He didn't have a name.

More precisely, he didn't know what that name was. The Dark One was more of an honorific title than a name. Rumpelstiltskin was the name of the mortal he was bound to, but it wasn't his name. His name had been lost to time. He had come to enjoy the name Mr. Gold during the years here in the cursed land. It suited him far better than any other name he could remember. Mr. Gold's name was whispered and feared. He liked that. He didn't have access to his magic, and so he couldn't do any real damage. That was unfortunate. He could keep rents high and keep the town on the edge of panic, placing them in positions where they would have to come to him to make a deal. They would thank him to his face when he agreed to take their baubles, or children in the case of that Ashley woman, even as he caused most of their problems to begin with. Money was the magic of this land and that made Mr. Gold as powerful here as The Dark One had been in the old lands.

That was before Emma Swan ruined everything. When the haphazard savior came to town and the memories of that sad sack spinner returned. Suddenly everything was all about getting his son back or mooning over a chipped cup. Rumpelstiltskin sat and stared at that stupid tea set, but it was Mr. Gold who had beaten the man who stole it within an inch of his life. If Rumple had been in control in that moment he probably would have drown Moe French in tears, or else he would have just run away as he always did. The spinner wasn't a man who expressed anger. He repressed it all until it turned into guilt and regret.

Mr. Gold on the other hand, regretted nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

The malevolent force started to get dressed, pushing aside those stuffy suits that the mortal preferred and searching out the only pair of jeans in his wardrobe. They weren't quite the leathers he loved but they were close enough in this world. He pulled on a shirt and skipped the tie, they reminded him too much of a noose, and grabbed the cane to keep up appearances. The Dark One didn't feel pain, or much of anything at all. It was as if the world was dulled when experienced through his immortal eyes. In order for him to feel anything it had to be more. It needed to be sweeter, stronger, and more savage.

He rarely got the chance to fully sate these needs. The spinner would usually take over at the last minute and pull back from the edge. But he wasn't here tonight. But his wife was. He felt like doing a jig in excitement. For the first time since she had been returned he would get her all to himself. No more having to be satisfied with taking over in moments when Rumpelstiltskin was too overwhelmed to stop him. No more watching from the sidelines at her smooth skin that begged to be slapped and spanked and made to be as red as her lips.

Coming down the stairs he saw her in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. "Wife," he called out, "Why don't you put that away. We could go out to dinner."

"You seem to have made a miraculous recovery," Belle said, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. He leaned forward to kiss her, tugging lightly on her bottom lip before he pulled away.

"Yes, so let's celebrate by going out for a lovely meal."

She was wearing a silk robe and nothing else. "Are you being serious? I need to go upstairs and change."

He grabbed the tied sash around her waist and used it to pull her to him. "You may go upstairs, but I refuse to let you ever change. I've waited so long to have you to myself…maybe we shouldn't go out after all. I would be perfectly fine laying you out on the dining room table and devouring every inch of you."

Belle's breath hitched at his words, the image they made in her mind, and she wondered if someone could climax from words alone. "I'll go get dressed," she finally said, scurrying upstairs as her husband's eyes watched her.

He had insisted on driving with the top down, even though it was drizzling. "Don't you just love the wind in your hair?" he yelled over the sound of the engine. Belle turned all the vents on her as she moved the heat to its maximum level.

"Did you just run that stop sign?"

"Those things are really more of a suggestion than a rule."

"Rum," she said, "I'm cold." He was about to complain when he felt her body moving closer to him, forcing his arm around her shoulder in a partial embrace. He slowed down, not trusting his ability to react with his senses so distracted by the smell of roses in her hair or the small gooseflesh he could feel on her arm. By all accounts this was impossible. The Dark One could walk through a field of rotting corpses and not notice the smell because he was so detached from the mortal realm, and yet he could smell Belle's shampoo, and soap, and even the mint from her toothpaste.

He pulled his arm away and put the roof up.

The restaurant was a snooty French place operated by a former court chef who had a special talent with seafood. Dr. Whale, background still unknown, was on a date with Maid Marian. Turned out that given the freedom of this world Robin preferred the company of his Merry Men. Archie was at a table with the former Mother Superior, looking as miserable as anyone would be with that blue troublemaker. The Dark One wanted to growl at her, but Belle only waved and graced them with one of her lovely smiles.

"Maybe this was a mistake," he muttered. He didn't like other people getting Belle's smiles. He wanted everything for himself. It would have been easier in the Dark Castle where she would have belonged to him alone forever. Belle misunderstood his intentions however and assumed he was concerned about her safety. That was the reason he always gave for being a homebody.

"Oh no! We go out so rarely. It will be nice. I promise." The waiter went to pull out her chair but Gold batted him away with his cane. He offered the seat with a flourish planting a kiss in her hair as she sat. He chose the seat to her left instead of being across from her, close enough so that their knees touched under the table.

Belle found his hand and linked her fingers with his own. "I know why you're nervous," she said, "But it's okay. I'm safe. Nobody can hurt me again."

"Nobody?"

"You'll protect me."

He pulled his hand from hers and gripped her thigh under the table. "But who will protect you from me?"

He ordered dinner for both of them, cheese fondue first course followed by duck for him and a rockfish for her. Belle struggled with her bread falling off the skewer and being lost in the melted cheese. He plucked the long fork from her hand and began feeding her.

"Rumple, people are looking at us!"

"Of course they are. We're quite the site. Beauty and the beast…although if anyone else called you a beast they wouldn't live to do it again."

She laughed too loudly, gaining even more glares from the other fairy tale residents in the restaurant. She didn't care. Had they ever laughed out loud in public? Did they ever allow people to see how happy they were? Belle knew that people liked her as much as they hated her husband. Part of it was the fact that they didn't get to see him like this.

Of course, when was the last time he had ever been like this? Feeding her. Laughing. Teasing her thighs with his hands under the table. Even at home there were only glimpses of this playfulness.

After the main course and a desert of chocolate dipped strawberries, that he had insisted on feeing her by hand along with kissing away the juice as it dripped on her lips, they walked to the car. He clicked the remote to unlock the car, but held fast to Belle's arm as she tried to walk to the passengers door.

"What?"

He stared at her with such intensity that her heart skipped a beat. Before she could ask anything more he pinned her against the driver's side door and kissed her breathless. The metal of the car door was cold against her back and the dress she wore only came to her mid-thighs. Well, that was where it normally fell, but he had worked it up to her hip. He was fondling her ass while working his hands underneath her thin panties. When his hand brushed against her wet sex she bit him.

It wasn't intentional, and when he pulled away she started to apologize. "I'm sorry Rum…"

He kissed her harder then. "Don't speak," he growled, "Don't say a word except yes."

That was exactly what she said over and over again as his fingers danced inside of her. It was overwhelming. He could smell her musk, feel her silky walls trembling beneath him, and taste her skin. When she was close to climax he withdrew his hand harshly. He could feel himself on the verge of his own release, spurred on by her reaction. He needed to be inside her.

It was a tight fit to get her straddling his lap in the driver's seat but it didn't matter. It only took a few thrusts for him to finish, even as Belle was still on her own verge. "Don't worry dearie," he said as he ran his tongue along her neck, "We have the entire night before us. I'm not nearly done with you."

The next morning Rumpelstiltskin woke up with a splitting headache, his leg feeling as if it was a pin cushion, and his body draped over the dining room table. Belle was next to him, curled underneath a quilt that was normally on the couch. She rolled over in his arms, the blanket slipping slightly from her shoulders exposing her back marred with deep red scratches. His fingers traced them. How had that happened? Slowly he realized that they were the exact size of his own fingers. There were the first signs of bruises on the back of her neck. He moved to touch it, his hand fitting perfectly on the purple mark.