Despite the fact that he'd been awake for two days straight, his eyes were wide open.

And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was the Dark One again and with his magic restored sleep wasn't necessary.

He was trying to figure out how he'd gotten here, how they'd gotten here. He and Belle, sharing not just a room but a bed. A bed that yesterday had seemed grand and spacious for one but now seemed small for two people. It didn't feel real, this situation he found himself in, but it didn't feel like one of those fantasies he'd imagined in the Enchanted Forest when he couldn't get her out of her head either. No, in those he was always calm, could always figure out how he'd gotten to that point. Now he couldn't get his heart to stop racing, and he certainly couldn't figure out how he'd ended up here! There had been so many opportunities to stop it in the last ten minutes, so many excuses he could have used.

When she'd first suggested they share a bed in the kitchen, he should have said something, told her he could prepare a room for her with his magic, even if it was still budding.

When she'd left after suggesting she open the windows, he should have suggested he complete the task and then sleep on the couch.

When he retrieved his clothes from the drawer, he should have found her and excused himself! He should have insisted! He should have told her it was inappropriate! Firmly!

Instead, he'd changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, used his magic to give her a toothbrush of her own, and rolled into the bed as she'd suggested.

So perhaps he did know how he'd gotten here. But why he was here...he was still working on that part.

When he heard her come back into the room, he should have simply confessed that he didn't need sleep as she did, that this was unnecessary. He should have gotten out of bed and relinquished his room to her. But instead, he clung to the side of the bed, so his back was to her, and said nothing like the coward he was. He couldn't find his voice.

This was going to be a problem. It was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. He couldn't blame this on her obvious ignorance of this world because it was wrong in their world too! Had no one ever taught her how wildly inappropriate this was? Had no one ever told her what men did with women who shared their beds?! He wasn't like that, he refused to be like that, but didn't she know what kind of fresh torture this was going to be for them because he refused to be like that? There were times in the castle he'd only just barely managed to keep his hands to himself! If she were there, laying in the bed next to him in that gown she'd come to dinner in, that slim little piece of fabric, without a bra-

Oh, hell…

He swallowed hard as the door to the bathroom opened and closed again. She was done. And that meant he should roll over now and tell her-

The bed moved, and his mouth went dry. The mattress dipped and bounced beneath her weight, a strange sensation he hadn't felt in centuries. The covers he was hugging to him rustled as she fit herself into the bed next to him and…

She sighed. Not a sigh of a long day that had just come to its conclusion. It was a sigh of relief, a sigh of joy and satisfaction. A sound that launched his mind out of his frenzy and into something far more logical. An asylum for twenty-eight years, Regina's prison before that, the cot in the castle dungeon…how long had it been since she'd had a bed? A real bed? A bed with clean sheets and blankets and a pillow to place under her head? How long since she'd had a bedroom and not had to listen to screams or ramblings or silence or-

Suddenly the bed shifted again, and his blood chilled. He listened to her turn over to find a comfortable spot but quickly realized she wasn't looking for a comfortable spot. She was turning over to find him.

"Rumple!"

Her hand was suddenly on his arm, and heaven help him, he didn't ignore her. He should have ignored her. He should have jumped out of bed, screamed it was a bad idea, that she couldn't trust him! He should have pretended to be asleep and slipped out when she drifted off!

But instead, he obeyed the pressure of her hand and rolled over onto his back to gaze up at her. He half expected to find her panicking, to tell him something was wrong. Hell, half of him wanted there to be something wrong so that he could go take care of it instead of doing whatever the hell this was!

But she was smiling, beaming down at him like she was the happiest she'd ever been. And she was so beautiful. She was so damn beautiful he could write books about it, entire chronicles in testament to everything about her!

This was a terrible idea.

"Goodnight," she whispered happily, then leaned down to kiss him.

Terrible idea. Wrong thing to do. Terrible idea! Wrong!

But then his hand moved to her neck when she showed the slightest hint of moving away, and he kissed her again.

It just took one to flip the switch, and now that it was thrown-

More. He wanted more.

She pulled away from him, but not by much. That wasn't possible given their positions. She hovered over him as if waiting for something, her lips still in such close proximity that it would be so easy to kiss her again. He wanted more; he'd be a fool not to. But did she want…

Yes. He looked into her eyes, took note of the nervous bob in her throat, felt the way her hands were touching him, and saw the way that she refused to move away from him, waiting…not for "something," he realized-for what came next.

Because she didn't know…

He wasn't a fool. She might have the ability to reduce him to driveling mush, but he was still capable of sobering himself for a critical thought, a warning. She'd been a princess before she went with him, engaged to be married, that never would have been an arrangeable marriage if she hadn't been considered pure, a virgin.

She was a virgin. She was young and beautiful and perfect. And he was old and dark and…

They couldn't do this. It wasn't right. It might have felt right, but hearts could be foolish and lie, while brains were capable of logical thought. Maybe one day they could attempt something more than stolen kisses, but for now, they needed to take things slow and steady and…

She leaned down to kiss him again. It was a different kiss, not chaste, but slow and demanding, every bit as passionate as the kiss they'd shared by the well but gentler. It was a whisper. It was a breath. It was intoxicating and drawing him in and-

He managed to break it, to pull away by shaking his head. He tried to reach for her shoulder to push her away, but instead, he just managed to push her hair over her shoulder and reveal more skin on her already shifting nightgown.

Fuck! This was the worst idea she'd ever had!

"We can't," he finally managed to choke out half-heartedly. "I don't want to hurt you."

There. He'd done it. He'd said the words, and that should take care of it. She'd nod her head, roll over, go to sleep and once she was sleeping soundly, he'd get up and leave.

However, he watched with a strange mix of horror and pleasure as she began to smile. She moved her hands over him in a way that made his own drift over her, and before he knew it, she was leaning her head into his palm so he could stroke her cheek.

Wrong. Trouble. Bad.

"You won't hurt me," she muttered before meeting his gaze.

But he could. She might not know, might not truly perceive it because she'd never been with a man in this way-that way, but he knew all too well how men could hurt women. And it had been so long since he'd been with a woman, not since he was human. How things would work now that he was the Dark One, whether he could control his strength, be gentle, not get ahead of himself and teach the way she deserved to be taught. Hell, he wasn't even sure he could remember what to do. It had been so long! The possibility was very real; he could hurt her. He would!

"You can't," she encouraged as if reading his mind.

His breath hitched not at her words but in the way she'd said them. She'd been firm and certain, confident that the words she spoke were truth. He didn't think anyone had ever believed in him to speak that confidently. And so it was with two little words that she finally broke the timidness in him. "Wrong," "trouble," "couldn't," he didn't know what those words meant anymore, he couldn't remember why he was fighting it, fighting her. He'd always promised himself he'd have loved her properly if he had another chance; he'd give her everything she wanted. Tonight he had another chance. His True Love was back from the dead. Why was he holding back only to potentially live with more regret?

He reached up and pulled her down to him and kissed her without restraint. Not individual kisses, not like anything they'd shared so far. He kissed her so that she couldn't tell one from the other, kissed her so that she'd feel what he felt, kissed her like he hadn't kissed another woman. Maybe ever. It wasn't just a meeting of lips; it was a mixing of breath and tangling of tongues. He urged her closer, encouraged her hands to wrap around him to touch. His heart was pounding, racing rapidly against his chest, and from below the sheets and blankets, he felt himself stir as he hadn't in ages. There were times he'd wondered if he was even still capable. Now he knew…

He wanted this. He wanted her. And everything in her body suggested she wasn't opposed…

He pushed. She adjusted. She squirmed as they pressed her back into the mattress. Her skin was hot and flush; he could tell that even in the moonlight, even as pale as she was. And still no objection, still no complaint as he reached for her. His heart was racing and his chest heaving as he struggled to find a compromise between kissing her and breathing.

The few glimpses he took up at her suggested she was smiling and enjoying herself. She didn't object to his kisses, didn't object when he touched her. She didn't say a word as his hands worked to strip her bare before him. He pushed, but she tugged. Every time he meant to pull away, to check on her to gauge her reaction to him and their timid explorations, the grip that she had on him tightened and brought him closer. She didn't beg with words, only with her actions. A friend had once told him that when it came to women, the first rule was that he listen, not just to words but also to actions. He was listening. The voices of the Dark Ones lay forgotten in his head just as his clothes did on the ground. All that mattered in all the earth was this moment.

More. He wanted more. She wanted more.

So he stopped thinking. He stopped analyzing every moment of it and just let himself live into it. He paused only once, for a brief moment when they lay bare before each other. He stared. He couldn't help it. So long he'd imagined. So long he'd wanted. So long he'd believed he couldn't.

Now he could. And he would. And he didn't have to imagine anything because he could see just how godsdamn gorgeous and perfect she was.

He tried to control himself, tried to take it slowly for her sake. He returned to kissing her when he realized he'd been staring. Her muscles moved and reacted beneath her skin to what he did. She might not know what to do, but her body did, thank the heavens. It was trying to do what he was attempting to delay and suddenly delaying them seemed like the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life.

He kissed her mouth and explored with his hands. But as he gently moved his hips over her own, nudging her knees apart, he could feel his own hesitation just as he had on his wedding night so long ago.

Virgin.

She was a virgin.

He was not, but he knew. He knew more now than he had on his wedding night. Had she been warned? He hoped so. It was a final barrier, the last step, an ultimate threshold. He hated to think about the pain. But when he thought about the ecstasy that could come later…it was better to do it now, swiftly, than to take too much time. And if he waited any longer…he might not be able to maintain his control much longer.

So he kissed her mouth again, deeply, slowly, as passionately as he could so that she had to put every bit of attention in that kiss. Her legs shifted. He reached between them and let his hips jerk into her own as he moved inside her.

He stilled.

They'd both broken at once. He'd let out a noise he'd never made before but so had she. What noise? A sharp gasp. Was that a noise of pain? Pleasure? Both?

She was breathing rapidly. He could feel her heart against his chest as he looked at her face, watched her carefully for some kind of indication. Her mouth was open. A silent scream or in awe? Her eyes were closed, but, as if she knew he was searching for her, she opened them. To look her in the eyes and stare deep into her pools of blue…it was intoxicating. He'd never experienced anything like it. And surely she hadn't either. That was the problem.

In the silence and stillness, she dared to move. She reached out a hand to touch his hair. It was only when she grazed his skin that he realized he was sweating. So was she. It had never been like this before for him. Not ever.

"Just surprised," she assured him between breaths. "I wasn't expecting…"

She had something on her mind. He wanted to hear what it was, and he wanted her to tell him what she was thinking and feeling. But then she reached her head up and kissed him again. And again. And again.

And he knew. It had never been this way for her before either.

He let her adjust to him, let her body ease once more, and find its way against his own. He kissed her with everything he had again and then moved. She gasped at it. But not in pain. Pain was gone. He knew it was because everything else was gone. The room was gone. The bed. Storybrooke, the entire fucking universe faded as they moved, a single fulcrum of existence keeping him anchored to her and her alone. His head found the crook of her neck. Her hands fell from his back, and he found them, tangling their fingers together to help brace themselves as he finished what he'd worried he'd forgotten.

Together.

As one.

Together…he'd heard of that in his research on True Love. He'd never had proof of it because he was no voyeur and never thought to pursue it because he hadn't found it relevant to his research. Now he wished he had at the same time he was grateful he hadn't. Was that what this was? The magic that bound them together inflicting its will? It felt binding and sacred and important all at once. She and him. Rumpelstiltskin and Belle…he rather liked the sound of that. Just as he liked the sound of…what was he mumbling about?

Slowly he became aware of the things he was saying. He was calling her sweetheart and darling, words he didn't know he knew before this day.

The rest of the world followed suit as reality reformed itself around them. The sheets, the bed, the room, Storybrooke…for a moment, he'd forgotten there was anything outside of her. He was trembling, and she was shaking too. But her breathes were growing deeper; even again, more drawn out, less frantic and desperate. He drew his face out of her neck, and she smiled at him when they finally locked eyes; a lazy, soft sort of smile that a drunk might have still in their state of bliss. That smile made him feel like the strongest man who ever lived in a beastly sort of way that he couldn't bring himself to regret. He smiled back and leaned down to kiss her again, softly this time. She returned what he offered eagerly, but neither of them let anything grow.

He couldn't. He was still in disbelief it had ever happened in the first place. However, the fact that he was still huddled over her presented a good argument that it had happened.

He didn't want to crush her, but he didn't want to let her go either, risk losing the closeness he felt to her. Still tangled, he managed to roll them over onto their sides and hugged her into his chest. He let his fingers trail over her back. Every fear he'd had before about touching her had melted away when the world did. Now he feared not touching her, not having her close. Small bed or not...how had he never seen it was perfect for two?

He was happy. So, so happy as she settled against his skin. He was so deeply in love with her. Desperately, hopelessly, completely in love with her. Just as much today as he had been the day she first kissed him. Perhaps that was why this had been different. Love. He'd never had that before. He'd never had a connection like this with anyone he'd ever slept with. Sex was different with love. How had he lived to be this old and not figured that out?

"What if I can't sleep?" she muttered into the darkness suddenly.

"You will…" he muttered as assuredly as he could. He hoped it wasn't a lie. But in truth, he wasn't even sure he could sleep after that. It had nothing to do with being the Dark One; the voices were suddenly silent inside of him; it was rather what he felt running through him, what she'd stirred up inside of him. But if he spent all night like this, holding her to him…he'd be content. And if they actually managed sleep…he'd be amazed.

"I feel like I'm going to combust," she whispered back a few seconds later.

He smiled. It was because of her that he felt like he'd never get to sleep. And it was because of him that she worried she wouldn't either. He felt proud of that in a way he couldn't understand.

"It'll pass," he stated, trying to tamper the feeling down.

"What if I don't want it too?"

His heart wrenched as his smirk became a smile. A vixen already, even if she didn't know it. A terrible and beautiful temptation. He wanted to do it again. It was impossible for a human man, but he had magic. Little as it was, it was enough if necessary-

"Necessary" it was not. Some other time, perhaps, but once was enough for their first time, for her first time. And he understood her feelings. If the feelings were to be that intense every time, it was best to work up to it. One more tonight, and they might actually burst into flame.

So instead, he kissed her forehead gently and eased the grip he had on her so that he could roll over onto his back. He kept one arm around her, over her shoulders so he could touch her back and draw her closer to him. An arm around his middle, a leg over his own; she was going to kill him with her touches. If that was so, he'd welcome death. Still, he forced himself to pull the sheets and blankets he could reach up over them, protecting them from the chill of the sweat cooling them in the chilly night air she'd let in through the open windows.

"Just close your eyes," he whispered, rubbing her back and finding her arm with his other hand. "Sleep will come."

Finally, he felt her settle next to him comfortably. Finally, she sighed against him and relaxed. Finally, he heard the words he'd been expecting to hear when she'd first touched him.

"I love you."

He kept his eyes closed but let his smile broaden. "And I love you too."

In the last chapter, we talked about why they're sleeping together. Now we cover why they are "sleeping together." Whether or not Rumbelle are sharing a bed or doing more at night has been left widely up to the fans to decide for themselves. Obviously, as you can see from this chapter, I would be in the select group that believes they were having sex during season 2. Why? Just the little things, really. The way they touch each other, the way they look at each other, and oh yeah...the way they share a bed! Yes, I've heard all the arguments for the 2x04 scene. She might have gone to him for help with nightmares. Yes, she could have, and that's super sweet, but why does that mean no sex occurred? Belle's a traditional lady, some argue, she would want to wait until her wedding night. Yeah, that one is the most laughable to me because Belle is the farthest thing from "traditional." Even back home, she reads, goes on adventures, makes up her own mind, and does what she wants. She is a progressive girl. I don't see her saying, "we can kiss and touch and share a bed, but no sex!" Plus, this isn't exactly your typical romance where the girl has to wonder if the boy loves her or not. This is true love. For Belle, at this moment, there is no future that doesn't involve him. There is no one else to save herself for. So why would she let marriage stop her? And as for the idea that Rumple wouldn't have sex with her because he respects her? Listen, I know plenty of people who have had wonderful, respectful relationships with their significant other before marrying, and they slept together. Why are respect and virginity mutually exclusive? And yes, he respects her, but he's also a guy who has very little impulse control. I wrote their first time in this way because, in a way, yes, I think you are right; he would have assumed that she wanted to wait for a wedding, and he would have wanted that for her. But I also think that he's a guy wildly in love who has been denied intimacy and the opportunity for love. He might not have planned for this, might have fought against it, but I think once it had begun, he would have been one to get caught up in the moment. And what's wrong with celebrating that? I don't think either of them went to bed intending to let this happen, but I could see them getting caught up in the moment. They love each other. I think this is something that would have come naturally. And on that note, Banishment Readers, if you've made it to this chapter, let me know, and I'll send you Banishment Part II.

Many thanks to Alarda for continuing with your reviews. When I first published this chapter from the Belle side of things, I remember being completely nervous over it. After all these years, here I am, still completely nervous over it. If you've been reading me for a while, then you'll know this chapter is a little more graphic than I usually like to be but to be fair, I warned you it would be back in TDOC: Before the Curse, when he first married Milah. That chapter was also a little more detailed than I like because I wanted to give you a compare and contrast between the two. Sure, Rumple is more experienced by now, which makes it different and less awkward, but it's also more than that. He's comfortable and driven here with Belle in a way he wasn't with Milah. With Belle, he possesses true desire for her, and that was important to show. Peace and Happy Reading!