The Birds They Put In Cages
– Chapter 9 –
'Be confident, my love,
Don't bow your head for me...'
–Alex Clare
Saph pinches the apples of Belle's cheeks to make them a pretty and enticing rosy hue, but Belle can't care less. She's numb, fuzzily warm, and she doesn't think her cheeks need pinching anyway because she's so flushed from the wine.
Saph gives her a knowing smile as she shifts Belle to face the doors of the elevator they're in. The escort had taken her from the party and practically shoved her in a black car, before bringing her to this fancy Capitol hotel. They've given Belle the penthouse suite, and the ride up is taking a good minute.
In the shiny, silver doors Belle can make out her reflection; rosy and sleepy-eyed, she looks like she's ready to bed someone by choice.
Saph gives her shoulders a squeeze. "I told you wine would be your friend. Now, remember, if you're good, they might want to keep you. Marrying whoever it is – provided they're not already married, of course – is your best chance at not being passed about like a party favour, hm?"
"You don't know who it is?" Belle asks, and her voice is toneless from the alcohol.
"It went down to the wire!" Saph's positively gleeful about it. "And a marriage will bring in extra compensation, of course."
Belle says nothing. The elevator gives a soft noise as it halts, announcing its arrival, and the doors open soundlessly.
The apartment is lush, all thick carpeting and modern artwork, with dark wood-panelled walls and tall windows showing off the brightening Capitol skyline. Saph ushers Belle through the living area, into the bedroom, clapping her hands together for the lights.
When the room is illuminated, Belle can't help but stare at the bed. It makes her knees shake. The structure is beautiful, but forbidding, made up of polished, dark wood posts and dark, silken bed sheets.
Saph points to a door across the room, set into the panelled wall. "There's something to change into in there. I have to get going. The customers don't like an audience. Well...not all of them."
Customers.
For a moment, Belle wonders how long it will take her to circulate the Capitol to everyone's standards, and how long it will be until she and Gold can be together. Perhaps it's best that she pushed him away tonight. Perhaps it will make things easier on them in the future.
Her heart disagrees.
Saph leaves with a flourish, closing the bedroom door carefully, obviously thrilled. Belle goes to the door the escort pointed out to her and finds a bathroom, all sparkling and painted tiles, with a small, silken pile of things for her to wear on the cream-coloured counter.
Belle changes into the nightgown. It's short and uncomfortable – unlike anything she has ever worn – made of dark blue silk and pretty navy lace. She is given matching underwear and a garter, with thick bows on them, like she's a present.
She thinks of Gold, of his disgust over her words, and finds that false courage inside of her from 'The Rose'.
Her legs and feet are bare, but the carpet keeps her toes warm as she turns off the bathroom light and once more enters the bedroom. She takes in the four dark walls, the small shaded windows above the bed's headboard, and the empty closets that won't be filled.
She's sure the only rooms that will be in use tonight are the bedroom and bathroom. At least, she hopes.
She's sobering rapidly.
Belle tentatively sits upon the bed, stroking the ribbon of the garter around her thigh, and waits. It isn't long before she hears the elevator sound its arrival, and muffled footsteps across the carpeted floor.
She doesn't have time to collect her thoughts properly or pull herself together. She tries to make herself presentable at the end of the bed, legs crossed and shoulders back, but her palms still sweat and her fingers still twist themselves into the bed sheets.
Belle makes one last wish for kindness, as the door handle turns down to admit the newcomer.
She bursts into tears at the sight of him.
Gold doesn't touch her, doesn't say a word, merely steps into the room, leaving the door open behind him, and comes to a sedate halt a few paces in, leaning heavily on his cane.
Her breathless sobs overcome her, the anxiety building to this very point crashing over her like a wave, and she can't spend another second in this...state. He looks at her, almost warily, and tries so very hard to keep his distance. Belle reaches out a shaking hand.
Gold visibly hesitates. "I didn't know whether to come or not."
She doesn't care. He's here. He'll keep her safe.
"Rum," she manages to gasp out, and it's like she's said a magic word, one that will only ever work on him.
His mask slips, his face becoming pained, and he takes the few steps to the bed, falling heavily at Belle's side. He throws down his cane and wraps his arms around her.
The spice of cologne and his natural musk infiltrates her teary state, and the smell calms her. She shakes against him and his soothing hands, feeling so strange pressed up against him in his full attire while wearing only underwear.
His hand makes a circuit over her back, gently stroking her skin until her crying quiets.
She snivels for a moment against his shirt, murmuring, "Can we go before he gets here?"
Gold presses his trembling lips to her forehead, breathing deeply through his nose. She feels determination in the twist of his mouth against her skin, before he pulls away an inch.
"I bought you, Belle."
For a moment, she pauses. He hasn't come to save her...but he has. No. He's already saved her, even earlier, probably when she'd told him to find someone else.
"How much?"
She doesn't know why she asks this instead of all the hundreds of more important things she wants to. Perhaps it is because it's easier.
"A hell of a lot," he replies. "Called in every favour I'm owed, as well."
"Why?" A whisper from her lips, pleading for something she hopes is still possible after her rashness of earlier.
He's quiet for a moment, as if he's not quite sure himself, before giving her a guarded answer.
"You've got to know by now."
She knows. He cares.
"I meant..." Belle bites back the instinct to shed more unnecessary tears. "I meant, after what I said...earlier."
"I went out on a limb," he answers roughly, as if his tie's too tight, "that you still want this."
Her hands grip his shoulders through his coat and she looks up, directly into his eyes. There's hope there, colouring his face, even as he tries to hide it, and a powerful feeling erupts inside of her belly.
Sometimes words mean nothing. Like right now. The nod that she gives him is enough, and then he's kissing the life out of her, holding her close, chest heaving.
"I thought," she pants, "it would be easier–"
"Was it?" He demands, though his voice holds no menace and his eyes are soft. "Was it easier, Belle? Because I know it wasn't for me. I almost...almost didn't come, because I thought I'd taken advantage of you."
She wants to laugh. All she can do is hold on to him tighter and let him pull her close. After a long silence, he pulls back and shrugs off his coat, standing and holding it up for Belle to step into.
She does as directed, and she's so much warmer for it. Gold's arms come around her middle.
"I'm sorry for leaving you there, at the mansion," he practically whispers against Belle's ear. "I was angry."
She knows he was devastated, the same as her.
"I'm sorry for the things I said." Belle closes her eyes and just takes in his warmth, and his comfort, and his closeness. "I thought it would be easier if I was the Rose."
His hands secure the long coat about her firmly. "You're never the Rose with me, love," he breathes. "Now, let's get your things and get you out of here."
Now, ten minutes later, they stand in a new suite all to themselves in the same building. It had only taken a short ride in the private elevator to reach the lower floor, and Gold had protected her, shielding Belle from view as they entered the closest door in the hallway.
No one was about to see them though, what with everyone being out celebrating the final Games night before next year.
"I took the room when President Snow gave Saph use of the penthouse," Gold informs her, turning on the lights.
Belle stares at the smaller space, the cosier furnishings and soft cream carpet, her forehead creasing. "But...that must have been a while ago."
"When we first arrived in the Capitol," Gold agrees quietly, moving around her towards the wet bar.
"And you'd decided then?"
He turns to look at her over his shoulder. "I was going to be here for you, Belle. No matter what. I never went through this – never had to. I was never a catch, just a victor. And you don't deserve this."
"I don't think anyone does," she murmurs, taking a seat on the long, plush couch angled towards a decorative, stone fireplace.
Gold meets her there, but there is only one drink in his hand, for himself, and she's glad. She never wants to see a glass of wine again.
Belle tentatively curls into his side, and Gold accepts her immediately, wrapping his right arm about her shoulders, sipping the inch of whisky in his glass with his left hand.
Her hand creeps beneath his jacket, and she relaxes as she strokes the silk lining of his suit. She wonders how long he's been pushing along negotiations for selling her virginity, and how long he's been trying to get the right person to buy only to deal with them for money or favours.
Eventually, Gold finishes his drink and places the empty glass on the floor. He stretches himself out, anchoring Belle more firmly to his side as he settles into the corner of the couch.
The angle is perfect, as is the position, and though she isn't the least bit tired, she can say with absolute certainty, she's never been more relaxed in all her life. Tonight, there is no reason to worry, because Gold has saved her and he is here, and she knows that pushing him away will make things worse.
Keeping him is easier. Letting him be here for her is what will keep them both going.
"You know," she mutters conversationally a while later, drowsy from his warmth, the wine from earlier, and the low lighting. "Saph told me the only way to get out of being passed around like a party favour is to get married."
His jaw tightens for a moment. "Fucking Sapphire."
She lets him have his ire at the escort for a moment, before reiterating her statement, this time as a question.
"Is that right?" Belle asks, and Gold's eyes meet hers, dark and soft.
He nods, giving her a squeeze. Belle gives him a slow smile.
"I wouldn't..." Belle bites her lip, searching for the words she needs. "I wouldn't...mind, at all, if–"
"What happened to taking it slow?" Gold queries, interrupting her stammering, and she watches a teasing smile unfold across his lips.
Relieved she doesn't have to fumble on any more, she settles her chin firmly on his shoulder and draws her arms about his middle, sighing.
"If making it official means we'll be left alone in the Victors' Village for the rest of our days, then I'll do it. We can slow down after that."
His fingers play with her loose curls, twisting them about his knuckles and watching them spring free. "Anything you want that I can give, Belle," he tells her seriously. "Just ask."
Smiling, she lifts a finger and points to her lips. Gold's infamously sly grin surfaces, and he leans into her, smelling of whisky and warmth.
Slowly, tantalisingly, he moves in closer. The end of his nose brushes her cheek. His hot breath tickles her lips. His left hand secures itself at her waist. His right thumb brushes a soft line up the side of her neck. Their lips finally meet.
The stubble across his jaw is growing soft, and the feel of it beneath her curious and questing fingertips adds another layer of sensation, another burning flame to the warmth erupting inside of her. His kiss is tender, first to her upper lip and then her lower, his tongue making a slow pass against her willing mouth. But then she buries her hand in his soft half-curls, and the moan that catches in his throat as she curls her fingers makes her skin itch. His kiss turns more insistent.
Halfway across his lap Belle settles herself, with one hand in his hair and one inside his jacket against his firm chest. His fingers crawl beneath his coat covering her frame, and they begin to map her skin in burning trails and swirls.
Her half-hitched sigh at his touch only makes his kiss more demanding, and Belle is all too happy to acquiesce.
Their breaths meet between them as their embrace intensifies, chests heaving in tandem. Heat suffuses Belle's skin under Gold's touch, and when his hand draws up the outside of her naked thigh, meeting the blue ribbon of her garter, she thinks she just might faint with the excitement that courses through her.
There's a heat pooling between her thighs from the fire consuming her, and she knows that only Gold can satisfy the absolute need she's feeling. Belle isn't sure whether the wine is loosening its hold or strengthening it, but she knows what she wants and it's the same as what she needs.
Her hand tugs one side of his black shirt out of his pants, so her fingers can touch his bare skin. He's so soft, and he's so slim, especially beneath the swathes of black and silk. But his frame, she knows, belies his strength.
His kiss falters and his fingers tense about her waist when one wayward finger of hers decides to explore the downy hair descending from his navel. The muscles in his stomach jump, and Belle feels a pleasant tug inside of her at the movement.
Gold draws back an inch from her kiss-swollen mouth. "Belle?"
She cannot resist a gentle shiver at his gravelly tone, the lilt to his voice all but drowned out by his heart-falteringly deep brogue. Her slight shift pushes her more firmly into his lap, and she can feel him. There.
"Oh."
Belle's not completely innocent, but she's never been like this, pressed up against a man who wants her so very badly that she can feel it. Gold's so hard, she wonders how he can bear it.
His half-shuttered eyes gaze up at her, full of want, but his lips shape other thoughts.
"This isn't going slow," he manages to say, albeit a little breathlessly. "At all."
Belle runs a fingertip over his cheekbone, under his jaw, behind his ear, across the soft arch of an inquisitively-cocked eyebrow, and she knows she wants this. She had been prepared to be given to a stranger, to have him show her the secrets of the bedroom, but now there is only she and Gold, and she wants him.
"Please," she whispers, leaning in to give him a soft brush of her lips against his, to tempt him. "Rum."
Belle's pleased to note that he doesn't take much persuading where she's concerned, and it gives her a type of pride that she can affect him this much. She can make him lift her into his arms with just his name, and she can hurry his steps into the darkened bedroom with a single, urging breath against his exposed neck.
With a bit of manoeuvring and a few whispered reassurances, he presses her into the lush bed, kissing her throat as she tugs off his jacket.
The sheets are softer than the silk of the penthouse bed, and cooler against her flushed skin. Belle approves of this bed much more, being just wide enough to accept the both of them and soft enough that when she throws her head back at the feel of Gold's tongue on her pulse it doesn't hurt her neck.
He wrangles her out of his coat, and she manages to undo half of the buttons on his shirt in retaliation. His tie, she leaves to him. He undoes it with a few tugs and a pained expression as he parts from her to finish the job of fully unclothing his chest.
Gold's skin is touchable, so smooth and warm beneath her hands, and she finds little in the way of body hair, though she can't say she minds. The downy fluff leading down his belly makes her smile, and it's nice to touch. His shiver tells her he likes it too.
In the low, bedroom lights that Gold had half-heartedly clapped for, he looks down at her with something in his expression that makes her sigh. He delicately pushes her hair out of her eyes and slips his other hand along the outside of her thigh. When his fingertips meet the bow at her hip, on one side of her panties, his breath comes even shorter and shallower.
"So, you...want to get married to me?" He asks, half-panting, and Belle doesn't even puzzle over his sudden words.
She nods. "Then, after, you can court me."
He laughs and smiles, like she's never seen him do, and then he calms, and he tells her quietly, "I plan on it. I'll see what I can do tomorrow."
"Do?"
"About the engagement," Gold tells her, hands roaming skin and silk alike. "The president wants money, Belle, for you. The more he passes you around, the more your...value decreases and the less he makes. If I offer him – and Sapphire – enough, up front, he might take the deal."
"Well, you are the Dealer, after all." Belle smiles.
"That I am, dearie," he mutters teasingly against her neck, his lips exploring a particularly sensitive spot. "Best you don't forget it."
She laughs, even as he makes her moan, and then all is quiet and still as he, ever so slowly, slips a hand beneath her silk nightdress. His fingertips map her navel, her flat belly, the slight rise of her ribs, and then they slip beneath the elastic underlining her breasts, making her soft skin turn to gooseflesh and her nipples pebble at his warm touch.
Her breath stutters in her throat as his thumb, gentle and teasing, presses against her rising nipple, torturing a breathy moan from her parted lips. His hair falls into his eyes as she glances up to gaze at him, and his expression is so intense, so very focused, and so very, very lustful.
The time for talking and laughing is over, for now. Now is the time for sighs and moans, and for Belle to discover what mysteries lay between Gold's rented sheets.
His wavy hair falls across her chest as his head dips lower, his lips blazing a trail to her sternum and kissing between her breasts. When she feels his tongue there, at the very peak of her cleavage, her heart picks up its harsh beating, and Belle wonders if Gold can feel it, the vibrations thrumming against his inquisitive lips.
As he leans over her, pressed against her and intent on making Belle moan and arch into his touch, she finds her hands travelling the broad expanse of skin across his back, slightly damp and hot beneath her touch.
She can feel the regular ridges and notches of his spine, the hard planes of his shoulder blades, and she can feel his muscles, tense and twitching, indicating his need.
When Belle curls her short nails into his skin after a particularly nice kiss to her nipple through the gown, Gold loses all semblance of his patented cool.
He looks up at her with dark eyes. His tongue is caught enticingly between his teeth, his breath heavy, and the end of a lock of hair flutters with his every breath, swaying before his eyes like a metronome. His fingers curl in the sheets, as Belle lifts herself away slightly, moving further back across the bed, towards the soft and inviting pillows.
When she, in a particularly brave move, slips the lingerie over her head and leaves herself in nothing but the garter and panties, Gold finally ceases in his stillness and silence.
With a low groan, he crawls over her, his hands passing over every inch of her bare skin that is available to him. He presses his face into her hair, losing his breathy words in her curls.
"So very lovely," Gold mutters, fingers idly playing with the ribbons at her hips.
Belle feels a smile spread across her face as she covers his hands with her own, tugging gently at the ribbons. They come undone in a flash and a flutter, and Gold peels away the remaining lace between them.
His mouth worships her neck, her shoulder, before hopping straight to her left breast with a soft curse and driving her insane. She digs at him with her fingers, pulls and combs his hair, brings her legs up about his middle to draw him closer, closer to the end, and then she slips a hand between them to rid him of his pants.
They pant and writhe as one, as her fingers grip the zipper and tug. Belle pushes at the soft, black material, unfastening his belt with a grunt when she finds that particular hindrance, and then finally, finally, they are absolutely naked, Gold kicking off his trousers as Belle drinks in the sight of him above her.
The slimness and the quiet strength she had only felt and seen parts of previously are now all exposed to her. His chest, practically hairless, calls for her touch, and his hips, cutting into a faint 'v'-shape, make her tingle unexpectedly. His legs are surprisingly toned, but Belle assumes this is because of the leg injury he sustained from his Games, meaning he has to make up for the weakness in muscle-strength.
What lies between his legs, though, has no need to be made up for. Belle has no real comparison to make with the male form in detail, but what she sees is pleasing to her, and that's all that matters. The books on anatomy that she has read come to mind, but she has no need for terms and diagrams at a time like this, or to remember the steamy scenes in the romance novels she's pored over in her room before now.
Belle won't think of it as his hardness, or his manhood, because there's something so much more carnal about the full, flushed head and thick, slightly curved shaft jutting from his thatch of soft hair. It is not a delicate part of his body. It makes her tremble at the mere sight of it – his cock, as the boys at home call it. Cock, yes – she rolls the word around in her head, her breath coming short at the implication of the sound. She feels herself tighten somewhere deep inside, aching, and then looks up to see Gold is watching her with his own type of fascination etched on his features.
She stops her staring, finishing her study of him. His arms are a thing of beauty, too, though. She runs her hands up from his wrists to his shoulders as he settles himself over her once more, relishing his warmth and his strength.
Gold's hands slide beneath her, one curling about her shoulder while the other slips down to press against the small of her back. He gifts her with a wavering smile, his eyes soft and dark, and kisses her with so much passion it steals her faltering breath.
Without words, Belle parts her legs for him, welcoming his weight and the feel of him there. She jerks when she feels the foreign touch of the head of his cock against her bare, slick lips, gentle and tentative against her, sensitising her to Gold's touch.
He kisses her, looking her right in the eyes and drawing all Belle's attention to his face. He smiles, bringing the backs of his fingers up for a long moment to trace her cheek, before letting that same hand slip between them, the backs of his fingers dancing over her aching, right nipple and then the soft expanse of her stomach.
Gold distracts her so well with his kisses, his sweet nothings, and his smiles that Belle only notices the pain when he's inside her and it is done.
She throws her head back, holding her breath as she counts through the pain, eyes damp and closed, legs tensed about Gold's still and solid form.
He brings her back though, pulls her away from the fierce aching that is someplace deep and new inside of her, and helps her to relax.
"That's it, love," he whispers, lips above hers, hands cupping her face. "That's it."
He doesn't apologise, doesn't tell her that the worst is over – because how could he know? – and Belle is glad for that. He simply leads her through the pain until there's a moment's peace from it, so she can let her jumping muscles go slack.
It feels so strange, to be so stretched and so...stuffed, to feel something so warm and hard inside her, something not a part of her but of someone else.
Belle moves, experimentally rolling her hips, and besides Gold's strangled noise of approval and an unfamiliar burning feeling, there is the slightest tug of pleasure, of excitement. The feel of Gold – of his breath and weight, his flesh and soft hair, his flexing fingers and trembling body – makes the pain bearable.
She moves again, and this time he follows her lead. With obvious effort, he places his hands beneath her shoulder and in the small of her back again, and he withdraws from her.
The sensation – the feel of his cock sliding out from between her tender lips and along her stretched passage – is immobilising in its strange newness and intensity. For a moment, Gold seems concerned about her stillness, but then Belle smiles a little and tightens her hold about his neck, and his relief is evident.
She learns to move her legs again, flexing her muscles, even as Gold presses his cock back inside her, and his movements are gentle, if a little jerky. He's just as stunned as she, Belle can see, and it lessens her anxiety a little.
It is just between them, this fantastic new thread in the tangled weaving they have, and it doesn't matter that he's obviously done this before, because he's here and only with her, and she can see – and feel – that this is special. This is theirs. Not the Capitol's, or the district's – just theirs.
This instinctive rolling of the hips and sighing, watching each other's expressions and feeling this absolute wonder is engineered entirely by them, by their want for each other, not some ploy or plot for sponsors or favour. This is real.
Belle smiles, even as her heart thumps wildly against her ribs and her legs begin to wobble with the strain of holding them in place, and Gold returns the gesture, settling in closer, his shoulders shaking, and kissing her softly upon the lips.
She wants to cry. And laugh. And scream. And sigh. But all that escapes her is his name, so soft, whispered on a hopeful breath, some fantastic new feeling beginning to course through her aching body.
"Rum," she repeats, and Gold closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if in bliss.
"Oh, Belle," he replies, almost brokenly, his hips jerking off-pace.
She knows he's close, but then, she thinks, she might be too, and so she tells him as much.
"I..." Her murmur is lost in his soft neck as she kisses his pulse, laving the thrumming beneath his skin with a gentle lick. "I think..."
He needs no more urging once her hips begin to echo his urgency, and he looks down at her as if he can't believe she's even remotely close to being on the crest of what she's feeling.
These waves of warmth, this tingling spreading across her flushed and damp skin, and the taste of an excruciating something in the very tips of her curled toes. She feels desperation, like in those times she took curious fingertips to herself back home and quietly writhed against her hand in the dead of night. She knows pleasure awaits her, if she only has the strength to peer past the pain and chase it.
Gold's hands roam her body feverishly once realisation sets in across his features, his fingers teasing her breasts with every jolt of his hips and his other hand, sliding down her stomach, heading to the untouched and helplessly aching point of her body.
Before he can reach her, finding that small bud that has given her so much pleasure when she found it herself all those times before, he angles a particularly forceful thrust and sends Belle reeling, hitting something deep inside and grinding down against her clit.
The flood of sensation that washes through her leaves her blind, deaf and dumb to all except Gold's face, twisted and wild and slack, mouth shaped with inexpressible pleasure.
Belle's muscles seize in time with the spasms rocking her electrified body, before, all of a sudden, vanishing, leaving her boneless and limp beneath Gold's shaking body. He falls onto his forearms above her, panting hard and chest heaving in time, and she can feel him – his seed – hot across her thigh.
She's sweaty and tired and pained, but she has enough energy to smile at him again, beneath a dark curl plastered to her forehead, and be happy with his forethought to pull out at the very last moment. Though a curious part of her wonders how he might feel, hot and thick inside of her, shaking and coming in time with her own pleasure.
But this is enough for eternity, her arms about his shoulders and his head tucked into the crook of her neck, as their legs tangle together awkwardly, an echo of their lovemaking.
Gold kisses her temple, but says nothing.
She knows. He loves her.
