A/N: Hey there, readers! Another quick update for you—I hope you enjoy this one.

Mary Margaret could honestly say that she had never seen the inside of Mr. Gold's house before. Come to think of it, she never even noticed that the color of his house was pink, either. At least it's a nice shade of pink, she thought modestly as he unlocked the door for her. As she stepped inside, she glanced around curiously.

It was a rather nice house, better than anyone else could afford in Storybrooke. It was almost like a mansion to her, ten times the size of her apartment. He must be quite lonely here, living alone in this house.

A shaft of moonlight crept along the floorboards as she wandered to the living room. It was cluttered with antique objects, but she couldn't help examining some of them like a child in a toy store. She figured there just wasn't enough room in the pawnshop for all of it.

Positioned underneath three bay windows was a couch, the kind that made her want to kick off her shoes and curl up. She wasn't aware she had moved until she was smoothing a hand across the velvety soft texture.

Her green eyes gazed out the window at the sprinkling of stars in the sky. In that moment, she decided she liked this house, if only for this enchanting view. Now if only she had a nice cup of hot cocoa…

Just as she thought it, a hand reached around her and offered her a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Gratefully, she accepted it from Mr. Gold and turned to him with a surprised look. She hadn't even noticed that he'd gone off into the kitchen. He sure has a knack for knowing exactly what a person wants.

"You must be a mind-reader. Though, I don't suppose it would surprise me," she admitted as she took a sip of the hot cocoa and scalded her tongue in the process. Heat scorched her mouth and she blinked away the wetness in her eyes. He laughed softly behind her.

"I'm not that extraordinary, I assure you. Perhaps I just know you better than you think," he replied. Mary Margaret took slower sips, though her tongue was raw now.

There was the sensation of eyes on her back and she turned to see him leaning up against the wall, watching her intently. She wondered, as the moonlight washed over her skin, what it was about her that fascinated him. Did he gaze that way at her and see a tired woman with too many problems on her plate, someone who should be pitied? Or did he truly find her that mesmerizing?

"What?" She forced a smile and set the mug of cocoa down on a nearby table. She hoped he didn't mind it; there didn't seem to be any coasters around. But, no—he was still scrutinizing her, almost…sadly. Her heart started to flutter. Oh, no…do I have something stuck in my teeth from dinner? Is my hair messy?

"Do you realize how beautiful you are?" Mary Margaret was taken aback by his unexpected question. When was the last time someone had honestly called her beautiful? With her choppy black hair and too pale skin and eyes that never seemed to be rid of sadness or loneliness…When Mary Margaret looked in a mirror, she never associated the word 'beautiful' with her reflection.

Her lips trembled with the impact of it all as she stared dubiously at Mr. Gold.

"You think I'm beautiful?" It sounded too flat. Too much like an accusation. Mr. Gold crossed to her and laid his hands firmly on her shoulders. The moonlight made his brown eyes almost glow and it reminded her of the golden shade of the man in her dreams.

"Not just beautiful. You, my dear, are the fairest of them all," he proclaimed, bringing a hand up to caress her face. In the next instant, his lips had descended on hers and his hands released her shoulders to become buried in her short hair.

Smoothing her hands along his chest, she inevitably kissed him back. Time seemed to slow for them, though everything between them remained in sharp detail. The way his fingers stroked the strands of her hair in a sort of massaging pattern, the way their bodies hovered close, never quite touching.

As his lips trailed to her neck, Mary Margaret's hands slipped inside his suit and urged him to shrug off his jacket. He tossed it away somewhere on the floor and carefully lifted up her own shirt. A chill swept over her bare skin, but it barely matched the fire burning between them.

Backwards they fell onto the couch and it was as soft as Mary Margaret had imagined. His kisses covered her skin and her mind grew dizzy with wanting him. When he finally made love to her, every cell in her body seemed to explode and she sighed happily into his shoulder.

"Mary Margaret," he whispered into her ear and she smiled up at him. Her fingers brushed through his hair. She had never felt so good as she did on that night.

"Let's do it again." The desire for hot cocoa was all but forgotten.

…

The tunnel again—a rocky, narrow passage surrounding her and seemingly pulsing around her with the dull echoing of the slightest squeak of a beady-eyed rat. A musty odor clogged her nostrils, invading her nose with its bitter, ancient scent. Dirt crumbled over her head, reminding her that she was standing in an unstable cavern underneath the ground, burrowed in the earth.

As her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim flickering of the burning torches, she recognized the jagged jaws of that cell, the one where he resided.

His name was still a mystery to her, even though it danced close to her tongue and niggled inside her mind. Now she could make out the shadowy confines of the cell, the darkness slanting across the muddy ground.

And there he was—just beyond the veil of inky shadows, his golden eyes illuminated as he watched her. Instinctively, her heart fluttered; it was the sense of being observed, hunted, by a predator. Yet she was always drawn in by her curiosity and desire to understand him, a moth drawn to a powerful flame.

A wisp of musty wind swirled along her skin and she automatically shivered despite the cloak that hung over her shoulders. A glint from inside the cell—the reflection of the yellow flames off his equally stained teeth as that devilish grin grew.

"Cold, dearie?"

Mockery shaded his snake-like hiss of a voice. Every syllable crawled over her nerves, demanding her undivided attention. One thing she had learned from these odd dreams: this man often got what he wanted.

She forced a tight-lipped smile and ignored the tingling sensation of goose-bumps permeating her skin.

"It is a bit chilly down here," she admitted softly just as another gust of whispery wind flowed through the tunnel. As much as she tried to hide her discomfort, she knew he noticed it. He seemed to notice everything.

"Perhaps…I could help you get warm. As a favor, no less," he lilted, the shift of his leathery attire the only sound as he inched forward the tiniest bit. Always dancing in the shadows, taunting her with what she could not see.

Her gentle hands rested on her swollen belly—she was pregnant more often than not in these dreams.

"What would I have to do?" The hardness in her voice surprised even her, though the man did not flinch or show any sign of disliking. Instead, a golden-gray hand lifted to point at her. Was it the light that made his skin more golden?

"You don't have to do anything," he replied innocently. Somehow, she was not convinced. This man…he was a trickster. A cunning, slippery creature that no other man could hope to control, never mind the bars that trapped him tonight.

"There's always a price with you. Always," she accused him, narrowing her eyes.

A surge of confidence shot through her, unlike any other feeling she'd known in Storybrooke. Stepping forward, she wrapped her fingers around the sharp bars of his cell in hopes to see him better, to stare him in the eye. The man giggled shrilly, the sound of it bouncing around her.

"Tonight I'm feeling…generous, my dear Snow. This one…I shall offer for free," he declared, his voice dripping with excitement. Her eyes tried to follow him in the darkness, but it was difficult. An instinct told her to step away from the bars.

Just as she slid her hands from the bars, his golden hands found hers and pulled her forward against the bars. Panic rose in her as she struggled to shove him away, her hands pushing against his chest. A scream threatened to slip out, but it halted in her throat as his fingers curled around her face, his thumbs pressing into the hollow of her throat—not too harshly, just enough to silence the scream he knew was coming.

His face hovered so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her nose and lips. Her green eyes widened in uncertainty, a single tear sliding from beneath her lids. It dragged across her cheek and soaked into the skin of his fingers. He grinned down at her, those golden eyes burning into hers.

"Please," she murmured, her hands slowing in their movement against his leather-clad chest. Only two words were given to her, two words that sounded like a fierce promise spoken by a man who was often good on his word.

"My Snow." And then his lips hungrily claimed hers, this dream man kissing her until her mind grew dizzy and she succumbed to the darkness.

….

Mary Margaret awoke practically gasping from the intensity of the dream. Already she could feel the heat warming her face. Shifting her head on the pillow, she pressed a clammy hand to her forehead and took in soft breaths. The sheets rustled as Mr. Gold rose on his elbow to gaze down at her inquiringly.

"Bad dream?" Mary Margaret shook her head numbly as she struggled to hang on to the pieces of the dream. She tried to picture that man's face, but it was growing hazy. Even worse, she was beginning to get a headache between her eyes.

Mr. Gold tilted his head and she was reminded of that man's whimsical, dark nature. Why did she keep dreaming that man up? What did it even mean? That's it. Tomorrow I'll go see Archie. Maybe he can help me understand these dreams.

"Tell me, dear. Perhaps I can help," he suggested, gently touching her shoulder. Mary Margaret bit lightly on her lip and closed her eyes, recalling the fragments of the dream. Mr. Gold's fingers brushed down along her arm, encouraging her.

"It was…strange. I dreamt of that man again, the one that reminds me of you," she admitted quietly. His brown eyes seemed to study her critically, imploring her to continue. "He was locked up, in a cell. Right before the dream ended, he…" Her voice clammed up as she remembered that intense, startling moment.

"He…what?" Mr. Gold carefully pressed her. Mary Margaret glanced out the window at the crescent moon glowing in the sky.

"He kissed me."

Silence followed those three words and it had drawn out for so long that she inevitably tuned her eyes to gauge Mr. Gold's reaction. His eyes were unnaturally bright and amused. Somehow, that wasn't quite the reaction she expected—she didn't know what to make of it.

"Was he any good?" Mary Margaret blushed and then started to laugh.

"That's what you're concerned with? If he was a better kisser than you?" Mary Margaret smiled genuinely as she curled her body closer to his. He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close to him.

"Well, of course. If you're finding more excitement in your dreams than you are with me, I'm not doing my job right," he quipped. Mary Margaret rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. The headache was starting to subside a little.

"We can't have that. You should know I prefer you. He was a bit too rough for my taste," she said. The comfort of his embrace was making her sleepy again. Mr. Gold's fingers caressed down to her thigh.

"You don't like it rough, dearie?" A gentle squeeze on her thigh. Mary Margaret brought his hand back up to her waist, where she was more comfortable. He kissed the top of her head and she liked that sweet gesture so much better.

"I'm more of the sweet, gentle, head-over-heels type," she replied as sleep ebbed over her mind. She was so comfortable in his arms, she had no doubt that she could easily fall into a peaceful sleep. It didn't occur to her then, but when she thought about sweet gestures and falling head over heels, David's face floated in the back of her mind.

"This shall be my favor," Mr. Gold murmured in her ear, arousing her awake once more. He was calling in his favor tonight. Mary Margaret waited and then lifted her head to gaze up at him when he did not elaborate.

"And what favor is that?" Only a single word followed as Mr. Gold gently closed his eyes. It was something that she also wanted more than anything.

"Happiness."

…..

By the way, I would like to thank BlooperLover, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, DragonRose4, Lavender Leo, and Twyla Mercedes for their wonderful reviews. Thanks for reading, guys!

Also, pointing out that Gold's house is pink never gets old. I mean, *cough cough*, salmon.