from pleasure. He tasted like whiskey and tea and magic and it lit fire in her veins. His scent invaded her nose, twining around her senses, full of the wet musk of dark soil, the ancient crispness of old paper, and the sharp tang of power and it made heat like lava pool low in her belly.
It was better than she remembered, better than anything her dreams could conjure. It was worth the heartbreak and the torture and the never-ending, agonizing waiting.
His lips slanted against hers as if they'd been molded for hers, and when she couldn't resist looking at his face to make sure that this was real a second longer, she saw that he was as lost in their kiss as it was possible for a person to be. Her eyes fluttered shut again and she let the moment sweep her away to the place where only the two of them existed.
'This is what True Love is supposed to be like,' Belle thought in a haze of heat and magic and him before the last of her thinking fled altogether. 'You know, the books don't really do it justice.'
And then he made the most delicious little growl as she sucked gently on his lower lip and ran her fingers through the dark silky hair threaded with silver that she'd been dying to touch for ages now. The sound vibrated straight through her being, her toes curled against her sandals, and she thought nothing else coherent until the sun dappling their skin through the leaves had long sunk below the trees.
