A/N If this work is removed, I'm gettin a Tumbrl account
"I knew I'd find you in a shithole like that!" came the booming voice from behind him and the hand that landed a heavy blow to his back almost sent him flying face-first into the table. The man grunted and clenched his fist, spinning around on his stool, arm raised in the air to greet the stranger with a matching punch in the face but froze when his eyes met the familiar toothy grin.
"Jones, you bastard, I've told you not to sneak up on me!" he grumbled, lowering his fist and standing up. "I almost knocked out your choppers."
"Then it's a good thing my trademark devilish grin saved me from such destiny, eh, mate?" the pirate winked at him and they both laughed. Gaston let himself be pulled into a bear hug that, quite frankly, knocked the wind out of him. Despite being shorter by a head, Killian never lacked the strength and the taller man was quite happy to be released from the crushing embrace after several heavy pats on the back.
"Anything changed while I was roaming the seven seas?" Jones asked, walking around the table to deposit himself on a stool across from the other man.
"Never quite understood your passion for salty water," Gaston commented and his companion quirked his brow mockingly.
"Same goes for you, you land rat. Have you stirred any trouble while I was away?"
"Not really, just the usual stuff."
Jones flipped the folds of his long coat, propping his legs on the table while his back rested against the wall. Gaston eyed probably expensive but nevertheless filthy boots disapprovingly and moved his mug away not to have it knocked over.
"What is the poison of the day?" the man drawled, snatching the mug and taking a good sniff. "My, my," he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, "you've finally acquired good taste!"
Killian had to duck his head to the side to avoid an empty nutshell that was flung at his head. He sipped from the mug, smacking his lips in delight.
"Excellent rum, although I'd much rather have it in a flask. And expensive too, as far as I can tell," he passed the mug back to Gaston who scowled and wiped the rim with his shirt sleeve before taking a swig himself. "Where's the coin coming from?"
"Sold some property," he replied carelessly.
"And got a good deal, eh? I'll drink to that," the pirate decided, beckoning a pretty red-haired serving wench with his finger. "I'll have what my friend has, love," he said playfully and smacked the giggling girl on the bottom, sending her hurrying away to fulfill the order.
"Don't even think of it, Jones," Gaston warned him darkly. "I've already made arrangements with her for the night."
"Why do you need that whore when you have your little pet?"
"Diversity," he shrugged, swishing the remains of rum in the mug. "Besides, I sold her."
"Pity, pity," Jones agreed with genuine sadness in his voice, accepting the drink from the girl and gulping down a good measure of the liquor in one swallow. He sighed, running his thumb over his upper lips almost dreamily. "I tell yer, mate, if only you accepted the bet, I could make that pretty bird sing under my touch, no magic required."
"Well, it hardly matters now, does it?" Gaston remarked thoughtfully and turned around to cough and spit onto the floor; the conversation died away, as the two men proceeded with emptying the tankards.
"You know what, Jones," Gaston snarled, slamming the mug onto the table with more force than necessary. He got drunk quicker and his face reddened while his speech became slurred, the tiny droplets of saliva bubbling up in the corners of his mouth. "Another one," he bellowed, waving his hand in the air and shaking his head so hard, a wisp of hair escaped his ponytail and fell across his eyes. He tucked it behind his ear irritably, frowning at the man sitting across him. "I think you could fetch her back for me!"
"Who, me?" Killian repeated, eyebrows shooting up with polite interest. "How did you even get an idea like that?"
"Cause you have a nose of a hound!" he replied, knocking himself in the chest to elicit a belch or a hiccup that make the pirate scrunch up his nose in mild disgust. "You can find whatever treasure you set your mind to."
"As much as your compliment is appreciated, it's gold and not your bedroom toy I am interested in," he said airily, waving his hand and making the rubies on his ringed fingers shine maliciously in the candlelight.
"I have gold," Gaston said sulkily. "Besides, wouldn't you offer a discount to your old friend?"
"Gaston, mon cher ami," Killian offered in a sing-song voice, burring to mock the man's accent even though the fellow was too drunk to notice, "just because I know you, I'd charge a triple." The corners of the pirate's mouth drooped as he pressed his long-fingered hand over his heart. "As much as it pains me to say no, I must decline."
"Just so," the other man agreed. "I'll find someone else. The girl is probably full of disease right now."
"How do you mean?" Jones questioned, watching with amusement as his friend's eyes tried to focus on him.
"Sold her to some dwarf," he grumbled, snorting a laugh as he remembered his buyers. "Three feet in height at best, but the git had money. I raised the bid and he still wanted to buy her. Not that I blame him 'course not. The bitch was comely and looking like that, it was his only chance."
"What did he look like?" Killian cocked his head to the side and stroking his fingers over his chin. "Couldn't be uglier than you, could he?"
"Ha-ha, Jones. No, he had some kind of… scabs. All green and filthy. And his eyes…" Gaston shuddered. "Like an alligator of some sorts."
"A crocodile."
"What the fuck is the difference, anyways? I sold it to him and he paid in gold. She probably dreams of the days she belonged to me, I reckon."
"I'll tell you what, Gaston," the pirate said, leaning forward and putting a hand over the other man's wrist when he tried to raise his mug. "I will help you get the lass back, but while I do it, I get to skin myself a crocodile, aye?"
"Aye," Gaston agreed slowly, his full lips spreading in a vicious grin as the clicked their mugs in a toast, both quite content with the outcome of the meeting.
Belle slowly drifted awake, wincing as pain shot through her neck when she tried to move it. She was resting on something harder than a pillow and it took her a moment to realize that it was her master's arm.
"Morning," he whispered into her hair, voice thick and cracking up from not being used for several hours. "How are you feeling?" he asked worriedly and the question puzzled her. How should she feel? She was rested, despite the nightmare that kept her up half of the night and the uncomfortable angle that made her neck crunch in protest. Her stomach growled hungrily and she could feel the insistent pressure of her bladder but did her master want to hear all that?
"Not bad," she opted for the safest variant and he sighed, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze before sliding out of bed. He clothed himself with a puff of magic, making her feel silly for her tousled hair and puffy eyes. "Do you need help dressing up?" he asked kindly, his words holding no cruel mocking that they could otherwise imply; he seemed willing to help but she shook her head, preferring to spend longer putting clothes on herself than being treated like an overgrown doll. "Alright then. Bathroom is there," he quickly jabbed his thumb in the direction of small door in the furthest corner of the bedroom. "Shall I see you at breakfast, dearie?" Rumple waited for her affirmative nod before exiting the room, his springy step making his wild curly hair bounce around.
Wondering why her master was in such high spirits today, Belle relieved herself and washed her hands and face the best she could; she would probably have to ask for a proper bath later but for now she was content with running a wet cloth over her body. She did have to go all the way back to her room, to pick something to wear and struggle with the endless row of buttons her clothing had. When she finally joined her master in the dining room, he stood up to greet her but clicked his tongue in irritation, catching her arm when she tried to lower herself on the floor at his feet.
"Dearie, I don't want you to sit on the floor," he said and she raised her head, looking at him in confusion. "You can sit on the chair, I assure you they are quite comfortable."
"B-but master, that would be insulting to your home," she stuttered and the man rolled his eyes.
"I have no posh relatives, if you must know, and the castle won't really care if you sit at the table," he said, lowering his voice before adding in a confiding whisper, "It's not animated, you know, it can't see you."
He dropped back onto his seat, pulling out the chair next to him and looking at her expectantly.
"Master," she protested weakly and he sighed.
"Do you want me to get down onto the floor with you?" he asked seriously, raising his brows and she shifted on her feet, uncertain whether it was a real question or an attempt to mock her. "Or would you prefer to sit on my lap? Choose either, dearie," he offered and Belle bit her lip. She stood between his parted legs, turning sideways and perched herself on his knee.
"Ah, the last one was a joke, actually," he said, the blood rushing to his face and making his skin darker, two uneven blotches of colour spreading across his cheeks.
"Is it wrong? Should Belle move?" the girl asked worriedly, but he curled his arm around her middle, sliding her closer to him.
"Now that I come to think of it, everything turned out rather pleasantly," he murmured, avoiding her stare. "No, dearie, you do not have to move unless you want to."
Belle didn't know whether she did or not, feeling upset with herself; when she was given an opportunity to choose, she found herself at a loss, uncertain and doubting at what she should do. His hip wasn't the most comfortable seat but neither was the floor. Anyhow, her master seemed pleased, almost glowing as after she finished her omelet, the girl nibbled the blueberry cupcake he held to her lips. His eyes darkened as he watched her lick the frosting from her lips and her stomach turned into a cold lead ball. Did this proximity make him desire her? She became too aware of the places their bodies connected – his hand on her side, the heat of his chest pressed against her, the way her own legs were captured so intimately between his.
Rumpelstiltskin slowly licked his fingers, cleaning up the sticky crumbs and her breath hitched at the open sensuality of the gesture. He looked at her and the girl expected him to act out on his mood – lascivious or turning into such rather quickly – but when he bent forwards, he did it only to pick up the napkin to wipe his hand. Feeling relieved, she couldn't help a soft sigh escaping and the man regarded her with amused curiosity.
"Would you like to see that lake I talked about, dearie?" he said, in no rush to push her off his lap even though she was probably too heavy to let her weight rest on his hip for so long. "Or, perhaps, the market? I don't need anything, frankly, but it could make for a nice walk once I transport us there. Or we could take a carriage. What do you think?" He bounced her on his knee a little, making her squeak in surprise and hold onto his neck to keep her balance. The man was exceptionally cheerful in a contagious sort of way.
"There was a book Belle was reading," she began carefully; it was pushing her luck, no less, but she didn't feel like going out and meeting the judging eyes of people who would look at her as the thing. The walls of the library could be her prison but they provided protection as well, and she'd much prefer spending her time distanced away from her troubles, engrossed in the lives of fictional persons than facing the problems of her own.
"Ah, say no more. You want me to get lost and leave you to your reading," Rumpelstiltskin concluded.
"Belle didn't mean to…"
"It's fine, dearie, I asked what you wanted to do and got my reply. Now, I have one grave condition," he said almost menacingly, "you will have to come down for lunch with me."
"Belle accepts this insufferable burden, master," she snorted, realizing only too late how her cheeky words sounded. Rumpelstiltskin's smile only widened at that and he reached for her hand, pressing a kiss to the tips of her fingers. Belle gasped but he didn't let her jerk her hand back.
"You're most generous to accept this clearly unfavorable offer," he noted, pressing light kisses up her palm until his lips met the warm silver of her shackles. "You have my undying gratitude, dearie," he said huskily and despite his words being innocent, the way his purring voice echoed through her made the colour creep up her neck.
"Beautiful," he praised, straightening the lace of her bodice and slowly shifting his eyes to her face. He looked at her for several moments, parting his lips as if he was about to say something else, but shutting his mouth and gently sliding her onto the floor.
"Off you go, dearie, your book adventures await you," he sang, rising to walk her to the library. "I shall be away in the tower, in case you need something," he informed her and the girl nodded, starting to believe that, perhaps, her fate was not as miserable as she viewed it at first.
"No one breaks a deal with the Dark one, dearie!" he snapped, startling the girl and making her drop the book she was holding. She gasped as his voice sounded too close to her ear despite the absence of any other sounds aside from her breathing and the rustle of pages she turned only a moment ago. Did he sneak up behind her intentionally or did she lose track of everything except for the plotline?
"You were supposed to come down for lunch and what do I find, hm?" he whispered against her ear, his warm hands cupping her shoulders lightly. His palms moved back and forth, the pads of his thumbs massaging her tense shoulders. He kept touching her and Belle expected his movements to get rougher, demanding, but he appeared to be in no rush to do anything besides that. His fingers rubbed and kneaded her muscles and she awaited a command to do the same for him or to go fetch tea or anything; it was pleasant, disturbingly so but she couldn't see any reason for her master to be doing it without some hidden motive. She forced herself to stay alert even though his fingers did their best to turn her into a puddle, deliberately slow moves blissfully erasing every thought from her mind.
"Is there a room on this couch for me?" his voice returned her back into the present and she scooted over, almost trying to dissolve into the arm rest. The man lingered behind her, before appearing with a tea tray he carefully placed onto the floor in front of them. She noticed one of the cups was chipped on the rim and wondered why he still hadn't disposed of it.
"I thought you might not be hungry since you hadn't come down," he said apologetically, passing her a cup, "but I figured a tea break would never hurt."
Belle accepted it but simply held her cup in her hand, staring at her master. What was wrong with him today? What was the reason for this mood; what had happened to make him happy enough to forget his position and serve her?
"Has master learnt some good news today?" she tried hesitantly, watching him blow at his cup before sipping the steamy tea. He closed his eyes briefly with the expression of pure enjoyment, before cracking them open again to look at the girl. She was sitting in a rather un-ladylike fashion, one leg bent under her body as she kicked her slippers away, her toes sinking into the soft carpet.
"Nope," he replied cheerfully, not bothered by the lack of good news or her curiosity at the slightest.
It would be unwise to keep questioning so she settled for it, dismissing this eerie lightheartedness as one of her master's quirks. He finished his tea and didn't chide her for refusing food but neither did the man seem in a hurry to leave.
"Read to me?" he asked gently, stretching his arm along the back of the couch so that his fingers almost touched her shoulder. "If that's not too much trouble for you, of course."
It wasn't and she picked up from the place she left off, smoothing out the pages of the book with regret where they got wrinkled from the volume landing face down on the floor. She didn't quite understand why he wanted her to read to him; the girl's voice trembled at first but as she got engrossed in the story once again, she paid more mind to the words than the fact that her master was watching her closely, his eyes unmoving and too attentive for her taste.
His fingers brushed against the fabric of her gown but she hadn't stopped reading. The man paused, but then his fingers moved again, his hand casually wrapping around her shoulder. Belle broke off midsentence and turned her head, watching him from the corner of her eye. He froze as she shut the book, holding her finger between the pages to mark her spot.
"Does master want something?" she asked, keeping her voice plain not to turn the question into an arrogant one.
"I uh… no," he said softly, mimicking her pose and sliding a leg under himself. "Is your voice tired of reading?"
"No."
Belle had begun reading from the same paragraph, concentrating more on his movements than what was happening in the book. The sneaky hand returned, crawling on the back of the sofa to rest on it, at the same time resembling a loose embrace as the silk sleeve touched her back. Rumpelstiltskin edged a bit closer, peeking at the page over her shoulder; she could no longer pretend nothing was happening when his hair brushed her cheek. Her body just went rigid, awaiting something terrible to happen but his chest expanded as he sighed and he withdrew his hand, getting up.
"I shan't disturb you anymore, dearie," he said deliberately cheerfully, "enjoy your reading."
His exit only made her feel worse, the sudden absence of his warmth behind her making the girl wrap her arms around herself even though the room was quite warm. She put the book aside, losing all interest in it, the plot twists forgotten and rather insignificant compared to the riddle that occupied her mind. Had her master wanted anything, he'd take what he desired without anyone or anything preventing him to do so; both his own magic and her collar enabling him to achieve whatever he required. Yet, he seemed to expect something from her, and despite being reassured, the girl sensed something was amiss. Should she have pretended nothing happened and waited to see what would come of it? Belle didn't think he was excited, she didn't see it nor did she feel his arousal. Could it be that he truly meant it when he said he enjoyed touching her? He implied he was pleased when he caressed her a certain way yet she doubted the library couch was fit for any kind of bedroom activities.
She twisted her chain in her fingers as she tried to understand his behavior. It all had been very strange; he didn't demand her to clean or cook or please him. In fact, she hadn't heard him voice any kind of command. Was he just waiting to show his true colours when she least expected or was he indeed… nice? Belle looked at the silver that shone dimly in her fingers. She saw no reason for her master not be tempted by power; from her experience, such permissiveness brought out the darkest in people. Despite what the rumours said, so far he had proved to be more human than many, and she really should quit being selfish and give him a chance.
She worked up the courage to leave the library only when the sun was setting down, highlighting the clouds with blood-red and deep orange. The girl found him at the spinning wheel, the soft creak of wood ceasing as she approached.
"Belle brought a new book," she explained as his eyebrows shot up. "We could… start over?"
Rumpelstiltskin watched the girl silently lower herself onto the carpet, meticulously straightening her skirts as he murmured in protest against her sitting on the floor. She leaned against his legs as she began reading and this time, when his hand tentatively touched her hair, she didn't flinch. She didn't think he heard a word of what she was saying, enjoying the sound of her voice rather than the events of a light-natured tale she picked, but Rumpelstiltskin snorted several times at the comical moments as he ran his fingers through the locks, his nails gently grazing her skull in the most exquisite way.
"I think we should take a break, dearie," he chuckled as her stomach made a long rumbling noise. "You won't deny you are hungry now, will you?"
He helped her up, placing his palm on her back to gently guide her to the table. He was touching her a lot but not in a way that caused her much distress once she realized it didn't have to lead to anything else.
"Are you going to choose the chair this time?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twisting up at her delay to sit down. He leaned back in his chair, giving her a challenging look. It must have been quite amusing, but she quickly found a solution.
"No, ma-aster," she said breathily, sounding incredibly brash and daring to her own ears, as she deposited herself on his lap. He looked exceptionally content at her impudence; something master Gaston would never tolerate seemed to appeal to master Rumpelstiltskin greatly. Belle had to stop comparing, of course, but it was not easy to think differently and even more difficult to behave the way she never had.
"Where does the food come from?" she asked, as a bowl of steaming stew and a basket of crispy bread appeared from nowhere.
"From the kitchen, naturally," he replied, half-embracing her as his right hand reached for a bun.
"And how does it get to the kitchen?"
"From the market. The villagers leave food supplies in the agreed place and it's transferred to my pantry in exchange for gold. That way they don't have to be frightened by my visits and I avoid boring myself by seeing them fall to the ground in my presence."
"But who cooks it?" Belle pressed, taking advantage of his talkativeness.
"Little house elves," Rumpelstiltskin teased and she blinked, uncertain whether it was another quip. "There is no need for anyone to cook, dearie, magic of the castle takes care of that too."
"There is magic in the castle?" she repeated doubtfully. "But master said castle was not animated."
"Well, yes, but it doesn't mean it cannot follow a simple command."
"Master commands the castle to cook and it just happens?"
"Exactly. I think once you've spent enough time here, it will recognize you and follow your orders as well."
The girl grew quiet for a while, chewing her food thoughtfully and frowning a little.
"Master would allow Belle to use the castle's magic?"
"I do not see why I wouldn't", he shrugged and she found nothing to say back to him.
Belle was in no hurry to slide off his lap when she was sated, feeling oddly comfortable; she even took the liberty to rest her head on his shoulder, the warmth and tranquility making her sleepy.
"Belle?" he called when her eyelids began drooping, heavy all of a sudden and all she managed to say back was a muffled 'hmm'. "You can stay in your room, you know. For the night. You don't need to be sleeping in my bed; I could provide you the draught for dreamless sleep for the nightmares."
"So Belle can go?" she asked.
"Of course, dearie, of course," Rumpelstiltskin tried not to look too disappointed as she slipped onto the floor but lingered, switching from one foot to the other.
"Belle would like to wash herself," she offered quietly and the man wiggled his fingers dismissively.
"I'll fill the tub in your room."
She thanked him but as the girl undressed and slipped into the warm water that caressed her skin like the finest silk, she began thinking she was a bit unfair. Belle thoroughly washed herself, not spending more time than necessary so as not to let the bath relax her muscles to the point where she'd be too sleepy to do anything else. She toweled herself dry and wrapping it around herself, opened the wardrobe to pick a nightgown. They all were quite lovely, soft pastel colours that one way or the other would complement her skin or eyes, but she felt she had to look extra appealing tonight. Biting her lip as she hesitated, running her hands along the rich fabric, she made her decision. Her master had been nothing but gentle and considerate and she needed to give him something in return. Her suspicion that he liked to touch her and didn't object to being touched was only confirmed during their dinner; and since there was only one thing she could really gift to him, she would do just that.
Rumpelstiltskin couldn't hold back a small smile when he saw her curled up in his bed. The girl's eyes were closed and he stilled his hand that almost instinctively reached to pet her hair, concluding he shouldn't disturb her. He changed quickly, extinguishing the light and sliding under the blanket. Belle waited several moments, but the man simply lay on his back, arms limp along his body, not trying to reach for her; the otter-clinging would come later in the night when he was asleep.
"Master?" she called softly, scooting over when he hummed in response. She cupped his hand and not allowing herself another second to think and back away, placed it on her chest.
Rumple gasped when his fingers met bare flesh. He made a pathetic whimper when her small nipple grazed his palm, a jolt of malleable arousal shooting down his back.
"Belle," he choked, lost and miserably excited, feeling bad for wishing it so much and hoping she wasn't going to push him away and at the same time incredibly light-headed.
"Yes," she said, her small hand keeping his in place. "Yes," she repeated as a permission; her little mantra and encouragement.
His fingers trembled treacherously as he gently squeezed her breast, even the smallest touch adding to his obscene arousal. He wanted her illogically, desperately, the broken thing, whose life depended on his choices and his kindness. Rumple tried to be slow despite the desire burning in the pit of his stomach, but his clumsy hands refused to cooperate, being too numb to let his mind fully enjoy the touch.
He rolled onto his belly, groaning as his cock dug into his body, trapped beneath him and the mattress. He propped himself on his elbows, ducking his head to her chest. She smelled like the soap and freshness, helpless in her non-existing innocence under his lips. He traced the soft swell of her breast with kisses, regretting that he couldn't actually see what he was doing but also content she couldn't see him either to change her mind. He swiped his tongue around the hard point of her nipple and she squeaked; he slowly circled her areola, his rough tongue following the contour where the tender velvety flesh blended into the skin of her breast, feeling it crinkle up at the contrasting warmth of his tongue and the air.
He closed his lips around it and sucked, the girl squirming under him. He stroked her sunken belly, calmingly dragging his fingertips up and down as he switched his attention to her left nipple. He gradually moved his palm to her hip, languid light strokes contradicting the insistent need that pulsed in his head. He had to take her, have her clench around him and claw at his back as he'd drive himself deep, so deep he could dissolve in her sweet heat.
When he pressed his fingers against her core, he found that she was dry. Probably nervous or he might have been rushing things; he could ask her again if she was certain, but the selfish coward in him protested. He shifted, slipping lower on the bed and parting her legs. Rumpelstiltskin pressed a kiss to her knee, placing one on the inner side of her hip and at the apex of her thighs. Spreading her gently with the fingers of the other hand, he moaned as he dragged his tongue from the center of her folds up to her clit. He lapped at her slowly, regretting that he didn't get to actually taste her excitement. Belle was mostly quiet, only her quickened breathing giving away she was conscious and he wondered if that was a thing of her past, being quiet and obedient, unused to enjoyment. She was unbearably soft and delicate and he kissed and licked and nibbled on the tender flesh, pressing his wet thumb to the tight ring of muscles at her entrance.
Rumple moved up when he no longer could fight the urge to bury himself inside of her. He braced himself on his outstretched arm, wrapping his left hand around his girth to guide himself in. His blunt tip nudged her open as he rotated his hips to gradually sink in. Her body didn't seem to accept the intrusion easily; she was tight, impossibly, mind-blowingly, blissfully tight and he gritted his teeth to keep going. It was difficult to move with her walls clenching around him and he rocked ever so slightly, just the pressure providing enough satisfaction to have the craving for release spiral down to his toes and back up to coil under his navel.
Belle could taste copper on her tongue from where she bit it. When her master kissed her chest, she felt a tiny spark of desire even despite her nerves being tight as a bow string. She tried to will herself to relax, breathing through her nose, but when his hands moved lower, first to her belly and then her legs, bile rose to her throat. She kept mentally repeating the same sentence, that he wasn't going to hurt her – he hadn't so far; it would be better if she came to him on her own accord than have him force himself on her. Or even worse – he wouldn't care enough to make her do anything and unavoidably grow tired of her, selling her back to master Gaston or disposing of her in some other way.
When his warm breath fanned her private area, she had to fight the instinct to shut her legs and move away. She didn't understand why he would ever want to do such a thing; it was shameful and dirty and simply wrong. She was wet with his saliva, feeling sloppy and desecrated as his tongue swirled and licked and pressed against her. Her master groaned and Belle choked back a miserable whimper, her hands grasping the sheets to keep her mind off the present; he seemed to like what he was doing and she had to endure it, secretly praying it wouldn't last long.
It was only worse when he moved up and she felt his hardness between her legs. Unwanted tears welled in her eyes and she drew short scared breaths; the muscles of her belly contorted as her body protested and tried to push him out as he violated her, expanding and filling her with his hard flesh.
He sighed and groaned above her, her limp body being slid up the sheet each time he thrust in. It didn't hurt but she couldn't stand it, the labored breathing and the disgusting squelching sound of their bodies connecting. Belle didn't know what to do with her hands or her legs and she counted up to a hundred, squeezing her eyes shut in a hope he would have finished by then. But he went on and on, even as she reached to three hundred. Burning hot tears slid from the corner of her eyes as he kept the slow pace, invading her over and over, prolonging the torture as he sighed, slamming his body against hers. She broke when he snarled her name, and tried to muffle her sob with her hand but it was too late.
"Belle?" he called, stopping dead. "Belle, what's wrong?"
He reached for her face, his fingers encountering the moisture on her cheeks and he wheezed as if he was punched in the stomach. She could feel him soften almost immediately and a moment later he rolled off her. His hands shook uncontrollably as he attempted to wipe the tears from her face.
"Belle I am sorry, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," he spoke rapidly, as if trying to erase the previous moment by chanting for forgiveness over and over. He wished she'd pushed him away or screamed or done anything to make him stop. Her silence mortified him and his stomach rolled, acid burning in his throat. That's all he could do, wasn't it? Bring pain and apologize when it was too late. Realizing she was probably even more disgusted by his touch now, he jerked his hands away. "Belle, I am sorry I hurt you. I…" his insides grew cold and suddenly there were no words; he knew what people called him but never before had he grasped that they were right. He was a monster, an abomination, a half-demon with nothing human left in him. He wanted to run but he couldn't, there was no way to fix it but she depended on him.
"I won't happen again, I'll just…" He would just what? Wipe her memory clean? Pretend like nothing happened and just go on, seeing her shy away from him with pain and remorse in her eyes? Rumple covered his face when she sniffled; her hand softly landed on his shoulder and he jumped at the touch, but when he wanted to flee, her grip on him tightened.
"Master didn't hurt Belle," she objected, her mind flickering in search of words. Her initial terror subsided and with her mind calm, she found that she didn't ache or tear and probably didn't even bleed. The darkness was unsettling and just like the previous night, she seemed to let her fears take hold of her judgments. Her chains jingled as she moved closer, grateful for the absence of light that disguised her nudity. The girl didn't understand why exactly he was upset, but it was because of her and if she did it, she sensed she was the only one to set it right.
"Master," she pleaded, uncertain what else she could say. He turned away, his back rigid and she tried for the only comforting gesture she knew, the one he used with her. Her nimble fingers sneaked into his hair even as he tried to wince away. He was tense and unyielding, but when her palm cupped his face it was dry, although contorted in a grimace.
"Master," she repeated worriedly, forgetting that a moment ago it was she who cried. His hurt was almost tangible and she fidgeted when he didn't respond. "What did Belle do wrong?"
He shuddered as if her words sliced him and there it was, a hot droplet landing on her wrist.
"Master," Belle whimpered, unsettled by the tear and she cupped his face in both hands, bringing him closer and pressing her lips to his skin, kissing the bitter sorrow away. "Please…"
She couldn't seem to form a coherent sentence but he didn't require that; he hardly heard anything she said. Rumpelstiltskin either didn't want to touch her or didn't dare to; the girl swallowed nervously as she slid one hand around his shoulders, pulling him in an awkward hug as her right hand remained tangled in his hair. The man hid his face in the crook of her neck, the tickle of his hair almost eliciting an inappropriate giggle from her. His hands tentatively slid across her bare back but soon he was clinging to her for dear life and she held him with just as much ferocity. She didn't want to release him but the man shifted, carefully prying her hands off him.
"Master?" she whispered, voice full of concern. "Don't leave."
Rumple exhaled noisily and the next moment she found herself clothed. She tugged on his sleeve, trying to coax him down and he stretched out obediently. Belle wondered if she should apologize but decided not to take any chances with words; she silently pulled the blanket over them, wiggling to get comfortable. She found his hand and slid her fingers between his, sighing contently when he curled his upwards, drawing small circles on her knuckles.
He didn't push her away and she knew it was going to be alright, even as the collar tightened around her neck, getting slightly heated to signal that she failed to please her master.