A/N: The only thing I can say beforehand about this chapter is that it is hot, hot, hot. (-; I hope everyone enjoys the Golden Swan moments in this chapter.
Emma, if you're listening to this, call me back as soon as possible. I'm giving you five minutes. Beep.
Emma, why aren't you answering any of my calls? You do have both hands, right? Or did you give in and kill him? Sometimes, good people need to make difficult decisions. It was in the kitchen with the candlestick, wasn't it? Beep.
Emma, I am only going to say this once and I can't even believe I am saying it…but those handcuffs better still be on your wrist next time I see you. Or else that man better have a hook or have his face on a missing poster in the Town Square. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Her father wouldn't quit blowing up her phone with his worried messages. And those were just from the past two minutes. Grumbling, she pocketed the phone after silencing it. She would deal with Charming's concerns later.
Emma was sweating by the time Gold rang Jefferson's doorbell. She liked to think it was because of the charming stroll up the hill with Gold and not because she was dreading this "friendly" visit.
The last time she saw the hatter, he was kicked out of a window by her mother after holding them hostage throughout the night. Something warned her that he would not welcome her with a hug and kiss to the cheek.
She tapped her foot on the porch in her growing impatience. What was taking him so long? Was he debating which cravat fit his mood today?
"Ah, I see he stopped painting the roses," Gold mused, plucking a blossomed white rose from the massive rosebush lining the edge of the porch. Emma gazed down at it as it seemed to spread its petals within the cup of Gold's palm. Sliding his fingers over the length of the silky stem, he graciously offered it to her. "A beautiful rose for an equally beautiful woman."
A pink hue flushed her cheeks in response to his unexpected compliment. Emma glanced between the delicate rose and the startling depths of Gold's glistening brown eyes. She reached out and accepted the flower.
For a brief moment, as her fingers closed around the stem, the tips of their fingers touched. An electric thrill rushed through her body from the faint contact. From the way Gold's eyebrows shot up, he felt the same odd sensation.
"Thank you," she whispered, cradling the rose beneath her chin. She inhaled it sweet scent with fondness. Gold smiled with something akin to relief as he observed the way her fingertips leisurely explored the rose, savoring the silkiness of each pale petal.
No one had ever given her a rose before.
The next time she looked up, she noticed Gold had taken a step closer. Never before had she witnessed such longing and vulnerability engraved in his eyes as he continued to loom forward. She didn't make a move to stop him.
His free hand covered her fingers around the rose's stem. It was impossible to tear her gaze from Gold's sharp-edged face as he gently used the rose to reel her in, their bodies coming within inches of each other. She tilted her head back; his hand moved from the rose to her exposed throat, brushing away a curtain of golden hair over her shoulder.
She knew what was coming next. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her toes tingled in the casing of her boots, everything in the background melted away like paint dripping off a canvas. Her eyes flew to Gold's mouth.
He was going to kiss her. Even more astonishing to behold: she was going to let him.
Ever so slowly, Gold dipped his head down, as if experimenting to see where she would draw the line. His confidence rose when he reached as far as her jaw. His breath warmed her skin, first directly under her jaw, then grazing her chin, up to her poised lips. His mouth hovered above hers for a moment, his eyes boring into hers as though asking her permission.
He drew closer, separated from her by a mere inch….half an inch…
Suddenly, the front door of the mansion swung inward. Emma leapt away from Gold, as much as the chain would allow. There stood Jefferson, dressed as fashionably as ever in eccentric attire with a black and silver-threaded cravat wrapping his throat. She shuddered upon recalling what lay under that cloth.
"Am I interrupting something?" The hatter glanced between Emma and Gold suspiciously, oozing smugness. He spotted the white rose that Emma still held tight to her chest. "I charge a dollar a flower. That'll be one less dollar you owe me for the broken window."
Emma narrowed her eyelids threateningly, which caused Jefferson to take a cautious step back into the security of his mansion.
"The only reason my mother sent you hurtling through that window was because you were holding us hostage, you arrogant lunatic," she spat coldly. This seemed to be news for Gold. By the regret on his face, he wished he had been there for that show of Snow's badassery.
Jefferson merely chuckled.
"Then what brings you back? Fancy one of my hats?"
A small smirk was all that was needed to trigger Gold's reign. He stepped toward Jefferson with an index finger raised. It might as well have been a gun for the instant draining of color in Jefferson's face.
"We need your help," he stated briskly, motioning between his chest and Emma's. He held up his cuffed hand in explanation. Jefferson took one look at their predicament and whistled lowly in surprise.
"It's been a while since I last heard those words. You need my help? You're asking me to lend my services in aiding you out of this awkward situation? A convenient solution to your problem?"
He seemed to perceive the gist of their request. Emma hung her head in annoyance, glaring a hole into the carpet at Jefferson's feet. Why did he have to make everything complicated? Why couldn't he cooperate for once in his life?
"I'm guessing I am one of your last resorts, considered purely out of desperation. Is this how you feel all the time when you pop up out of thin air and unravel your contracts rudely in your customer's face? So self-important and victorious…Let me just take a moment to enjoy this—"
"Jefferson," Emma snapped, batting the rose his way. Listening to his nonsense was proving to be an effective way to waste their time. Jefferson held his palms up in surrender.
"Easy, Emma. No need to prick my skin with one of those thorns. Feisty one, isn't she?" The hatter suggestively winked at Gold, who did not appear to be in the mood for Jefferson's overwhelming antics. Jefferson stepped aside and gestured to the inside of his house. "By all means, come in. Ugh, did you two honestly walk up that hill? Wipe your feet on the mat—I don't want you tracking dirt all over my clean white carpet."
Emma rolled her eyes to the distant ceiling and obediently wiped the dirt from her boots on the pitiful black mat at the base of the door. Gold, however, dared to step inside Jefferson's house and deliberately wipe the soles of his shoes across the carpet, staining it with thick black streaks of dirt.
"You're paying when I hire someone to clean my carpet," Jefferson muttered, pouting at the stains. Nevertheless, he escorted them to the living room.
Emma carefully tucked Gold's rose into her leather jacket and took a deep breath as she willingly stepped over the threshold into the madhouse.
…..
"Anyone care for tea? I promise to hold the sedatives," Jefferson quipped, pouring a teacup full of steaming amber liquid for himself. The reflection in the shiny silver kettle was oddly distracting, distorting the image of the room. Emma wondered if that was the way Jefferson viewed the world, burdened with distortion and nonsensical details.
She and Gold reluctantly lowered their bodies onto a white couch. It wasn't as soft as it looked. Emma squirmed for a full minute while searching for a comfy position. Finally, she sighed and gave up the effort.
Gold was composed as ever, lounging back against the cushions of the couch, one leg propped over the other. Emma had a feeling it was Gold's way of mocking Jefferson further with the amount of dirt caking the bottom of Gold's shoe.
Jefferson remained on the other side of the room, as though his guests carried leprosy. He leaned an elbow on his glorious marble fireplace—showing off in his own way—and sipped his tea.
"So, should we idly discuss Storybrooke's weather or should we hop right into the expectancies you hold for how I'll help you with your little problem? Those should come off with a blowtorch."
Jefferson nodded to the cuffs. Emma's eyes shot open wide and she scooted back. There was no way some madman was coming near her wrist with a blowtorch. She'd sooner let Leroy educate an elementary school class on the dangers of alcohol.
"No, they won't," Gold protested without missing a beat.
Jefferson's brows knitted together as he worked out Gold's meaning. He stared long and hard at the handcuffs before something in the vein of recognition darkened his features. He set the teacup on the mantle of the fireplace and lumbered forward for closer inspection.
"Are those the handcuffs I portal-jumped for in our world? Near the chain…is there a decoration of a heart?"
Instead of waiting for their answer, Jefferson snatched up Emma's wrist. She tried pulling away, but Jefferson spun and trapped her arm against his body. If she struggled, he would pull even more and she and Gold would fly off this couch.
It didn't help that Emma had a first-row visual of Jefferson's ass. Did he purposely invest in jeans that were two sizes too small?
There was a low curse under Jefferson's breath. Turning back around, he released Emma's wrist, but not before tapping a specific spot near the chain. Emma rotated her wrist. There, etched in the metal where the keyhole should be were two delicate swirls that formed an abstract heart. The same was true for Gold's cuff.
"Just as I thought," Jefferson murmured, returning to his original position by the fireplace. Emma figured he had connected the dots about the seriousness of their situation. "Those handcuffs are magical, containing their own set of rules. King George used my services to acquire them for his spoiled, holier-than-thou son. They belonged to a pompous queen that was all too fond of claiming hearts."
There was a grave exchange between Gold and Jefferson. Emma wondered what that was all about. It must not be good if Gold suddenly looked way too uncomfortable in the restrictions of his suit.
"Let me guess: Regina?" Jefferson's gaze flickered to Emma. The guarded attitude reminded her that she wasn't involved in their inner circle. Gold refused to even acknowledge her thirst for answers.
"Good guess, but no," Jefferson humbly replied, shrugging his vested shoulder. He leveled his focus on Gold, apparently demanding that he fill in the blanks.
Emma prided herself with being observant enough to detect the changes in Gold's mannerisms. The tight pursing of his lips, the hazy flatness of his irises, the way his muscles bunched and coiled under the fabric of his suit—it all suggested that this was one subject he'd prefer not to discuss.
The silence was maddening.
"Worse, dearie. Regina's mother," he mumbled hesitantly. Emma didn't need Gold to meet her eyes to read what lay beneath the surface. She could hear it in his voice; the pain, the longing, something greater than remarking on one of his past customers. This woman was different.
"You knew her," Emma surmised flatly, barring any emotion from tainting her voice.
It was harder than she thought. Even without opening her mind to Gold like a book, the statement still came across in the form of an accusation. The notion that Gold might have intimately known Regina's mother turned her stomach—and not in the good sense.
Jefferson nearly doubled over in laughter, his palm smacking the mantle of the fireplace.
"Knew her? The imp practically moaned her name into his pillow the month that he spent with her. Isn't that what you once told me, Rumpel?"
Emma felt an unforgiving chill seep into her bones. Of course she understood that Gold would have had other loves or perhaps kept mistresses in his bed. But the onslaught of ache in her heart was too powerful to deny.
What did it matter? She wasn't Gold's true love, after all. It didn't matter. It didn't…but then why did she find herself angling her body away from Gold's and reaffirming the use of her old walls? If it didn't matter, then there would be no purpose for those walls.
"It's not what you think, Emma," Gold hurried to explain. He clasped her knee frantically, the most sensual touch he'd ever laid on her body. His fingers brushed her thigh before he drew back. It was a good thing he didn't dress her in a skirt. "She will always be a part of my past, never my future. It was a moment of weakness, a lustful encounter that held empty promises and lies. She never loved me. You understand?"
He pressed a palm to his chest, as though suffering from a wound to the heart. Emma's nerves tingled with pins and needles. She inclined her head.
"I understand," she assured him, to which he sighed with relief. Apparently, it mattered to him, too. Her walls chipped apart, descending to her feet. Jefferson watched the scene unfold with a goofy grin plastered on his face.
What was he so chipper about?
"Wow…I completely forgot about that rule," he said mostly to himself. Emma's head snapped up with the swiftness of a vulture. "The fact that you two are wearing those cuffs explains a lot."
Alarms signaled in Emma's brain. She wanted to wipe that smirk off Jefferson's lips, even as he casually raised that teacup to his mouth for a generous sip of tea. She hoped he mixed up his drugged tea one day and knocked himself out.
"What rule?" Emma's tone was filled with that no-nonsense rigidity that was often present in her bounty-hunter days.
There was something, some other intricate detail Jefferson wasn't saying. Instinct warned her that Gold was very much aware of that detail as well. She looked across to Gold, but he seemed overly fascinated in Jefferson's choice of furniture.
"Well—" Jefferson started in gleefully, but Emma held up a hand to silence his words. He frowned childishly.
"I don't want to hear it from you," she barked, never allowing her focus to stray from Gold's shadowy face. He released a deep breath through his nose, contemplating his words with ease. She nudged his leg insistently, refusing to be ignored.
"In order for the handcuffs to work their magic, the two individuals chosen for them must harbor…mutual feelings of attraction," he revealed. Emma's eyes flashed down to the burdensome cuffs, the pieces clicking together. "Otherwise, the cuffs will seem broken. We weren't the first contestants Henry selected, remember?"
That was right. Henry mentioned trying the trick on Snow and Regina, followed by Charming and Grumpy. It was one of the things that baffled him about their success in being locked together. It had failed in the previous attempts. That was because there was no spark of attraction between any of those pairs.
But for her and Gold…oh, there had been attraction. Even if she never admitted to it aloud, it still held true.
How many times had she secretly admired the way his suits accentuated every curve of his body? How many times had she shivered in response to her name rolling off his tongue in that seductive accent? Regina's taunts made her bristle more than necessary—you need to be careful who you get into bed with.
Supposedly, the attraction had to be mutual. It meant that Gold fancied her more than he ever let on. It did strange things to her insides.
She realized that it was too quiet in that living room. Jefferson was content with watching their amusing reactions in light of their hidden attraction.
"So, how about answering a few of my burning questions? How exactly do you two shower? Not that I want visual proof. And do you two share a bed? Or does one of you sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor? Emma, do you sneak him into your bedroom like a lovesick teenage girl? Or does he drop in with a little 'Charmings, I'm home'?"
Emma snatched up one of the decorative white pillows on the couch and flung it at Jefferson. Since it was tossed with her left hand, the aim was a little off and hit him in his most sensitive spot. Thankfully, it was a pillow and not a rock. Or a gunshot.
"Can you help us or not?"
Jefferson abandoned his teacup and stalked over to the armchair across from the couch. He flounced down in its cushioned embrace and whipped up a strawberry-filled biscuit from the tea-tray. He chewed while he thought.
"Magic is not something you tamper with, Emma. It's always tricky and always abides a unique set of rules. Some rules have reason, some don't make a lick of sense. Sometimes, there are loopholes, but they're usually tricky to find. One of us knows all about that."
Jefferson maintained his innocent façade, but he might as well have performed a fake cough with Gold's name mixed in there. Beside her, Gold shot forward in his seat.
"If you have something to say, why not get it off your chest? Stop wasting our time," he hissed, eyes glittering like dark jewels. Jefferson swallowed the rest of his biscuit and rose to that challenge.
"Since you asked…you, Rumpelstiltskin, have a problem. You guzzle down magic like it's lemonade. There, I said it." Emma cradled her head in her hand. This was only the beginning.
"You weren't complaining when you were stuffing your leather pants full of my golden thread," Gold retorted, to which Jefferson mumbled something about that point being unfair. Emma had two problems with that barb: she did not want to grace her eyelids with the image of Jefferson in leather pants and she did not want to imagine him stuffing anything down those pants.
"Can…you….help…us?"
Each word was its own sentence. Emma cut across whatever protest Jefferson was preparing to make. He leaned forward in his seat, the threads of silver in his cravat catching the light. He reached behind the chair and revealed a rather large top hat. His magic hat.
"In Wonderland, there are these mushrooms. When consumed, they have the ability to make you smaller. Maybe if you shrink, you'll slip through the cuffs," he proposed. Emma didn't try to hide her alarm. It was the snail suggestion all over again.
"Absolutely not," Gold thundered. "There is no part of my body that will be exposed to shrinking."
Emma had to stifle a giggle when Gold glance pointedly down at the space between his legs. Figures he would be concerned over the size of his estate, she thought wryly.
"What's the matter? Afraid it won't grow back properly? All magic comes with a price, right?" Jefferson looked far too happy over there. Gold crossed his legs firmly as though protecting that precious organ. "In that case, you're out of luck. Unless Emma—"
"I don't care what world they're from. I'm not doing mushrooms," she declared with finality. Jefferson shrugged.
"Then, it's settled. There's nothing else I can do for you. Cheer up—I'm sure if you two put your minds together, you can work your way out of this," Jefferson reassured them, albeit mockingly. That slimy smugness suggested Jefferson's definition of minds was replaced with bodies. "Let's see…you haven't cut your hands off yet. And unless I see dead people, you're both alive and well. That leaves one option."
Emma cringed at Jefferson's enthusiasm in their love life.
"We're done here," Gold stated. Emma was only too happy to jump to her feet and practically shove Gold toward the door. Instead, he bent over the tea-tray and scooped up a handful of biscuits before Jefferson could stop him. "Don't let that tea go to your head, now."
Jefferson rose to his feet and made absurd faces at Gold's back. Emma decided not to warn him that Gold seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.
"You still owe me a dollar for that rose!"
The moment they were gone, Jefferson half-ran up the grand stairs to the second level of his mansion. He would hire someone to scrub the mud stains from that carpet and charge it to Gold. Loathsome imp. He made a beeline for the hat room, his best telescope perched near the bay window. It was Emma's fortune that it hadn't been destroyed when she whacked him over the head with it.
Now, he peered through the eyepiece and adjusted it so that he got a good view of the hill. Ah, yes—there they were. Walking in synchronized step, exchanging small glances when they thought they weren't looking, the rose caught between Emma's fingers. The two prisoners might as well wear signs around their necks saying 'We're in love! Can't you tell?'
"I give them until Valentine's Day."
….
The trek down the hill wasn't anywhere near as bad as the trek up the hill. They walked side by side, their steps matching in a pace they had perfected recently. Emma had taken the rose out to admire it again. She turned her face up to the sky and moaned at the sight of the dark clouds rolling in. It looked like they were in for a nasty storm.
Every few minutes or so, she chanced a sideways glance at Gold. She knew he did the same, even if he was under the impression that she was unaware of it. That man wasn't as subtle as he liked to think.
"How long have you been…attracted to me?"
It had been buzzing around her mind since the moment Gold explained the handcuffs' secret rule. A half-smile tugged insistently at his lips while she buried her nose in the rose's fragrant petals. He had been waiting for her to ask that question.
"Quite possibly the first time we met," he said in his soft-spoken manner. His brown eyes glazed with the faint memory. "You were the first thing I saw when I regained my true memories. All strength and independence, a golden wildfire smoldering in Storybrooke. Your presence commands attention, as it did mine. You weren't intimidated by me, but fearless and determined. Just so you know, I find ambition and wit in a woman to be incredibly sexy."
Emma was so glad her mouth was hidden by the rose, so that he would not see how desperately her teeth grinded her lip to staunch the sudden heat in her belly. No one had ever called her sexy, either.
"No reciprocation?" Gold tilted his head as he waited. Emma raised an eyebrow questioningly. "When did you first find yourself attracted to me? Or did it take the bluntness of being handcuffed to me to realize it?"
Emma stared out at the fringes of the forest, recalling the earliest memory of attraction to Gold. It swam to the surface and she smiled sadly as she remembered that day.
"The day I can remember having any sort of interest in you was the day you gave me the walkie-talkies. Two weeks after Graham's death. It was the nicest thing I'd ever seen you do. Then you offered me advice about how time with your child is precious. I think there's more to you than meets the eye and I caught a glimpse of it that day. I liked it."
The two of them smiled at each other, absorbing each other's words. His fingers teased hers, though he did not fully claim her hand. Then the skies opened up and it started to pour.
…..
"Some help he was," Emma fumed as she crashed through the front door.
What a waste of time, running to the Mad Hatter for help. What were they thinking? The Blue Fairy would have been more helpful, but then they were paying a visit to the fairies tomorrow morning. It was torrentially down-pouring outside, the drops pounding against the windows and rolling like tears across the glass.
"I seem to remember Jefferson being more helpful before he lost his head," Gold remarked bitterly.
He closed the front door with a forceful slam. He was just as frustrated as she was, even if he did try to shield it behind that impenetrable mask of his.
Emma kicked off her boots by the door and took full control of the reins, steering him in the direction of the kitchen. Once they reached their destination, she made a determined beeline for the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine that had been sitting in the rack on the door. The alarms rang in Gold's head.
"What are you up to, dearie?"
He tried to reach out and grab the bottle of wine, but she swiftly dodged his attempts, cradling it to her chest like a football. He could tell she was distressed by yet another dead end in their path to freedom, much as she chose to pretend otherwise. Carrying the bottle to the counter, she opened the cupboard.
"Same thing I always do when thinking becomes too hectic and I'm trapped in a corner of an impossible situation—I have a drink," she calmly replied as she retrieved two glasses. "You probably need one, too."
That was the understatement of the year. Maybe even the century.
Emma balanced the bottle of wine and glasses, bringing them to the table. She ignored his offerings to help, most likely under the impression he would refuse to allow her to drink tonight. One drink wouldn't hurt; it might even relax her frantic nerves.
Uncapping the bottle, she poured a generous amount of wine in each glass. The amber fluid rose to the rim. He sighed as he settled into a chair slightly opposite her—a mere foot away—and tipped the glass to his lips. Ooh, that tasted marvelous.
It was nice to come home from an overwhelming day and indulge in a glass of wine, or a cup of tea as was his preference. He would enjoy it all the more if he had someone like Emma to share it with him each night.
If he had Emma.
"I suppose this is the perfect opportunity to get to know each other. The rate we're going, we'll be together for a while yet," he said and downed the entire contents of his glass. Emma poured him another, even though she had only taken a sip of hers.
A solemn smile haunted her lips.
"Have you ever heard of the game 'I Never'?" The blankness of his stare answered her question. Such odd games this world had. "It was a drinking game I learned in high school. In our strange circumstance, we could always put a spin on it and call it 'You Never.' Pretty simple—I guess something about you. If I'm right, you drink. Same goes for me."
Gold's finger traced the rim of his glass. The wheels spun in his head.
"Deal," he whispered and lounged back to await her first move.
Emma scrutinized him long and hard, starting from the top of his dark head to his finely pressed suit to the expensive shoes on his feet. She reminded herself about who he truly was behind that serene, calculating vise—Rumpelstiltskin, the infamous, gold-spinning dealmaker.
And then she whistled lowly through her lips, ready to take the leap.
"You….never….wore the color pink," she said. Immediately, his muscles stiffened underneath his charcoal suit. He was nearly speechless, gaping openly at her as though she had just given birth to a three-headed child.
"That is your first question? My choice of style?" He checked himself over, smoothing a hand down the length of his suit in case she would verbally attack that, too. She rolled her eyes and pointed to his glass.
"Answer it. Drink or don't drink. You never wore the color pink," she repeated insistently. The kitchen fell into a heavy silence, the seconds ticking by. The glass of wine never rose off the table, never touched his mouth. She bit back the gale of laughter as she watched the guilt spiral over his face. "I knew it. Your turn."
"Just for the record, there was a red sock mixed in the washer…" He rushed to explain, but Emma shook her head. Whatever you say, Gold, she thought with a hint of amusement. He was quiet for a few moments and then he lifted a finger to signal a thought. "You've never smelled anything more pleasant…than the scent of my cologne."
Oh, wasn't he just full of himself.
Emma experimentally leaned forward enough for her nose to graze his shoulder. She deeply inhaled, the scent of his rich cologne teasing her nostrils. Hmm…there was that odd faint hint of strawberry lingering on the ends of his hair, too. She reclined back and shrugged. The smile was hard to hide.
"I've smelled worse," she admitted. Asking her if she liked his cologne was a whole different playing field. She took a sip. And in this corner…."You've never worn jeans."
She bet he didn't even own one pair. Just to prove her right, he lifted his glass to his lips. At least she could expect him to always look his best.
"You've never been to Disney World." Ouch.
Emma reluctantly claimed her glass from the table and took a generous sip. Gold's eyes boggled in surprise. Clearly, he had been expecting the opposite.
Just because she was the daughter of Snow White didn't mean she grew up wanting to be a princess and wore flowery dresses and sang ridiculous cheery tunes about princes coming to her rescue. Those kids got adopted.
"You've never been to Disney World? Rumor has it it's one of the happiest places in this world," he objected. She shrugged carelessly.
Nothing had ever been easy for her during her childhood, even when she was adopted by her first family. They had sent her back when she was three. Even though she traveled a lot outside the system, she never quite made it to Florida.
It was just one of those wonders of childhood that had been denied her.
"Yeah, well…I've never been prone to happiness much before Henry," she murmured, keeping her gaze locked on the ripples in her wine as she tilted the glass back and forth. It was her turn again. A smile spread rapidly across her face—this one she was sure about. "You've never been married."
That glass barely rose an inch. It was her turn to be startled into silence.
"You've been married? To who? Regina's mother?" Not that she meant to sound like the jealous girlfriend.
She wondered if this information was stored somewhere in Henry's book. If it was, the kid probably would have mentioned it…right? There was only one ring on his finger, a gaudy silver one set with a dark stone. Did that hold meaning to his ex-wife? She hoped he got that by chance out of a gumball machine.
Instead of the wry humor she expected, there was nothing but darkness and grief in Gold's expression. His finger chased a stray drop of wine slipping on the inner side of the glass, becoming lost in the contents of the glass.
"Believe it or not, Emma, I was married once. It was not Regina's mother. Though, it was…an illusion. An empty marriage. Milah was…she never loved me."
The wretched ache in his voice made her wince. Milah. She would have to remember that one. It wasn't everyday Gold opened up this way—he hardly ever talked about his past.
With a rapid blink of his eyes, the sorrowful memory his mind had been feasting on was gone.
"You've never been afraid of me. Why?"
To answer his first statement, Emma tipped back her glass and drank half the wine. The second question was not part of the game, but her tongue was inclined to answer it, anyway.
"Maybe because I know how to recognize a desperate soul, too," she repeated the words he once spoke to her. Lines of uncertainty marked his brow. "Maybe because you exert so much energy into convincing me that you're bad, the implication being that you're not as bad as you want to believe. You're just….complicated. A mystery wrapped in a fancy suit wrapped in a Scottish accent."
That clever wordplay earned her a smile, if only for a brief instant. She wished he found the will to smile more often, but she knew the same could be said about her. Perhaps they both needed to find some safe place in this world.
"You're only afraid of being too close to me," he observed.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek. A terrible chill slid along her nerves. If they were being honest with one another…oh, here it came…the vulnerability was too dominant to quench now.
"It's not because I don't trust what you will or won't do. It's because I don't trust myself about what I might do or how I might feel when I'm alone with you. You….enchant me," she whispered.
It was only then that she realized how long this had been on her mind, hidden away. She could hardly feel the chair beneath her legs; she was free-falling into a lake of chocolate, unable to tear her eyes from his face. The walls were tumbling down, crumbling at her feet.
How close would she trust herself to move in his direction?
His wine glass angled toward her, a small sign to alert her that it was her turn once more.
"You never….kissed me,' she dared to blurt out. She peered at his reaction from underneath her eyelashes. His body was still; she wasn't sure if he was even breathing. Another inch or two of the wine made its way down his throat.
"As you have never kissed me," he fired back the same question.
Down went the rest of her wine, but she didn't make a move to pour another glass. The tension between them was too great—it had been building up during the past two days. And, foolish as it may be, she was about to strike the match and set it to the gasoline.
"You want to."
Three simple words, an invitation.
Her heart pounded inside her chest; she was certain he could hear its rapid rhythm. The two of them had leaped into open air, they were falling together at an unbearable speed, and neither of them had the power to stop it. Throwing his hand in the air in defeat, he tossed back the remaining portion of his wine. Two empty glasses on the table.
He wanted it.
"Shall I drink for every time I had that desire?"
Emma had no doubt that if he did, the bottle would be empty. Craning forward in his seat, his free hand brushed against her cheek, sweeping aside a curl of blonde hair. His face softened, deep want pooling among his irises.
"Emma…"
Breathy and rich with his accent, she loved the way he said her name. It tied a rope around her waist and propelled her forward, toward him. Her hands latched onto his knees, sliding upwards along his thighs as she closed the distance between them. His lips parted in anticipation of what they both knew was inevitable to come.
Ever so gently, she pressed her mouth to his, sealing the deal. At first it was hesitant, their lips teasing in a delicate kiss. An experiment of sorts, each one testing the other's boundaries, the opportunity to stop still a viable option. It was soft as flower petals, warm as summer rain.
The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but its chasteness was refreshing. Emma felt like she'd been wandering lost in a desert for days and had finally earned that blessed taste of cool water.
It was the moment where it broke that everything changed. There was no turning back.
His free hand cupped the back of her neck and he eagerly returned her kiss, harder this time. The force of his hand urged her down to meet him, his arm embracing her and wrapping her tightly inside like black wings. He seemed to pour his soul into her and she instinctively knew: he had never kissed a woman so passionately.
She leaned into him, her fingers holding him by the hips. As she applied a tiny bit of pressure, he groaned into their kiss. Her fingers danced to the spot where she sensed his scar was located under the fabric of his suit and she began to massage it feverishly. She smiled against his lips as his breathing quickened, his eyes rolling back into his head in bliss.
The two of them battled for dominance of that searing kiss until Emma ultimately opened her mouth to grant him access. The tip of his tongue mingled with hers—one of them moaned deeply. Her toes curled in unadulterated bliss. His hands took her by the hips and guided her fully onto his lap, the kiss never faltering.
Her name fell from his lips between kisses. Throwing back her head, she offered him the fullness of her throat, which he eagerly massaged with supple nips and kisses. His lips lingered over the hollow of her throat, feeling her pulse fluttering under the papery layer of skin. Then his mouth trailed down, down, his hands sliding across her waist and tugging on the hem of her shirt…
"Wait," she stopped him.
Her voice was raw and husky, her breathing heavy. He tilted his head back to gaze up at her with unusually cloudy eyes. His fingers chose not to release her shirt just yet. It had weighed on her all of a sudden, what they were about to do.
"Not yet. I'm not ready for this yet."
Forlornly, he loosened his hold, allowing her to rise to her feet. Her legs wobbled unsteadily like Jell-O and she leaned on the kitchen table for support. The warmth in her belly never escaped her notice. Fumbling with the bottle of wine, she poured herself another glass and she downed it in one shot. She poured another and she downed that one just as easily.
God, the roof of her mouth was drier than cotton.
She heard him take a step closer, standing inches behind her. If he touched her, there was a good chance she'd lose it again. Only this time, there might be no reeling it in.
"Our options are running out, dearie. You want it as much as I do."
As if she hadn't been reflecting on that idea every second with these cuffs hanging on her wrist. She averted her gaze, refused to look directly at him as she searched for an answer.
And then he did what she hoped he would not do—he caressed a hand along her arm, squeezing her elbow lightly. She closed her eyes, literally bit down on her tongue to fight the urge to walk into his arms. His breath tickled the nape of her neck.
"What do you truly want, Emma?"
She unintentionally shifted her neck toward his mouth until a kiss pressed against her skin. A softer one followed it, against the spot right under her earlobe. God, it was so tender…Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, turning white in their effort.
What did she want? You, the obvious answer burned up through her throat. She bit sharply down on her tongue to stifle its release.
"I want…I want someone who will treat me right. Someone who will treat me with respect and care, as if there's a difference whether I'm in their life or not. I…I never had someone like that before, even with Henry's father."
A tremulous hand smoothed its way along the arch of her back.
"You want me to court you," he filled in the blanks.
Emma half-smirked, mostly over his choice of words. No one ever said "court" anymore, but it was exactly what she meant in the long run. If he didn't put in the time and effort of courting her, what was she really worth to him?
Somehow, she did not have a doubt. Courting was precisely what Gold would do, if she only gave the signal. Her heart rate slowed and she trusted her willpower enough to turn around.
"Yes," she said and licked her lips. It was a habit she had picked up recently from observing him. He playfully tugged on a curl of golden hair, twisting it around his finger. A pensive expression flickered across his face.
"Very well, Emma. A courtin' we shall go," he agreed in his soft-spoken manner. Gold never broke his word.
After the two of them regained their composure around each other, Emma helped him gather up the glasses and carried them to the sink. It was a miracle she didn't drop one, her hands were shaking so badly. The memory of their heated kiss replayed endlessly in her mind as the cool stream of water ran over her hands.
For a second there, as she had lost herself in Gold, she began to reconsider the fate of these handcuffs. Maybe these cuffs were not as much of a curse as she and Gold originally presumed. Maybe…if used correctly…they could turn out to be a blessing as well.
Or it might have been the wine talking.
…
I figured it was past time I give out some real good Golden Swan fluff. That chapter should hold you over, huh?
A huge round of thanks go out to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, RaistIsHot, caritastv, Shizuku Tsukishima749, JayJ, Guest, PrincessofSea, discotimelord, Marcie Gore, cat4444, JessJess76, The Auburn Girl, AngelOfDarkness1605, BundyShoes, la-stella-immortale, Black Heart, Onceuponatimesupporter, nuckythompson, Moonlight-Wanderer88, sbcarri, TeamTHEFT, SwanQueen4055, and Lyn Harkeran.
Thank you so much, everyone, for already giving this story over 100 reviews, by the way! You have no idea how happy I am whenever I read these kind words and see them waiting in my inbox!