Crimson Gold

by Syaunei

Storybrooke is a boring town and the only source of entertainment seems to be gossip. But are the rumors true? Is there perhaps more behind the facade we put up for others? A humorous take on Ruby/Gold. Mostly T, leaning towards M as the story progresses.

13. The Rules of Engagement

A/N:

Fair warning to all readers - this chapter's rating is bumped up to M for sexual content.

I'm sorry it took so long, but this chapter is huge, and I sincerely hope you'll find it was worth the wait - I'd hate to disappoint! Just keep in mind that this was my first attempt at smut, so... be kind. XD

Without further ado, here is the last grand chapter of Crimson Gold! Enjoy, dearies! :D

---

They had been driving in silence for ten minutes and, to her surprise, it wasn't an awkward sort of silence, more of a companionable one, like they had shared all there was on their minds, and there was no point in adding anything. Still, her mind wandered as the supple leather of her seat sent a cool sort of tingle through her slender fingers. She caressed it absent-mindedly, the warm, wine-induced haze in her head dissipating somewhat. Ruby cast a furtive glance his way, wondering what was going through his head at that very moment, but his face revealed nothing. He seemed calm and collected, but nothing more than that. Was this one of his pensive looks? Or a scheming one? Could it be Gold at his rarest, actually relaxed?

No, that couldn't be it. Now that she was going into the lair of the town's resident monster, she realized a bit late that the amount of information accumulated over their time spent together wasn't all that much; mostly her intuition trying to fill in the blanks the man was so adept at producing. It wasn't too late to change her mind now, give a feeble excuse along the lines of being tired or having a headache (that wine could take the fall quite nicely), but doing so would ruin this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to find out more about him, and she didn't want to blow it.

"Does every single thing you own have to be an antique?" Ruby mused, realizing with a startle that the words chose to come out of her mouth instead of staying in her head, where they belonged.

"Not everything…" He answered slowly. "Though it is true that they don't make them like they used to…"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were nostalgic." A smug little smirk tugged on her lips.

"I'm merely stating a fact, pet." After the briefest of glances, his eyes were fixed on the road once more and Ruby felt uncomfortably warm again. That little nickname which he managed to trick her into accepting (it was her own damn fault, though), even though under different circumstances coaxing a "well played" from her lips, was infuriating instead, almost causing her to forget the original plan.

Ruby wanted to complain, but then the engine stopped.

Blinking in confusion, her head turned to the driver.

"We've arrived."

"Already?" That was pretty fast.

"They do say that time flies when one's having fun." He teased. This fairy wine was getting to her; the stuff worked in waves, apparently.

This time, she didn't wait for him to open the door, choosing instead to stretch her legs and get a better look of his house. The mansion (for it surely deserved the title) was much too big for one person to live in, but she suspected that it probably served as storage space for the mountains of junk he had managed to collect over the years. He was a bachelor, after all, and she suddenly got the feeling that she might be greeted by a sight straight out of a "Hoarders" episode, and shuddered at the thought. If his house was like that, there was no way she'd be going into that cellar, promise of vintage wine and mind-blowing sex notwithstanding.

She faltered for a second, wondering which part of her tipsy, alcohol-addled brain managed to come up with that. It was preposterous; she had standards, she…

Damn straight, she had standards. She knew what she wanted and he fulfilled most of the necessary requirements, far more so than any other man she had ever been with. He was intelligent, funny and mysterious, and as she watched him unlocking his front door, she knew that it was now or never. Be a coward and never again get the chance to find what makes him tick, or stick to the plan and get some damned answers - the choice was hers alone.

"Are you coming?" Gold's voice roused her from the moment of reverie and she felt her legs giving the necessary response.

She climbed the rest of the steps and walked into the dim foyer. Lights flickered on and she looked around, pleasantly surprised. To her right was a grand wooden staircase with the most massive banister she had ever seen, and it made her wonder slightly if the house had originally been built for a herd of elephants, rather than a slender man like him. To her left was the weirdest sitting room, which mirrored Mr. Gold's personality quite well – the décor was tasteful and elegant, but there was more than a touch of clutter about the room. There was a fireplace that looked like it was carved in wood, and on top of it a huge oval mirror and an antique clock that didn't seem operational. Left of the fireplace rested a gramophone so old that Ruby wasn't sure if it could even play full sized records. Strewn on the floor around the fireplace was an assortment of old instruments: there was a violin, a cello and a mandolin (also a few others she couldn't remember the names for).

The set of armchairs came complete with a sofa in the same style, of a dirty pink color. That was a color she didn't expect to find in his house. The man would surprise her yet.

Although the house wasn't nearly as cluttered as she was afraid it would be, the amount of stuff littered around the room was startling – the man was like a dragon, sleeping on his treasure trove. She looked at the ceiling and whistled at the absurdly expensive-looking chandelier dangling in cascades of shimmering crystal.

"Wow, you're a magpie, Mr. Gold."

He snorted at that and Ruby flashed him a cheeky grin, pleased that she could still poke fun at him and not be threatened in turn. It was a strange sort of freedom, a privilege even, for she doubted that he would allow anyone else to be that cheeky in his presence and merely laugh at it. Nope, anyone else daring enough would probably be wearing cement shoes come morning.

She took her coat off and draped it over the sofa.

"So, where's that cellar?" Ruby inquired after she got bored of inspecting his living room.

"So, straight to the point, aren't you, pet?" Her host gave her a veiled sort of half-smile, one that she still had trouble interpreting. In time, she consoled herself, in time she would learn.

"You seem like the kind of man who cannot stand wasting time." That sounded pretty smart, she had to admit, and she wondered how she managed to come up with it in the whooping span of two seconds.

"True…" He acknowledged with a brief nod: "Though some things shouldn't be rushed…"

Oh… They were definitely on the same page here.

Not that he needed to know that just yet.

"I'm starting to doubt the existence of that wine cellar… Maybe you lied to lure me here." It was possible, now that she thought about it, even though when she opened her mouth to speak, her intention had been merely to provoke, and coax a smile or a witty response from him.

"Calling me a liar, pet? That is not very polite, especially towards a host as gracious as me." He made an exaggerated flourish with his free hand, as if he was welcoming her to a magical castle, rather than an ordinary, though admittedly opulent house.

"Guilty until proven innocent. At least in your case." With arms crossed over her chest, she looked like she was scolding him – it felt ridiculous, but the look on his face didn't suggest any displeasure with her claim.

"In that case, I shall let the evidence speak in my stead. If you will?"

Only then did she notice that he was standing in front of a dark wooden door – it blended so seamlessly with the rest of the décor that she managed to miss it entirely. There was a subtle creak as darkness beyond was revealed and Gold's arm disappeared behind the frame, flicking on a switch, most likely, seeing how soft light suddenly emerged from somewhere deep below.

She gave him a small, poignant look that carried a hint of suspicion but followed anyway as he descended the wooden staircase. The steps creaked ominously and she was suddenly glad that he went in front of her – at least something would break her fall, and to be perfectly honest, she'd take a cracked rib and bruised dignity over a broken neck any day (even though explaining it to Granny and Dr. Whale would be quite a challenge).

Once she was at the bottom of the stairs, a look to her left revealed an impressive wine rack. Now, not all slots contained bottles, but there were enough to reveal just how right her assessments were of late. He was definitely a pack rat.

"Nice collection you got here, Mr. Gold." She caught herself nodding in approval.

"What the hell am I doing? I don't know anything about wine!"

Since he didn't respond right away, Ruby turned around to see what he was doing. Even though his back was turned to her, she could discern the subtle hiss of a lighting match and noticed the rest of the basement in the process. The space itself was a bit narrow, the opposite wall was bare and there was no other furniture here other than a dark leather sofa, on its left a small round table and on its right a shelf that contained rows of wine glasses.

All in all, this looked like a cozy place to get drunk.

"What are you doing?" She asked, puzzled by his silence. It became quite apparent once he turned around, holding an ornate golden candlestick, three candles lit on top of it.

"Setting the mood?" She stifled a laugh, but the man looked vaguely pleased, though mostly as calm as ever.

"The wiring is a bit… Moody in the basement, I'm afraid. The lights tend to flicker from time to time." As if on cue to corroborate the story of its master, the house forced the solitary light bulb into a spastic fit. For a moment Ruby thought it would give out completely, but it chose not to. She didn't know whether to be grateful for it or not.

He placed the candlestick back on the table and joined her side, gaze directed to the wall covered with rows upon rows of nothing but dusty bottles.

"Is it true that wine gets better with age?" Ruby inquired roguishly, giving him a sideways glance.

Gold smirked. "Not all kinds do. Bordeaux tend to age wonderfully, but it depends on the manufacturer and the year… There's an art to these things."

She wondered how patient he would be if she asked him all of the details, but the truth was, she didn't really want to know all that boring stuff. It's not like Granny's would ever have a wine list.

"What's the oldest bottle of wine you have?"

His eyebrows rose slightly as his fingers traced the outline of the shelf and he murmured, looking somewhat unfocused: "I suspect there are a couple older than a century…"

"Wine doesn't spoil after so long?" Well, certain things didn't really have an expiration date, like honey, for instance. "Could we try one of those?" She asked tentatively, knowing that this was about the only chance she would ever get to try something this rare.

"Actually, had they not turned into overpriced vinegar, I'd share them with you, alas…" Gold shrugged, looking genuinely disappointed.

"Oh… So they do have an expiration date."

"Everything does." Here he paused for a moment, appearing lost in thought. "That's why antiques are so valuable… They withstood the passing of time, survived to tell the tale of an age long since past…" That was true, Ruby mused; antiques were interesting enough if you looked at them from that point of view.

"People like objects that tell a story." He shared the final thought.

If she didn't know any better, she'd find this almost romantic. Mr. Gold and romance, though… it was hard to imagine a non-volatile combination of those two. She had never heard of his involvement with anyone, which either meant that he was deviously sneaky about it, or years out of practice. She had no idea which of these options was better for her. Actually, it didn't really matter; it wasn't like she was here to stay.

But, the fact remained, the tension between them was palpable; you could almost cut it with a knife, and that was something none of her guys ever managed to achieve, not like this. There would be a spark, a glimmer, but this was substantial, an electrical build-up which threatened to self-combust any moment now. The only problem here was that he wasn't exactly relationship material, that much was obvious – she could never bring him home to Granny (unless she wished to kill her; in that case, it was a perfect plan) or bring him along to go out with her friends… Actually, they would never be allowed to be seen together in public, which kind of sucked. He was the lover type, not the boyfriend one. The type of lover a woman kept for obscure reasons - because the man was rich, or because he stroked her ego in any number of ways, but never a man it was acceptable to associate with, at least on the outside.

Maybe that was why he was still single; most women probably either found him intimidating or they were too scared of the social stigma that would come with the territory. Even the enormous wealth he possessed couldn't help him there, and that realization was pretty sad. A lone wolf he was, without a doubt, but he was probably lonely as well.

And that was something she could relate to. All of her friends and would-be boyfriends aside, there were things she couldn't share with any of them. Sure, they were decent company when the need arose (certain needs, itches that needed scratching, if you will), but there was always something missing. Crowds were distracting, fun even, most of the times just entertaining enough to keep her content and make her forget about anything she needed forgotten, but sometimes it just wasn't enough.

At those times she would just take the car and drive, sometimes deep into the forest, sometimes to the edge of town, with an intention to leave and never come back, but then reality would come crashing down and her senses would return – this was her home, her entire life. How can you leave something like that behind? It was hard.

Mr. Gold, however, probably didn't even have the luxury of any sort of company aside from the whispering voices of his antiques, telling him their stories in the dead of night, keeping him alive in his empty shop during the day… This made her want to try, to at least make an effort. She'd made it this far, she was here, in the perfect position to find out if any of her assumptions were correct, and also alleviate his loneliness (assuming he found problem with it in the first place).

"So… What's the most expensive wine in your collection that you'd be willing to open for me?" Teasing was easy, it was comfortable – a second nature, almost. And he seemed to enjoy it as well, so why not indulge?

"Ah… I believe that would be a 1967 Château Petrus, Pomerol."

The name was complete gibberish to her, but she pretended like it was interesting enough to warrant her attention.

"That's pretty old…" She said with a low whistle and then added mischievously: "Is that your birth year?"

He gave her an inquisitive look and spiced it up by adding a half-smirk. "No."

"I don't think you're younger than that, so… Older?"

"One tends to exclude the other, dearest." Gold snickered, giving her the briefest of glances, no doubt waiting in anticipation (or was it lying in wait) for her comeback.

"Oh, no you won't."

"Older." She stated resolutely.

He looked at her inquisitively and gave her a brief once-over which succeeded in making her shiver. Nah, must've been the cold cellar. Definitely.

"That is classified information, I'm afraid."

She narrowed her eyes at him, giving him a sharp, displeased look. Why was he so vehemently opposed to revealing his age? It was ridiculous; it's not like he was a woman that withheld her actual years for vanity's sake, so why? There's no way he was embarrassed about it, or anything stupid like that, right?

But, she would play his little game if need be.

"What would I owe you for that information?" The smug glint in her eyes would probably go unregistered (the light bulb was having a seizure again).

He tilted his head for a moment, pretending to think.

"Oh… I don't know… Your firstborn?" His grin was somehow brighter than usual and Ruby couldn't help but laugh. The man was such a tease! She found his comebacks pretty refreshing; most men her age had dreadful sense of humor and would only gape at her like drooling mandrills if she attempted this sort of banter with them. Gold was funny in a darker, quirky sort of way, and she was growing to like it more and more. If anything, it made her creative.

"I'd think this was a proposal, even without you getting down on one knee, but I fail to see a ring, so… Either you're messing with me or you're the biggest cheapskate ever."

Gold almost doubled over at that, one of his hands smacking into the rack for support as he chuckled, his shoulders shaking. It still wasn't loud, hearty laughter, but it was so rare, seeing his control slip, that she wanted to do just about anything to make it happen again, with higher frequency as well as intensity. The moment didn't last long, and soon he was back, mask and all.

"Why don't I let you decide, hmm?" The slight twinkle in his eye assured her that he was most definitely just pulling her leg.

"I won't say yes without a huge-ass diamond ring, you can be sure of that." Ruby smirked; left hand perched on her hip.

"Well, well… I never would have taken you for a gold-digger… I guess I was mistaken." The self-satisfied smirk on his face made her face flush beet-red in a heartbeat.

"No, no, no, no, no way!"

"I'm not!" She squealed almost, stomping her foot lightly in displeasure. This was going south, fast. Only now she could see the double meaning and it made her want to cry out in frustration, but that would only fuel his merciless wit more. He looked way too happy about this, and it wasn't helping matters any.

"It was a jest, pet… No need to get upset."

Oh, if he only knew why she was upset, he would gloat even more. She resisted the sudden urges to slap or kiss him (or both), and bit back her tongue. Her lips were pursed, hands crossed over her chest and she fixed her gaze onto the wine rack indignantly. He had a way of making her lose all manners of control and it was slowly driving her crazy. Behaving like a brat was not how she imagined going about this, but he just provoked that reaction in her, and effortlessly at that. It made her feel inadequate for being unable to "stay on his level", but it was his own damn fault – if he wanted a woman by his side, he should treat her as such.

When he moved from his spot, she found herself worried all of a sudden, following his movements across the room. It was hard to discern what was going on as the light flickered in and out of existence, and suddenly, with a hiss and a crackle, the light bulb finally gave out, leaving the basement in prevailing darkness.

He turned around, corkscrew in hand, and tutted at the ceiling. Then he looked at her, his nose wrinkled in distaste at the prospect: "Would you like me to get a new one?"

She thought about it for a moment: light was good. Light made her feel safe from him (and herself, actually). But to change the bulb, he would have to fetch a ladder, and with his bad knee, she could only imagine what a grueling undertaking that would be. Also, having her change the light bulb would probably hurt his pride (men just loved to fix stuff).

"Nah, I'll live." She waved her hand dismissively. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, and then he returned to the task at hand – opening what should be a superior alternative to the poor excuse for a wine they were served at Remy's.

After a subtle pop, soon followed by a pouring sound, Ruby was faced with Gold's expectant expression as he turned around and handed her the glass.

"Let's see if you have the makings of a sommelier."

One of her eyebrows quirked up; what, was he expecting a review all of a sudden? She couldn't possibly fathom why.

"What am I supposed to do?" She gave him a hesitant, slightly baffled look.

"Give it a whirl and a taste. See what flavours… emerge."

This had to be some sort of code-speak right there, but she allowed it to divert her attention regardless.

"I've never tried that. It'll probably sound like total nonsense."

His chin dipped a bit and he smiled. "I suspect most experts sound the same; don't worry about it."

She gave him an uncertain look and then noticed that he was leaned against the table, both hands on the edge for support, quite obviously without a drink in hand. That wouldn't do.

"What, you're not going to drink? I can't down the whole thing by myself." Technically, she could, but she suspected she'd be in no condition for anything except hugging a toilet afterwards, and that was most definitely not the impression she was trying to make.

"Be a darling and fetch me a glass?" The slight upward curve of his lips suggested infinite delight on his part, but she chose to put it aside for now; if she stopped to disassemble and analyze every single one of his little smiles, she'd be stuck down here forever, until she'd turn into a mummy and then he could just stuff her into one of the display cases in his shop. Turning around to the little wooden shelf that held the rest of the glasses, she picked one up. Just like the wine rack itself, it too, was covered with a thin film of dust and she wondered when the last time was that these things had seen use.

She handed it to him gingerly and watched him take it delicately, whipping up a cloth out of nowhere, cleaning it with seemingly perfected strokes. If she didn't know any better, she'd think those hands had a lot of practice – was he a waiter once? The sheer absurdity of the thought made her laugh; there was no way she could imagine a young Mr. Gold waiting tables and pouring people coffee – it was preposterous. Though, he must have had a past of some kind, a wife, maybe, kids… The amount of questions was infinite, the answers – scarce.

As he was pouring himself some wine, Ruby could stifle her growing curiosity no longer: "When was the last time you had somebody down here?"

He gave her a pointed look but remained silent. Well, if that approach wasn't working, it was time for some good old-fashioned humorous coaxing.

"I won't ask about the bodies buried here, don't worry." She sealed the deal by adding a conspiratorial wink.

"You seem very curious this evening." He deftly evaded, as usual.

"And you seem very determined to change the subject whenever I ask you anything. I believe it's called "defense mechanism"?" She supplied with unbridled satisfaction. Since he didn't say anything, she assumed that was a yes.

"So, just tell me. What have you got to lose?" Not much, she thought, save for those masks he loved to hide his real face behind.

"Well… Let's just say…there's a first time for everything."

It was a veiled admission, but an admission nonetheless, and she was slowly learning to appreciate those rare instances when he would actually reveal bits and pieces about himself.

"So, does that mean I'm the first one you brought here?" Gosh, did that sound hopeful? She certainly hoped not. To be fair, it was a teasing sort of voice after all, maybe he wouldn't notice…

"You seem awfully pleased by that, pet." Neither statement nor question, likely a hybrid of both, it made her stomach knot and twist.

"Drat."

Falling back on the "offense is the best defense" premise, she bared her teeth.

"And it took you how many years to finally succeed in dragging a woman into your lair?" Her grin wasn't malicious, even though what she said probably suggested otherwise.

The dim light was likely the reason why she was having a hard time deciphering the complexity of his expressions, but she was sure there was a hefty dose of surprise flashing across his face before he managed to compose himself.

"A most astute observation."

Uh, oh… That little knowing smile was back.

"Really?" Ruby gave him a look of suspicious disbelief: "Which one would that be? About women, or about the lair?"

He offered no reply as she watched him take a sip of that freakishly expensive wine, never breaking eye contact. There was something scalding in that gaze she couldn't shake off. He wouldn't tell her, she realized; keeping her in the dark was probably a much more appealing alternative. Literally.

Finally giving up with a shrug, she took a careful sip - there were no roofies in it, were there? That would be awfully pointless.

"Wow." She managed to say. This wine was light years away from piss of any kind and she could taste the difference as clear as day.

There was a slight smile tugging on his lips as he observed her. Ruby felt a rush of tingles swarming from her belly to the rest of her body. Ok, while she would have been more than happy to chalk it up to the wine, she knew the feeling well enough in a sober state to be able to recognize it anytime.

"Describe it to me." He requested in a deceptively soft voice, but she could almost feel an absolute command beneath it. The urge to deny his demand was overwhelming, but something deep inside of her was giving in, obeying his words without as much as a question.

She took a bigger sip this time and let it linger on her tongue for a moment. The blend of flavors was fascinating, the transitions between them nearly seamless, and she could not discern exactly what she was tasting. She swallowed slowly and bit her lower lip as she pondered for a moment. Giving him a slightly insecure look (this had the potential to turn embarrassing), she decided to speak her mind regardless:

"At first, I thought it was rich… It's a bit dry, if that makes any sense, dry but not flat… There's… I felt some kind of… berries? Not sure… Oh! And it tastes a bit like… never mind, it's weird."

She was very reluctant to tell him what the aftertaste was, because, against all reason, something about it made her heart race. To feel aroused by that particular aroma was slightly twisted, but Ruby couldn't help it – that must have been a hidden kink of hers, finally rising to the surface.

"Indulge me." That was it, she thought; his piercing gaze, which made her feel completely exposed, also made her feel like he could read her mind, like he was able to peruse her most intimate thoughts at his leisure with minimum amount of effort, and gloat over it afterwards.

"It tastes like…" she swallowed: "…blood and chocolate." She averted her gaze as soon as the words left her mouth, not yet completely aware of the fact that she really went through with it. The cellar wasn't well-heated by any standards, and yet she was feeling uncomfortably warm and slightly out of breath.

"Excellent." He commented, but she still couldn't meet his eyes, though she heard what he spoke next: "There are indeed notes of iron and cocoa powder in it… As for the berries you mentioned… Blackberries, I believe, are the ones you were looking for. It seems your worry was unfounded; you would make a fine sommelier, pet."

So, she actually got most of it right? That was either pure dumb luck, or she was some sort of wine prodigy or yet undiscovered savant. Then her mind doubled back; Gold actually went out of his way to praise her? Now she was sure the world was coming to an end. An uncomfortable sort of uneasiness bubbled in her stomach and she sat on the sofa to avoid having her legs give out. Crossing them, she risked a glance his way. His nose was stuck in the glass and his gaze nowhere near her. For some reason, this made her somewhat upset. He had a woman in his basement for the first time in eons, and he dared look uninterested? That was as clear an insult to her appeal as it was possible.

"Why are you sitting over there?" She asked, sounding bolder than she actually felt. "I can't imagine it's more comfortable than the couch." Now, that he wouldn't be able to refute.

"Admiring the view?" He offered with an impish smile, and her gaze instantly dropped to her cleavage, wondering if her dress managed to slide lower somehow and how long ago it happened to slip her notice.

A soft chuckle made her pay attention to him once more and she realized that he probably couldn't see it all that well from that vantage point, it just wasn't close enough, and the light was quite dim, to tell the truth. A moment later, she realized that her long legs were crossed but slightly outstretched, and would definitely tempt any man into letting their gaze linger a bit longer than necessary.

She grinned and drank, emptying her glass in one go. It must have given her that one final burst of courage she needed for this, and she straightened on the sofa, her right hand caressing the leather by her side seemingly without notice, as her warm, flickering gaze found its way to his, entangling inseparably in the process.

"Well, from up there you can look, but you cannot touch…" She observed the way his mouth opened slightly, lips twitching for but a moment before he shut it again. This reluctance needed to go, fast.

"Besides, I need a refill." If that was the excuse he needed, so be it.

Sure enough, that seemed to do the trick – he got up, bottle in hand and sat on the couch, still far enough so that she had to lean in for that refill. That was sneaky and mean, but she found herself caring less and less. If he wanted to play dirty, she was not adverse to the idea.

Once the glass was mostly full, instead of crawling back to the place she used to occupy before, she stayed right where she was. He deposited the bottle back on the table and took his own glass.

"Cheers." He said in a low voice, it came out mostly hushed. She wanted to know the reason behind it, but found herself reacting to his gesture unconsciously, clinking her glass to his.

They both drank, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence all around them. Not hearing a damn thing was pretty terrifying, making the basement seem like more of a crypt. It was a curious game between them; as long as they were talking, things were fine, better than fine, actually, but once words ran dry and silence wormed its way around them, doubts were given room to fester undeterred. Yet, here she was, sitting about two feet away from him, in his basement, drinking his expensive wine, wanting everything and nothing all at once.

This was a fundamentally wrong place for doubts and second thoughts. Why were they still present? Her brain jumped at the prospect of elaborating further on the subject, handy with a nigh endless supply of reasons why all of this was a terrible idea, but the voice was such a droning stream of general unhelpfulness that she shoved it aside, choosing rather to entertain a new one that strutted into the audience chamber with a swagger, demanding to be permitted entry. It was like a dark reflection of herself staring straight at her, clad in black leather from head to toe, golden eyes glowing in hunger and impatience. It looked more like a silhouette, a menacing shape looming in the darkness, but it was impossible to deny it access – how do you hide from a monster?

"You want him" it whispered into her ear as it circled round and round "you know you do".

Ruby shuddered to the marrow of her bones. The most powerful man in town could be hers, if she only extended her hand far enough to stake her claim. This was no longer about coy smiles and funny remarks; the low simmering heat was crawling up her spine, pooling in her mouth, and she could feel something damp and tantalizing teasing her taste buds, the immediate sharp intake of cold air making her hyper-aware of her canines all of a sudden. Her inner darkness was right, the need was here, the craving getting stronger by the minute as it kept murmuring seductive thoughts in hushed, salacious tones.

She leashed the unwanted guest and shoved it back into the darkness where it belonged. Going about this like a wild animal would take half of the fun from it; also, it wasn't like the object of her desire needed to know that he wasn't the only monster in this town. Her reputation was blown out of proportion but that didn't make it entirely unfounded.

"Let's play a game." The words came out with her breath and the languid motion of her eyes seemed to stretch on forever until their gazes met.

"A drinking game." She added to avoid any confusion, as well as to save herself the trouble of getting sidetracked by his ever-present need for humorous retorts.

"Oh?" He replied slowly, measuredly almost. "This isn't one of those "truth or dare" deals, is it?" There was a definite amount of amusement in his voice, but the worry he expressed was seeping through the cracks. Why such need for secrecy? It was slowly stretching the limits of her patience to their breaking point.

"No. The only soul-baring going on here will be exclusively on a voluntary basis." With a half-smug, half-mysterious smile, she observed him in silence. The soft illumination provided by the flickering flames was enough to shed light on his reactions.

"And what would be the rules of this little engagement?" Gold inquired in his habitual business-like manner.

With that, she turned to face him, her long legs untangling, the right one breaching most of the remaining distance between them as she brought it to rest on the couch, folded in the knee. And then, in a manner of a gracious hostess, she proceeded to explain, drink still in her right hand, the fingertips of her left tracing the delicate surface of the glass in the process:

"Well, each of us will choose something to whisper in the other's ear, anything at all. And you're not supposed to move or say anything as it's being said. If you do, you drink."

For once, it looked like she had his full attention.

"If you don't… Then I drink. And vice-versa. Clear enough?"

He said nothing for a moment, and she wondered if he would refuse. That would be a waste, and she was trying to appeal to his business side – one that could see a good deal when it presented itself.

"All right." He acquiesced, his warm, chocolate-colored eyes aglow. "You start."

"What, cannot think of anything to say?" She said smugly.

"You will excuse me, pet… But I haven't had the pleasure of playing this game before, so I find myself at a distinct disadvantage." The earnestness of his tone seemed genuine, and it made her wonder if this was the first time a woman was so openly flirtatious with him.

"Fine. I'll start, then." There was already a perfect phrase forming in her head, designed to make him react – it might have been unrefined, but it was the most likely to provoke a response. With that, she slid closer until her chest was about an inch from his shoulder, lips nearly brushing against his ear as she spoke in a smooth whisper:

"I had a wet dream about you." She moved away a bit to scrutinize his reaction, wondering if he would move, or at least flinch, because his lips were shut tight - he was obviously not going to speak. When it became apparent that he wasn't going to budge, she knew this round was forfeit.

"Ok, my loss. I drink."

He turned his head to watch her and his face was impossible to read, no secretive smiles, no strange glimmers, nothing. Her heart found it perfectly acceptable to set a new beat, running miles ahead of what she would like.

"Your turn." It was hard to breathe as she leaned back into the sofa, nervous about his comeback in advance. She closed her eyes and waited. Soon, she was able to feel the moisture in his breath as it brushed past her ear and sensed the slightest of touches along the outline of her jaw, his voice but a whispered caress: "And what was it exactly that we've done in that dream of yours, pet?"

Whether it was the touch or the words mattered little, for she let out a soft, strangled gasp, her chin jerking upwards as her lips parted to give way to the loss of breath. Her head snapped to face his way, the man already moving away, the makings of a grin showing on his face.

"You cheated!" She protested, "I said nothing about touching!"

Gold replied with a fully formed smirk: "Precisely. You didn't specify."

He had warned her to be specific when making deals with him, and she knew that this was on her head. It still didn't make him any less devious. She frowned and drank, spite rising in her throat.

"I'll get you for this."

"I'll be looking forward to it." He snickered, looking irritatingly pleased with himself.

"I believe it's my turn." All bets were off; if he was planning on playing dirty, she was more than happy to oblige. If touching was permitted, then he was in deep trouble. The fire was back, she could feel the aftertaste lingering on her tongue, enticing her inner demon towards actions she would usually never go through with, the very ones which she was often accused of behind her back. Her left hand came to rest on his knee and she moved it up his thigh excruciatingly slow while she was whispering in his ear:

"In the dream… We were at the diner…" Ruby was mindful to watch him intently, so not a single twitch could escape her notice as she was retelling the story:

"It was closing time and you were getting ready to leave when I stopped in front of the door –" A long pause stretched between them and she breathed into his ear, hoping for a shudder, but none came.

For the first time, she could discern his scent – it was strange that she hadn't noticed it before, because there was a nearly chameleon-like quality to the man's smell – it could blend in flawlessly with the rest of his surroundings, almost as if he wasn't even there, or perhaps, like he was ever-present, lingering in every speck of dust and bead of water. He smelled of nature, of moss and wet stone on the banks of a brambling brook, of dried grass and pollen, a heady smell she could not discern properly. Almost like he held a part of every thing in existence, all at once, stealing the essence of all creation to reinforce his own. If there was a name for it, the only word that fit the description was power - muted, subdued, buried deep in a collapsed cave, but it was there – a swirling mist of all that was secret, of everything that ruled over life and death, a precipice as sharp as a diamond blade – so thin you couldn't possibly see it with the naked eye, and yet, you could feel its sting nonetheless. If that power could be harnessed, nothing was impossible – the entire world could be his at a mere snap of his fingers, and if she would claim him - and at this very moment, she yearned for it, he would be on her side, hers to control… If only she could make him relinquish the death-grip he had on it first.

"You asked me if I didn't want you to leave…" his leg muscles were as rigid as stone, which meant that he was trying really hard not to move "- to which I replied that I wanted you…to stay." Ruby paused for a reason, noticing the slight sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

"You made me lock the door and pinned me against it, your fingers caressing my thighs, sliding up, higher and higher…" Her carefully measured words were accompanied by her own fingers, on a trajectory meant to come to a halt only where every other man would just about lose his mind.

Here she stopped to observe the reaction she was sure she was evoking in him, because it would probably take a eunuch to stay impassive to that. A couple of seconds trickled by, and he still wasn't moving. Ruby realized that he likely wouldn't, no matter how long she stared at him. She resisted the overwhelming urge to snarl.

"You're a tough nut to crack." She hissed, bringing the glass closer to her lips. If only looks could kill…

After a large gulp, she settled onto the couch once more, waiting for his move with a hint of dread clawing at her insides. She wondered how he was able to throw her off her game; it usually never took this much effort to bring a man down, but, as it would appear, he was nothing like the usual men she dealt with; he was actually a man, not a fumbling youngster who could do little more than stab a woman with the pointy end.

This time she would persevere. This time she wouldn't let him coax a response from her, this time… Oh, my God, is that his hand on my thigh? Her eyes flew open at once and she tried really hard to suppress a moan that threatened to escape the confines of her throat. His breath was hot on her skin, and she wondered if he would abandon this silly game in favor of what they both wanted. This was foreplay, she realized, their own personal brand of it - criss-crossed with double meanings, layered with unspoken intentions and laced with desires heightened by the absurd amount of time wasted in delaying what might've been inevitable from the very beginning. With petrified breath, she waited for his words, willing this to be over. Yet, when his lulling whisper rumbled softly in her ear, it took every last shred of her willpower not to give in, then and there.

"And how far up…did my fingers go, exactly?"

She should have known that he would use it against her, but hindsight was always 20/20. Before the last word left his lips, his fingers all but fluttered above her skin, on the inside of her right thigh, just on the fringe where the lace of her stockings began, and the more primitive part of her psyche took the wheel forcefully, her legs spreading a fraction in an entirely unconscious action, a whimpering moan escaping her trembling lips. It took her a long moment to process everything she was feeling, so she, at first, didn't even realize that his hand was gone from the one place where she approved of it being. Trying hard to ignore the gentle pulse in the lowest part of her abdomen, she turned to face the only person who was able to wrest control from her so effortlessly, wondering if his face was still as close to her neck as she remembered, but he had already leaned back, gaze fixed on her with a measure of amazement and mild disbelief. There was also something triumphant about his half-smile, and she realized that this was a look she had never seen on him before.

"For a game of your choosing, you're surprisingly bad at it, pet."

So, the teasing was back, along with a nearly narcissistic amount of self-satisfaction.

She'd had it.

No man was immune to a woman's charm, at least no straight man (which she assumed he was, pink couches aside), and she would make him fold, even if it was the last thing she did. Downing the remainder of the wine in one swig, she put the glass to rest on the wooden shelf on her left and felt all remaining control slipping. The black outline was back with a vengeance, golden eyes glistening in anticipation of what was to come.

Ruby got up from the couch, feeling a cascading tingle as her legs stretched, and walked up to him, staring him down. He held and followed her gaze intently, like he wasn't able to look away. Her left knee found its way to the couch and she gripped the armrest for support as she brought her right leg up as well, all but straddling him as a final result. Her thighs were hovering above his lap, so there was no physical contact yet, but it was close enough to feel the heat he exuded. She let her hands rest against his chest, waiting for a betraying convulsion of his muscles, or a soft moan, but he was immovable. Moving forward, she led her lips close to his ear, breathing through the stray strands of his hair, sending them aflutter. If what she was about to say wouldn't make him budge, she would consider herself a failure as a woman. And leave the cellar after giving him a good-night smack in the groin.

"You should know that… besides the bra… I'm wearing nothing underneath this dress…" She breathed a small giggle of satisfaction as the man's chest jerked against her palm and he inhaled sharply with a hiss. Ruby retreated at once, facing him, her legs still by his sides, and all but ordered him:

"I heard that… Drink."

His gaze was as sharp as a razor, peeling off the layers of her self-confidence, but she knew then – he was as mortal as any other man, and equally fallible. And of all the women in the world, she would be the one to make him fall.

As his glass traveled to his lips, Ruby's right hand closed around it.

"Wait." She said with a hint of urgency, her voice slightly deeper than usual, her gaze darkened. After bringing the cool glass to her lips, she took a tiny sip – her gaze never leaving his. She took the glass away and placed it on the table; they wouldn't be needing it anymore.

He seemed puzzled and intrigued, all at once, and offered no resistance as she traced the thumb of her right hand across his lips, sliding down to his chin, offering a slight tug.

Ruby leaned closer, and his lips parted for her in unspoken accord as she descended on him, mouth pressing to his in a slow, heated kiss. Her tongue unfurled, pouring the bit of wine that was left, hoping that he, too could feel the dizzying aroma of blood spiced with cocoa. The tension in his lean frame was building, and he was all trembling and high-strung underneath her. It must have been some breaking point he was nearing, and she knew which one she wasn't hoping for.

There was no breath left in her as she felt a slight push against her bare shoulders and startled slightly as the realization struck – he was pushing her away. The chorus in her head screamed questions by the dozen, but she hushed it to focus on his eyes instead. They said the eyes were the windows to one's soul; it was a quote overdone, but she still searched those depths of mesmerizing brown for the silhouette of the person residing within. His eyes were not windows, but rather curtains – you could blow a wind and they would shimmer and coil, allowing no more than a quick glimpse into the realm inside, and would tangle around you, wrap you up in their deceptively thin fabric, and never let you in.

His eyes were denying her access.

But everything else was evidence to the contrary; his breathing was hushed and ragged, his fingers which were resting on her shoulders until then, started to trail down, the hesitant touch as soft as a feather's tickle. She shivered, her own breathing reduced to small, erratic gasps. Her hands latched onto his shoulders and she felt like a drowning woman clinging to a rope.

"You are playing a very dangerous game, my pet…" He uttered with some difficulty, his eyes ablaze – it wasn't just the flicker of the flames she could see reflected in them, but also something inherently conflicting – worry and savagery, at the same time, intertwined inseparably like two snakes coiling around each other. Well, she'd better stick her hand into the hissing knot, for there was only one of these she wanted.

"I swear, you try to warn me off again, and I will strangle you in your sleep." The threat held no real malice, but it blazed with frustration and definite promise.

His face was hard to read, her own rising heat interfering with the concentration necessary for the task, but one of his hands was suddenly tangled in her hair, and she was being pulled closer, her mind a complete blank until he claimed her mouth in a rough, nearly bruising kiss. It was hungry and demanding, which mirrored her desires perfectly, drawing her hidden side to the forefront with startling ease. She welcomed his burning lips with a soft moan, impatient hands sliding under the lapels of his pristine suit in search for his heat, feeling an insatiable craving for closeness, for skin. Their kiss broke as her back arched at his touch, her breathless gasp severing the connection when other forms of contact overrode her senses. Pressing herself to him, she leaned on his chest and her legs shuddered, then gave out, until she was sitting in his lap, hands searching frantically for some bare skin to touch. When they reached his neck, she clung to him, fingers burying in his soft, mousy hair and breathed heavily next to his ear.

She could feel her hair being brushed away from her left shoulder, his fingertips wreaking havoc on her nerves. This was the moment when she became fully aware of the fact that she could no longer stop and walk away: the desperate want would consume her from within. No matter how ludicrous the thought was, the simple (or perhaps, ugly) truth was: she needed this. He had to make this feeling go away by satisfying her urges; there was no way out of it now.

The grip he had on her hair should have hurt, but she felt nothing but a scalding, wet kiss pressed against her throat, dissolving into a thousand contradicting sensations at once, as he seemed unable to make up his mind regarding the method of administering this torture: for a moment she could feel the graze of his teeth, the next a moist flicker of his tongue, both in between many different types of kisses. Perhaps it was the chaos of the motions, but it made her groan softly, her hips already working up a rhythm to the melody he was making her play. His gruff, shallow breaths only teased the wet spot on her neck, sending delighted shivers down her arms.

She needed more of him, more skin bared to her starving touch, but his attire was impeding her efforts every step of the way. With a low growl, she fumbled with his tie, fingers tugging and unfolding and yanking at it until the damned thing slipped away. She let if fall freely wherever it damn well pleased and moved back to look at him and assess the situation. There was little time to mourn the loss of the attention he was showing her neck as she unbuttoned his jacket, pulling the sides off of him in an almost hateful way. Just when she was about to tackle the tiny buttons of his entirely irritating shirt, he grabbed her wrist firmly and spoke in a deliberate manner, his accent more pronounced than before:

"You seem to be in an awful rush to get this over with, pet." The term made her shiver as his teeth bared to pronounce it. Was that what he thought? That she was rushing through this, actually going along out of some obscure sense of pity, or misguided gratitude for the date they had? That was just wrong. She wasn't doing this for any of those stupid reasons! The only motivation behind her actions was desire, coming straight from her core, plain and simple and unyielding.

The realization left her hovering above him in a daze, a part of her snapping out of lust-induced frenzy, while the other was yanking the chain in an attempt to drag her back into the darkness, drawing upon the sensations evoked by the strength of his grip – he could hold her back. This slender, wiry man was able to hold her back, or hold her down, or to pin her against anything, if he so desired, and that monstrous part of her stretched in delight, attempting to convince her that more of his touch held the promise of pleasures yet unknown.

"Stop torturing me…" She pleaded, mouth desperate for his, and he didn't move away, he listened and obeyed, loosening his grip somewhat as he led both of their hands to fall by their sides and she kissed him feverishly, her other hand holding his jaw in place, guiding him closer. Her tongue flickered against his lips, encouraging and begging for admission, and he gave it, his mouth slanted against hers in a surprisingly perfect fit. A wave of agonizing bliss washed over her at the first real taste of his mouth – it was rich and thick, just like the fine wine they had shared, more like molten chocolate rather than blood - the slightly bitter kind - but its flavor all the more potent for it. There was something tantalizing and addicting about the way he tasted, a palatable sort of darkness which she was completely defenseless against – instead of staking her claim over him, she found herself taken instead, whisked away into a parallel dimension of his own making, trapped in his covetous arms.

"What are you?" She could hear him say as they separated for air, his eyes wild and voice hoarse.

The low, rumbling laughter that vibrated at the bottom of her throat surprised even her as she whipped her head back, the silky strands of her hair brushing against her heels in a short, sweeping motion. She settled in his lap once more and laced her fingers behind his neck, looking at him from afar, eyes ablaze with a strange sort of fire, one she hardly knew she possessed until this very moment. Her voice didn't quiver in the least at the admission, quite the contrary; it felt like the most natural thing to say:

"I'm a monster." It felt like a simple enough truth, for who else would act this way? So wanton and unhinged? Surely, only a creature shrouded in shadows, a wild, untamable animal. A half-formed grin gleamed on her face, her eyes nearly closed. This felt like a trance, surreal and yet so very tangible that it was impossible to deny its existence.

"I thought it was well established that the title belonged to me." Gold mirrored her smile with startling proficiency.

"Not everything belongs to you, you insatiable man." There was something haughty about her gaze as she looked at him, like she was sure of her claim beyond any reproach.

He answered this with a quiet snarl as he pulled her closer to him, his right hand sliding possessively up her thigh. The gesture assured her that she was desired, that he wanted her, and no matter how feral it was, it didn't end up frightening her in the least; her own beast craved the encounter just the way it was. While he was busy with the hem of her dress, she occupied herself with his buttons, prying them loose, one by one, his hand, meanwhile, sliding underneath, caressing her thigh with reverence. She leaned closer to spread his shirt open when he let out a soft gasp of surprise:

"You… lied." There was surprise mixed with light outrage flashing across his face and his gaze found hers and they clicked together like a clasp. He sounded mildly shocked, but the brilliance of his grin showed an unmistakable dose of pride, like she was but an apprentice that had managed to outsmart her master way ahead of her time.

Ruby let out a soft chuckle and leaned closer to him, her eyes boring into his unwaveringly: "You were the one that started to play dirty…"

She licked her lips and watched him for a long moment, his eyes traveling south, undressing her on the way down. She went for a more practical approach and undid the rest of his buttons after wresting the shirt free from his trousers. Her breath caught in her throat as his chest and abdomen were bared to her gaze.

"Not what you expected?" He inquired, looking fairly amused.

She stared for a moment longer before running her hands across the surprisingly smooth skin on his chest, relishing the subtle flexing of his muscles as her hands slid down. She had expected to see him a bit more… worse for wear, to be perfectly honest. But he was fairly toned for a man of his age, and what surprised her the most was the fact that he seemed to have no excess weight anywhere in sight. He was pure sinew, resilient and commanding a strength that belied his small stature. She found herself breathing harder in approval; this was something she could definitely get into.

"It's not… It's better." She stated blatantly, staring at him with newfound appreciation.

"Would you have gone through with it had it not been?" He asked, one of his eyebrows quirked.

She didn't quite understand why he seemed so interested in this at that point, but humored him regardless.

"Most likely… Though I cannot say if I would be up for a repeat performance…"

This made him laugh and she watched the way his throat bared for her, the sight making her want to sink her teeth into him.

Which was exactly what she did. Lowering herself into a more suitable position, she kissed the side of his neck, nipping at his flesh at first, only to lick and tease it better afterwards, feeling a rush of accomplishment as it coaxed a husky moan from his lips, and, in turn, felt his canines biting into the exposed skin of her left shoulder, the fierceness making her tremble in his arms.

"Take this off!" She hissed while she was tugging his suit jacket away, and felt him stirring underneath as his back separated from the sofa, shaking the offending garment off. Once that was done, she felt both of his hands on her head, his lips pressed to her left ear. He was breathing hotly into her hair and his voice came out raspy, which only fueled her drive further.

"Impatience suits you, pet…" His whisper was coarse and barely distinguishable, but the words managed to pull her closer to the brink. He was pandering to her every unspoken plea, played straight into every dirty fantasy that she sometimes had trouble coming to terms with, and all of it without even breaking a sweat.

That had to change.

She made quick work of her invisible zipper and tried to pull the annoying dress over her head, but it wasn't going fast enough for her taste. She couldn't see him (the folds of the red fabric making sure of that), but his ringing laughter was clear enough, and she felt a liberating tug from underneath as her dress finally relinquished its hold on her body. With a quick glance at him, she realized that she was now severely underdressed. Something had to be done about that.

Just when she was really getting into the way he was looking at her, she got an eyeful of his bare chest displayed just for her. There was but that pesky shirt to take care of, and, as her hands slid up his stomach, soaking up the sudden shiver that greeted her fingers there, her breath was stolen from her lungs in a heartbeat. Just a cut above his elbows glistened a golden strap, one on each side, and she recognized these from the time she was at his shop. The memories came flooding in, thoughts of wanting him on that display case, craving those deft fingers of his and all they promised… She bit her lips and trembled, deciding at once to busy her hands with something else as a distraction – what would he think of her if he noticed that she had a thing for his armbands? Him being naked and gasping for breath was one thing, but an armband fetish was veering off into inexplicable directions. She unbuckled his belt, trying really hard not to moan and whimper while his fingertips trailed ghostly touches up her calves, then thighs, coming together on the flat surface of her belly, tentative and infuriatingly pleasurable. She pulled his belt out forcefully and tossed it aside, the metallic clang of the buckle hardly discernable as it thudded on the floor. Before she could even begin to comprehend what was going on, he had her lying on her back, splayed across the couch, a tiny gasp of surprise escaping her lungs as her back hit the smooth leather. He loomed above her and she motioned to get up and kiss him, or touch him, but he pushed her back with ease, his right hand tracing the outlines of her shoulder, breasts and waist, provoking quite a vocal, nearly tremulous response. He was hardly doing anything, but it was driving her insane anyway – it was like he knew instinctively what to do, which way to brush his calloused hands against the soft expanse of her skin to their full effect, and she didn't know whether to thank him or resent him for it. Arching into his touch, her body expressed all that her mind wanted to suppress, the longing, the need, the insatiable hunger for every single thing he was withholding from her.

He crooned to her from above: "Tell me what you want, pet…"

That sentence alone was the pinnacle of torture – he could see what he was doing to her, every little touch made her gasp and moan and writhe under his hands, and still he pushed the limits further, all but forcing her to admit her desire out in the open.

"You know what I want…" She whimpered breathlessly as her hands grabbed onto the armrest behind her head: she had to dig her nails into something, and if he was determined to withhold his back, then his couch would suffer for it.

His left hand was resting on her hip, and his right sliding down her thigh, making her tremble. She could feel her body pliable, then tense, the two alternating in waves as his hands moved across it.

"I didn't hear that…" There was a sugary quality to his voice, and it reeked of lies – he heard it, all right.

Biting on her lower lip, she tried to stifle all of the embarrassing little sounds that just couldn't stop spilling from her mouth; like he needed any more proof of his prowess. This next admission was hard enough to produce already…

"You… I want you, God…" She covered her eyes with the palm of her right hand, feeling her head swim as her body called out for him. Ruby fully expected him to tease her about it, to say: "Was that so hard, pet?" but he chose not to. A good call.

She nearly forgot to breathe as she felt his fingers pulling at the delicate fabric of her black, lacy boy briefs. Her body raised into the air in response, making his job considerably easier. A rush of cold air greeted her exposed skin and she realized just how ready she was for what was coming. As soon as her legs untangled from the flimsy piece of fabric, she felt his hands hoisting her right leg over his left shoulder.

It was then that she looked at him properly and it seemed like he was bracing himself for whatever it was that he had planned next. He seemed enthralled by the sight of her so completely exposed, gaze fixed on a thin, pencil line of hair left. His right hand traced its way from her collarbone and lower still, making her shiver in response until it passed the full length of her abdomen and his fingers stopped just on the most sensitive part of her inner thigh, teasing the softest patch of skin for a moment, and her body screamed in protest.

"Please!" She breathed out imploringly and it seemed to do the trick, for his other hand settled on her stomach, fingers spread, and the right one – oh, so damn right – finally touched her the way she needed the most. One of his fingers slid inside without any resistance and she could see fireworks exploding behind her closed eyelids. All thoughts of shame melted away as she let her voice loose, her little noises of satisfaction filling the hollow space around them as they grew in intensity. Her hips had developed a mind of their own, falling into his rhythm, moving in reckless anticipation, imploring for more, and he seemed to understand their language, for another finger found its way in, provoking a rather enthusiastic response from her lips. He wasn't rough, she noticed, despite the sinful things he was making her do and endure. She wanted him harder, faced with a familiar feeling – she was so damn close – it was maddening. The desperate thrusts of her hips must have given him the right idea, because the rapid movement made her cry out as the delicious friction pushed her over the edge. Clenching around his fingers tightly, she breathed in sharply as a wave of pleasure carried her high. Her muscles relaxed once she came crashing down, her legs aquiver with the aftershock.

Gold seemed to be in as much of a daze as she was, and she watched him bring the fingers slick with her excitement to his nostrils, in an entirely obscene fashion, as if he was committing her scent to memory. A deeply perverse part of her mind started to wonder what flavors he could discern if he would only taste her, and her gaze must have betrayed her thoughts; the next thing she knew, he was licking the side of his index finger, his look somewhat hazy.

"What do I taste like?" It was the most daring thing she had ever said in the heat of the moment, but it didn't feel forced or out of place. She could see his lips stretching into a half-smirk as he answered her dare:

"Wild… berries, vanilla…and musk."

A feverish gasp escaped from her lips, and she felt the warmth swelling within her once more. The only thing in view was he, bathed in dim candle-light, soft orange hues dancing in pairs with shadows, whirling and flickering over his features.

"Let me try."

Ruby's voice was deliberate and steady; all boldness she never knew she possessed, filling those words to the brim. She got up slightly, staring at his fingers as if under a spell. Her lips parted, and she licked, her eyes closing as if she didn't need the gift of sight anymore, relying on her other senses to guide her. It certainly was someone else guiding her actions - for a thing like this one would need to be in a long relationship, one full of trust – which was about as far from the truth about their rapport as it was possible. And yet, she was doing unimaginable things, sucking gently on his slick fingers, having a taste of something that was surely forbidden, or at least should be. It wasn't about the taste though, she barely registered it, completely unable to discern the flavors that he claimed were present, but was, instead, nearly painfully aware of his coarse skin and smooth, short fingernails. Those hands didn't belong to an idle, pampered man, despite the lavish suits which suggested otherwise; these hands were the proof of a man who worked hard, until his hands were rough and dry – a testament to the sheer force of his will. He wasn't born rich, or spoiled, he wasn't pampered – every penny he earned was born of sweat and blood, and that was why he held his head high when everyone else talked badly about him, for he was aware of the cost of success – having paid its price in full.

Once his fingers were clean, she allowed his hand to slip away, willing her eyes to open in search for his gaze. His breathing was shallow and quiet, so quiet, in fact, that for a brief moment she wondered if he was still a living being and not an eerily accurate representation left there in his stead.

Her mind was filthy, and in that moment her lips seemed inseparably linked to that vulgar part of her brain, speaking the words aloud, the kind that should never be allowed to leave the confines of her head:

"Delicious."

She observed him with vivid interest, noticing the sharp intake of breath that followed her indecent claim, making it seem like she had breathed life into him where there was none before. His eyes radiated warmth, the likes of which she had never witnessed. Other men had scalding, lewd, hungry gazes while his was dampened, softer – like there was something there that no other being was privy to, and she felt her heart jostling. He had unknowingly shared some of his real self with her, and she felt proud, honored and humbled, all at once.

"You still haven't had enough?" He asked, his voice tinted with somewhat muted mischief, even though the words carried a veiled plea for permission – as if he needed to ask! All he had to do was take her, and she would be his, completely, even if but for a night, or an hour… The fact that he bothered to ask at all struck her as sweet, and considering who it was coming from, it certainly was. No, he definitely wasn't what he appeared to be, or at least, not its sum.

If he needed validation, she would provide it.

She pulled him down on top of her, feeling the flush of his skin against hers, hands massaging his shoulders for a bit, and she tangled her legs around his waist, drawing him closer. His elbows were dug by her sides and she could feel his hot breath right beneath her collar bone, where he planted moist, open mouthed kisses, making her hips shudder against him. She was being driven mad, her thoughts muddled in disbelief at how incredible one man's kisses could feel compared to a dozen others which only left her cold or annoyed once they were done. But here, with her arms snaking underneath the smooth fabric of his shirt, finding his back at last, she took a moment to feel and appreciate the lean muscles she found there, and realized, through a drunken sort of haze, that he was making her feel. It was far from love, and light years away from healthy, or even acceptable for that matter, but it was more than she had ever felt in her life. It was new and exciting, but more than anything else – it felt worth her time.

"I want you…" She whispered through a soft groan, and he got up to look at her, really look, not just ogle or leer for his own satisfaction, almost like he honestly cared about the way she felt. Instead of cooling her down, it only fanned the flames.

"So I see…" He murmured huskily. "But we might have a slight problem here…"

"What? You can't get it up?" She asked, surprised at how serious that sounded. Gold merely laughed at that – a deep, throaty sound – and said:

"No, not that one."

She listened to his deep rumble and buried her fingers in his hair, breathing him in, like his scent was a perfectly viable alternative to oxygen.

"Then, we don't have a problem." She concluded, wishing he would just go back to driving her crazy the good old-fashioned, physical way, instead of torturing her with questions that had no place here.

"I doubt you wish to be a parent so soon, my pet…"

Oh, so that's what that was about! She felt a flush of embarrassment mingling with impatience as she all but hissed at him: "I'm on the pill, don't worry… I'm not stupid." She rolled her eyes and hoped that this pointless detour was now over with.

His expression was slightly dark as he murmured as clearly as was possible: "Turn around." He pushed himself off of her and added: "On your knees."

She scrambled to obey, and while she was at it, eased her heels off; it wouldn't do to poke him in the knee on accident – that sort of pain was definitely not the pleasurable kind, and it wouldn't be fair to deny him the satisfaction that was granted her by ruining his mood. Men loved this position, she learned over time, and for a good reason – it made the female body stretch out wonderfully, all curves and smooth lines, also, it made her shiver when her mind conjured up an image of what was about to happen in a few moments.

There was a subtle rustle of what she assumed were his pants, pooling around his knees, and she wondered how long it would take until his clothes were off when her breath died on its way to her lungs. One of his hands was sliding down her back, leaving a blazing trail of shivers on the surface of her soft skin. She settled at last on her left hip, and her attention shifted to the anticipating pulse between her legs, where she could feel his tip teasing her wet skin, almost hesitant in its advance. Her patience, however, had all been drained away by the game they played earlier, and she could tolerate no more waiting. Her hips bucked into him, and the sudden sensation threatened to undo her right on the spot. Apparently, she wasn't the only one that felt that way, because she could hear a raspy moan unfurling from the depths of his throat not a moment later.

His thrusts went deep; they were hard and sure, leaving her breathless and lightheaded with each long stroke. Even though her thoughts were muddled and the world around her was veiled by a mist of glittering particles falling over everything like the first powdery snow, she could still sense that something was off, like he was holding back for some reason. It was a sketchy, not yet fully formed and fairly incoherent thought, more of a hunch than anything else, but her instincts were rarely wrong. Maybe he was afraid of hurting her, though she would welcome that pain anytime. Deciding for him, she let her hips take the lead, intercepting his thrusts with her own; the trembling in her voice betraying her pleasure.

His own breathing quickened as well, hoarse and labored. The idea of him drawing as much pleasure from this as she was… It was a heady feeling, almost as intoxicating as the vintage wine they partook in earlier. The wispy tendrils of heat were spreading from her core, coiling about her limbs, and crawling upwards along her spine, spiraling around her neck only to snap shut below the hairline on her nape, forcing her to toss her head back with a long, vibrant moan. Any moment now, her senses would overflow, the steady build-up already making her tremble and whimper as his pace quickened. Realizing that she wouldn't last another second, she allowed the tension to overtake every muscle in her body, sending sparks of electricity flying in all possible directions. She felt almost uncomfortably tight as release claimed her, her body very reluctant to let him go.

Left gasping, cheek resting against the now sweaty leather, she tried to gather her wits, but there was nobody upstairs for the moment, like all of the designated drivers had abandoned ship. She could feel him pulling out and had a vague understanding that he wasn't finished yet. Leaving a man to fend for himself after throwing her head first into ecstasy was hardly fair. Tingles danced across her back in tiny swarms, and she willed herself to roll over, her thighs aquiver still.

Her lover was back in a sitting position, slouching somewhat. Ruby crawled closer to him, her muscles proving very reluctant to move the way she was trying to make them, or rather, to move in any way at all, but she was making progress, slow as it was.

Once she was close enough, she placed a hand on his shoulder and looked into his face – he was gritting his teeth, inhaling sharply. She followed the outline of his outstretched hand and realized that he was clutching his right knee.

"His bad knee" she realized with a start. That position must have hurt more than he expected it would, and then it dawned on her – the pain was probably the reason why he didn't come despite how amazing the sex was (at least to her).

"Need help?" She soothed him, rubbing his neck.

"I'm fine." He answered hastily, but she could see it for what it was – a blatant and transparent lie.

"For a man of your reputation, you're a terrible liar." She mused out loud, looking at him fondly, tousling his hair.

"And you are a cheeky little thing." He groused lightly, bringing her chin up.

She slipped from his grasp and laughed, tugging the shirt off his shoulder, eyeing the golden armband that was cinching the fabric of his sleeve. She pressed a long kiss on his bared chest and felt a coarse whisper leave his lungs, an unintelligible sound that enticed her to explore further. As she lavished his abdomen with light kisses and licks, his hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and she could feel a slight pull – her trajectory didn't seem to please him, for some inexplicable reason. Well, tough luck; she was still close enough to his skin to manage a long lick, blowing at the trail of moisture left behind. Goosebumps emerged, and he half-growled, pulling her upwards.

Well, if that was what he wanted, she had ideas of her own, ideas which might, just might coincide with his own… She crawled onto his lap and straddled him, recalling this position vividly from before, remembering the way he tasted in her mouth, and the urge was suddenly impossible to resist. Her lips closed over his in longing urgency, and he was unresponsive for but a moment; his lips parted like he was about to say something, but got rudely interrupted as she forced him into a kiss. Ruby couldn't help but notice how soft his lips were, despite his general "rough around the edges" sort of look. Her mouth opened to let a small moan flutter against his, and the next thing she could feel and taste was that delicious darkness, threatening to swallow her whole – he was playing dirty again – and she let out a soft whimper as his fingers curled inside of her, the velvet feel of his tongue making her head spin.

Blood, she could taste blood now, the metallic aroma making her mouth tingle and water. How deeply perverse was that, to feel so hopelessly aroused by that particular flavor? He was doing something to her, bewitching her, changing her from the inside out, bringing forth a creature that usually slumbered within out to play. She groaned in protest as he broke the dizzying kiss:

"You had it right, that night…" Where there was space for confusion, her mind's eye could see what he was referring to with absolute clarity: he was talking about the night when he had beaten up Whale for her sake. Still, he added, for he couldn't read her mind:

"I'm a beast."

She giggled at that, as much as lack of breath would allow and soothed him with a gentle murmur to his ear: "You know what they say…takes one to know one…"

"I don't see any scales or claws on you, my pet." He crooned into her hair softly, sliding his fingers deeper, stimulating a spot Ruby wasn't even entirely sure existed before he had laid his hands on her.

"How did you…" Her words got all jumbled as his other hand held her head in place, thumb brushing against her ear, coaxing a rather desperate whimper from her lips, before she managed to get back to what she was saying: "Manage to miss my… mane?" She muttered in between ragged gasps and keens, realizing that his fingers were well drenched by now, but she wouldn't make him stop for anything in the world.

"It's hardly a frightening feature, my sweet." He murmured against her throat and bit her gently, his teeth grazing her skin, driving her wild with desire – being bitten was a carefully guarded guilty pleasure of hers, the one thing that never failed to turn her on, especially if the guy had slightly pronounced canines, and Mr. Gold did.

"Oh God…" She thought as he made her respond in ways she only dreamed of; this was good, so damn good it was probably against the law somewhere (it should be everywhere). He was a beast, all right, and he was turning her into one. The lone wolf was no more, a young woman in red keeping him company… The thought was obscenely arousing.

"I've stumbled into the lair of the Big Bad Wolf…" She giggled, trying to delay her pleasure for a little while longer, dancing above the precipice with the skill of an acrobat.

A low, growling chuckle tumbled out of his mouth as he spoke against her neck:

"If I'm the Big Bad Wolf… Wouldn't that make you Little Red Riding Hood?" He offered, and she could feel his wide grin as if it was branding her skin, the images way too vivid in her mind for her own good. She was certainly riding him, her hips detached from her brain completely – her mind was perfectly happy drowning in pleasure, while the lower part of her body helped supply the stimuli.

Mr. Gold was surprisingly kinky, even though, when she really thought about it, it wasn't that much of a stretch – in their own four walls, even the meekest of men could do as they pleased, and he was hardly a meek man to begin with.

The squeeze she was giving his fingers was almost embarrassing, and she wondered if he would notice what an effect his filthy little remark had.

"You're a dirty old man, Mr. Gold." It's not like she could help it, her brain was already running on auto-pilot, and could only issue an automated response (all of which had obviously been programmed by that lascivious, golden-eyed reflection of hers).

She could feel his smile against her pulse point as he sucked her skin for a moment, releasing it with a lick, only to retort in the worst way imaginable:

"If I'm a dirty old man… Wouldn't that, in turn, make you a dirty little girl?"

This was insane; he was pushing all of her buttons at once, and it wasn't fair. She wanted him, she needed him - to break her, to tire her out completely before she lost what little was left of her mind.

The dancer on the wire was losing her balance, swaying precariously – the only thing she could hope for, was that he would be there to catch her once she'd plummet.

"Turn around, pet…" He murmured into her ear huskily, and she wondered why he would stop, a frown of displeasure marring her otherwise perfect, lust-dazed face.

"Oh, don't look at me that way… Just do what I said."

Him and his little commands; they felt so irrefutable, and who was she to contradict him, when she could hardly use her legs, the muscles of her calves and thighs screaming in protest at the smallest of movements. She was grateful for his strong, lean hands as they helped steady and guide her into the position identical to the previous one, with the only exception of her being turned away from him, her back an inch from his bare chest.

Snapping out of her momentary stupor, she could feel a hard thrust, feel him buried so deep it made her cry out shamelessly. Grateful that this basement was probably the best sound-proofed room in his house, she stopped trying to muffle her moans of unabashed satisfaction, steadily driven into ecstatic madness, for what else could this be? The way she was touching his thighs, feeling his hands stroking her chest - the way they teased a response from her breasts through the fabric of the still inexplicably present bra - all of it left her panting and shivering and screaming for more.

"Come for me, little Red…" He sang into her ear, making her arch against him, breathless and utterly helpless; at the mercy of his dexterous fingers.

"Not before you…" She argued gruffly before her voice was reduced to whimpers once more.

"I really shouldn't, pet…" He whispered, even though his pace remained the same – consistently thorough and just a bit frantic.

"You will, now, inside me, or I swear, I'll never talk to you again." This threat, she would carry out, if push came to shove. And he'd better not - !

His breath hitched for a fraction of a second and the murmured whisper plunged her very soul into chaos, his hot release spilling inside of her, and it almost slipped her notice when the soft brogue brushed past her ear: "Ruby…"

Her name crossing his lips forced her own climax, and she cried out, the blazing bliss stretching out for a few moments longer, the intense pulse slowly receding into a pronounced throb. She was completely spent, so much that she failed to register having leaned her back fully against him, and rested on his chest, while her neck slotted onto his right shoulder. They were both out of breath, and there was something strangely comforting about the heaving of his chest against her back, both of them covered in sweat. His head was tossed back as well, and she could smell his hair – the scent of something burning, an incense stick perhaps, slightly sweet, but dry like ash, brittle and decaying in the lightest breeze. His hands were wrapped around her waist still, but she didn't want him to move them; it felt… safe.

In the hands of the most feared man in town, she actually felt safe and shielded from all harm – how crazy was that? Her hands reached up to cover his, securing the hold he had on her. This was the one moment of utter exhaustion in which she could actually entertain the thought that this was more than just a one night stand, that he was better than the rest, that he would stay, if only for a night, just long enough to dispel her doubts and chase away her demons.

"Are you all right?" He asked, his voice sounding nearly warm – it must've been the weariness talking, and her eyes stung for a bit. This stupid cellar needed vacuuming, asap.

"Mhm…" She murmured, not trusting her voice. Silence reigned for a moment longer, and then he spoke:

"We should get cleaned up."

Business tone.

Dismissive.

The magic was gone.