POISON AND HALLELUJAHS: PART 3
~xx~
The surprise only lasts a second before he kisses her back. She is so desperate and so willing that he is almost scared of what might be provoking her actions, though questioning them is the furthest thing from his mind. He takes his hand up to her cheek, resting it there softly, and wonders if she does this on purpose.
Not the kissing, obviously that was always intentional, but the innocent begging that left him breathless, and the softness that was so horribly alluring.
He figured that if she did that on purpose, she was being cruel. He never has found himself so hopeless, so at mercy for someone's sweet kisses before. It does not help that all the while she is tugging softly at his hair, an action that goes straight to his groin.
She is doing her best to be rough about it. After all, she is certainly in no stable mental state after being wrung out by this man's ex-wife, and a minute part of her is doing this for revenge, but feeling his lips so soft and gentle against her hot, begging mouth is what makes her question her methods. Because although they clearly have different ideas about what is going on, she has never felt so incredibly in sync with someone else, and so she follows him, letting her aggression go and paying more attention to him than to her thoughts.
And he notices when she does this; when her hands leave his hair and rest on his shoulders, tugging at the material of his white coat. He shrugs it off quickly, taking her hint, while still keeping his mouth attached to hers as much as possible.
She tries undoing the buttons on his shirt while simultaneously taking a step backward until the backs of his knees hit the desk and he drops his cane, sitting down on the wooden edge. Belle pulls away from him slowly, dragging her teeth across the inside of his lower lip as she does so, then looks down at him with a sort of wicked nervousness in her eyes. He gives her no indication as to what he wants with his expression, for he feels it would be wrong for her to act based on his desires.
She gives him that same look for a few desperately silent seconds before placing her hands firmly on his shoulders and lifting her right leg, then her left to straddle him on the edge of the desk, feeling his already-hard length against her. He clasps his hands around her waist tightly as if he is afraid that she might slip away from him.
It is a valid fear, after all. He knows very well that Belle is far too good for him. She is only offering him her attentions because she is broken, and she will only be his if people continue to break her. The thought of that is painful. He does not want anyone to hurt her, even if it means that he will lose her. It is not worth it to keep her if it means she will only suffer because of it.
She looks down at her unfinished work on his buttons and places her icy fingers on the next one. He shivers at the contact her fingers make with his chest and she smiles a tiny smile, but says nothing. He holds her a bit tighter.
When she finishes with the last one, he grazes her jaw with his finger, an invitation for her to look back down at him, and when she does, her face is unreadable. He can only see beauty and a strange expression that he cannot comprehend, so he kisses her. Her mouths molds into his slowly this time, and her hands shove his dress-shirt off his shoulders and splay across his back. He breathes heavily, letting go of her mouth for only a second to do so.
He releases his grip on her waist and his fingers search around her neck for the tiny zipper holding her dress together. Her hair is almost blocking him from doing so, as she has her brown curls tied back in a low ponytail. Noticing this, she reaches back and unties her hair, letting it fall around them like a brown curtain, hiding them from the outside world, if only for this little bit.
He finds her zipper quickly then, and her dress falls as easily as her hair. He reaches for the clasp on her bra, but she murmurs, "No."
His hands stop instantly. "What?"
"Just...just do it. I don't need anything else." she says, pushing her dress down her torso, and then her knickers with it.
Her tone terrifies him. She sounds so scared and so agonizingly sad that he feels he could stop all of this, no matter how impossible it seems. "Belle..."
She shakes her head. "Please," she begs, "Just do as I say...I...I'll fix it later." she barely mutters the last sentence so quietly he is hardly sure it was ever even there.
She feels bad, using him like this and barely allowing him what he wants, but she needs him now...because he can give her more than she will ever be able to give herself, and when this is over, she might just get it again.
So she yanks on his buttons and zippers, trying not to let herself be distracted by what his hands are doing to the inside of her thighs. She had never been one to want a quick fuck so badly, but her head is spinning and she is toppling on what feels like the edge of a cliff. She wants to find release, not be teased for hours on end, because it already feels like time is slipping away.
"Belle, please, we have all night," she hears him say, but she merely shushes him, and even though is comes out gaspy and desperate-sounding, it is clear that he recognizes her intention because he does no press the issue.
Instead, he continues to make little circles in her thighs, getting closer to the warm heat at her centre, making her gasp and lose the control she is fighting to keep.
He runs his finger through her moist lips and groans. She can feel him twitch through the trousers she has been distracted from releasing completely. She pants and tries to regain herself, but fails in this when he begins toying with her clit, sending shivers through her body. She throws her head back, leaning forward and letting his fingers slip inside her.
She rocks against him helplessly, almost happy that he had chosen to ignore her request. Having him tease her was one of the better experiences she'd ever had, to say the least.
His skilled fingers are so good at finding little places that make her moan and arch up to him, but she can still feel his erection under her hand, and knows this must be painful for him.
"Gold," she pants, "Rum, I-I want you...to take me."
He is all too happy to hear those words. He withdrawals his hands from her—she is so wet and tight he can hear it—and she finishes what she had started with his trousers, letting him free at last.
He waits a moment, despite the fact that he is much too far gone now, but he is happy to bask in this second, and Belle seems to be too. Sitting in a stuffy office, on a table, with heaving breathing surrounding them, should not have felt so perfect.
His fingers, which are still grazing her folds delicately, move to his length and his other hand grasps her hip and he guides himself into her.
She tightens around him quickly and begins rocking again. It starts as slow, sweet lovemaking, but she hardly has the patience for it and soon she is bucking and gasping against his thrusting hips, toppling on the edge of something much different now, ready to find her release.
He flicks at her clit, making her back arch and she moans loudly and in doing so feels him release inside her. She moans again, even louder this time, and lets waves of please blind and wash over her.
She is only distantly aware of his lips finding hers again, of a sweet and beautiful kiss that he bestows upon a her shoulder, but she is very aware when the light and heat fades away and she is hanging limp over him with a heavy weight still on her shoulders.
He is aware of it, too.
Her face is buried in his shoulder and she is taking deep, heavy breaths, but refusing to look at him.
Does she not realize how happy she makes him? Does she not understand that he would rather be dead than not in this very position right now? He is the one who should be doubting anything. She is too beautiful...too perfect to think that she is anything less than that.
When she looks at him, he can see tears welling in her eyes and his stomach falls a bit. Of course, it is easy to understand why she would be crying. She just gave herself up to an old cripple for the second time. Obviously, that is not something that would make any woman smile.
He lifts his hand and catches her tears on his fingers. She sobs when he does this, and he tries not to let himself be broken by that. He does not want to say anything, for if he does he is in danger of breaking her, and he does not want to hurt his Belle. Not ever. Even if he has already done so with this.
He would like to ask her why she is crying. He would like to tell her that she is wrong to be upset, but the nagging voice in the back of his mind tells him that she is doing this out of regret, and she has a right to that. To say she should not feel wrong about giving herself to him would be a lie. She should not let him touch her. She should not have let him fall in love with her.
And perhaps that fact is what makes him cradle her head against his chest and continue to catch her tears while she sobs uncontrollably. It is because she makes him feel something almost unrecognizable, purely because he has never felt it before.
Her tangled hair tickles his chest and he flinches at the contact. Feeling this, she wraps her arms around his waist and cries a little harder, and he swears he hears her whisper, "Stay."
And he does. It might have been hours they sat on the edge of his desk, but eventually her tears ebb and her breathing steadies until she is asleep. It is then that he looks down at her and prods her shoulder a bit so that she is just barely awake, and fumbles with her buttons and zippers, making her look semi-presentable. Then he loops her arms around his neck and half-carries her out to his car, with her stumbling beside him.
When he pulls into the driveway, she finally opens her eyes.
"W-why did you bring me here?" she asks softly.
He blinks at her. "I don't know," he admits, "I couldn't just leave you, I-"
"I shouldn't be here."
"Belle, please-"
She opens the car door and starts to step out, but she is tired and delerious, so he reaches her before she can run away. He grabs her wrist, saying, "It's too late for this. Just come in and sleep. You'll be fine, you can leave in the morning."
She tries feebly to pull away from him, but the tiny part of her that is still thinking clearly tells her that she really has no place to go and leaving is a stupid idea. He's right, she can leave in the morning, before he even wakes up, and she can forget all of this.
He drags her into the house and she collapses on the couch, tears falling silently down her face. He gives her a pained expression, and immediately wishes that he hadn't since it only makes her tears come faster.
He throws a glance toward the little chipped teacup on the counter and then to the crying girl on his couch. He picks up the cup swiftly and walks over to her, sitting down next to her, and to his surprise, she doesn't flinch away from him.
"I want you to take this," he says, gesturing toward the cup in his hand, "I don't need it, and since you probably won't be returning, I-"
She shakes her head and pushes it back toward him. "No. I don't want anything."
He sighs, but the sigh is broken and pained. "Please, Belle. I insist that you take it."
Her hands clench into fists and she presses them into the couch cushions. "No," she says again, this time in almost a strangled cry.
Tears sting in his eyes and he pushes it toward her again. "I'm begging you, Belle. Please-"
And she takes it. She snatches it from his hands and hurls it across the room, watching it shatter on the floor while she bursts into broken, massive sobs. "Why wouldn't you just listen to me!?" she demands, "Why can't you just let it go!?"
He blinks slowly so that the tears will not overflow. "I'm sorry" he murmurs, so sincerely that it nearly brings her back to reality, "If you'd just tell me-"
"I don't have to tell you anything!" she screams, racing from the room and down the hall, collapsing against a door and quieting her tears as best she can.
~xx~
When her eyes open again, they are still moist, which is what tips her off to where she is, and what had happened the previous night.
She lying in the hallway, her face buried in the carpet, which smells like the rest of the house. Like Gold.
And then she remembers the rest of what had happened and she groans, sitting up and wiping dried tears from her face.
She had messed up again. He was never going to talk to her again. He must think she's crazy now. After all, she did a very satisfactory job of proving that to him.
Belle looks down the hallway, wondering if he is awake. She does not know how early it is, but he seemed to have been under the impression that she wanted to leave peacefully, without seeing him again, and she supposes that's true...or at least she thought it was. After all, if she sees him now, he'll question her about the previous night, and she is not sure she wants to have that discussion.
Of course she wants him to know her, even with all her little imperfections, but no matter what explanation she gives him, she knows that he will not understand. Hell, she hardly understands it herself.
She hears dishes clanking together and knows that he is up.
A part of her-the more cowardly part-wants to stay holed up in this hall until he leaves, and then sneak out when he is not looking so as to avoid an increasingly awkward encounter, but she knows it is far better to do the brave thing, and face him.
So Belle gathers herself and stands up, slowly making her way down the hallway into the kitchen. She is sore all over, from her back to all of her other muscles. Sleeping on the floor probably had not helped anything.
She sees him making coffee, already dressed and showered, and she feels a bit embarrassed in her crumpled dress and ratty hair. Her eyes probably do not look very nice either.
The look he gives her confirms her fears. He looks hurt, but as if he is trying to hide it.
"'Morning," he mutters.
She nods. "Good morning."
He does not say anything back. He only stares at the coffee pot, avoiding her gaze and making her feel like she is nothing. She stands awkwardly, knowing that she is not likely welcome to sit on any of his furniture
"I'm sorry!" she says, louder than she had meant to, and he jumps, just barely meeting her eyes before looking down again, "I mean, I'm sorry I...I broke your cup...and that I was acting crazy, I just...I felt horrible. It's been a miserable few weeks and I was ignoring everyone and my dad hates me and my roommate quit working with me and has a real, meaningful relationship, right after my ex cheated on me, then to top it all off your wife yelled at me and it just all...hit me, you know? I'm so sorry you had to see me that way, it is not your fault, I...I'm sorry."
She wonders if he was even able to decipher any of that.
"Lilac yelled at you?" he asks softly.
She feels like slamming her hand down on the counter and saying, "really!? That's what you took from that!?", but she doesn't. She just nods and swallows. "But it doesn't matter," she assures him, "She didn't mean to hurt my feelings or anything."
It is a lie, but she feels that he deserves some sort of reassurance that his ex-wife is not a completely horrible person.
"And I'm sorry I broke your cup," she says meekly, again, "I can fix it for you, maybe. I used to watch Micheal Tillman's kids before my dad kicked me out, and he fixes cars which is probably somewhat related to fixing other things, so-"
"It's fine, Belle," he says, in a voice that makes it clear that it is anything but, "Really, it's just a cup. And it was already damaged."
She nods again and tries to meet his eyes, but he is avoiding her gaze.
He pours the coffee into a travel-mug and makes his way to the door. "I've got to go to work. You can, ah, let yourself out."
She blinks at his back, hardly comprehending.
She refuses to believe that he could even think about leaving it like this. He may not be as fucked up as she is, but leaving her in the dust because she had finally succumbed to her injuries was...cowardly.
And she does not want to let him be a coward.
So she goes through his cabinets, looking for some sort of container, but all she can find is a bowl, so she considers it good enough and goes to inspect the pile of smashed china on the floor, courtesy of her craziness, and scoops the pieces into the bowl.
She'll fix it. After all, she told him she would.
She'll fix everything. Later.
A/N: So, I know I didn't help you guys at all with getting over Sunday...but at least I updated, right?
I'm questioning this chapter a bit since it doesn't give much closure, but it's very late and I really wanted to post it so you guys will just have to bear with me.
I might do some more spinoffs on these stories if I feel like it. If you guys want me to, just prompt me on my tumblr and I'll get to it. Thanks a ton! xoxo~Robin