As promised, this part of the date got rather... delicious. So I'd say it's rated M. Thank you for your wonderful comments and endless support; as you can see, the story is marked as complete, so I'll see if I can come up with more ficlets in this verse. For now, enjoy!

Mr Gold doesn't quite comprehend what is happening at the moment.

Apparently, he's walking around Storybrooke with the adorable librarian chattering happily about her job and how she ended up living with Ruby, but he has a hard time believing it is actually true.

He fears he's dreaming; it wouldn't be that shocking, considering that his dreams, in which Belle always plays the role of the leading lady, are pretty damn vivid.

In order to convince himself he's not asleep, he purposely twists his ankle just a bit as he walks, and contentedly welcomes the sharp pain that shots through his lame leg.

Unfortunately, his quiet whimper does not escape his companion.

"Are you okay?" Belle asks him.

"Yes, yes, quite. It's… the ankle. It has been acting up for quite some time now."

She bites down on her lip.

It's strangely arousing.

"You catching me not once, but twice, probably didn't help it either."

"I, ah– " he hesitates, trying to come up with a believable reassurance that no, he's not incapable of protecting her, his bad leg be damned. But she somehow senses it, and gasps, "Oh God, it's me. Your ankle's been worse because you caught me!"

"It is nothing, Belle." It feels so good to finally use her first name.

"I am so sorry." She looks like she's on the verge of tears and Gold actually feels hurt – it's ridiculous, but he sure as hell doesn't want her to feel sorry for him.

"I don't need anyone's pity."

"It's not that," she shakes her head. "I'm just sorry I brought you pain."

"It's nothing I couldn't handle. It'll be just fine in a few days or so."

"Still. I feel like I owe you ice cream."

Gold chuckles.

"Belle, I swear you don't have to buy me things to tell me you're thankful or apologetic. I'm fine."

"Look, there's an ice cream stand over there. I'm gonna buy you the best ice cream you've ever eaten, trust me. I'm an expert when it comes to candy."

He just shakes his head with amusement, and can't bring himself to protest any further; her youthful energy and liveliness is rubbing off on him.

True to her word, the cone Belle bought him is truly delicious.

But that's not why he thanks all gods above that she's come up with this idea as they sit on one of the benches in the little Storybrooke's park.

The reason why he's suddenly absolutely in love with ice cream is because she's licking hers in the most sinful way imaginable.

Honestly, this woman seems to turn everything she does into a sexual action.

Her pink tongue swirls around the strawberry- flavoured scoop and he tries, he does try, yet he can't help but imagine what that tongue could do to his body.

It's a very disturbing image, because his wife never really… cared enough to focus on him, expecting Aidan to do all the work, while she would just lie there and complain the day after. That's why sex has become a sad duty, one he was glad to be rid of.

Belle has truly changed everything; the things he never knew he wanted… Yes, now he wants them very much.

To think about Belle licking every inch of his neck, and chest, and then teasing his erect shaft with that skilled tongue is just too much for him to bear, and his breathing is shallow, and he's probably blushing, too.

Again, this… date was a bad, bad idea.

"You have to hurry, Aidan, or your ice cream will be soon flowing down your sleeve," she giggles, gesturing at the hand holding his cone. He quickly remedies the situation, licking and sucking on his scoop so that it doesn't melt completely.

When he looks at her, her sight is sort of hazy and she seems to be observing him in wonder.

"What, have I got something on my face?"

"What? No, no." She waves her hand. "Tastes pretty good, doesn't it?"

"It does, indeed." They sit in a comfortable silence for a little while, but then he decides he has to know. "Belle, may I ask you a question?"

"Why, of course. Just not about science, or something," she giggles. "I know many things about literature and linguistics, but maths and physics are not a favourite topics for a conversation."

"You think I want to ask you about kinematic equations and free fall?"

"Please don't. We can talk about English semantics, though, I went for a degree in linguistics."

"I thought you studied literature, hence the job in the library?"

"I took library science. It was an extra course, to be honest. Just so I could work in one. There are all sorts of books there, you know? It's not that I simply like to rid, per se. I didn't want to focus solely on language. I wanted stories, too."

He smiles at her, once again quite taken away with what she's saying.

"So, what was your question?"

"Why… why did you come to Granny's today?"

She thinks about it for a moment and then beams at him, "I wanted to see you again."

"It seems… unreal."

"It is quite real, Aidan. I was afraid you hated me. Now that I know you don't, I'd like to get to know you better."

"But why me?" He inquires.

"Are you really that surprised? Have you met you?"

"I have," he says, "and that's precisely where my question is coming from. I hate this town, I make deals with desperate souls, I don't forgive and I don't forget. I'm also much older than you, not handsome, and my leg is like cherry on top."

She shakes her head and takes his hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

"I see the man who makes deals with grown-up people who know exactly what that man is capable of. I see the man who is disliked by others because he keeps to himself and takes care of his business – people tend to hate those they have to give their money to. And I see the man who's extremely attractive with his long hair, perfectly tailored suits and his elegant cane. As for the age gap, I'm more worried you'll think me a silly child."

"I don't," he rasps.

"Good."

Perhaps, one day, his fantasies will come true.