Part 6
They're done eating eventually, their appetite finally sated when the last crumbs of potato and bacon are consumed. Both of them lean back in their chairs contentedly, wearing identical and rather silly grins.
"Thank you," Rumplestiltskin says at length, timid fingers reaching for her other hand, the one he isn't holding yet.
Belle nods in acknowledgment when he takes both her hands in his own, knowing that he isn't just thanking her for the meal.
She would have been perfectly happy to remain in the warm and cozy kitchen for quite a while longer, but Belle doesn't hesitate in the slightest when Rumplestiltskin stands up and questioningly tugs at her hand, silently asking her to join him.
She almost protest at leaving the no longer neat table's surface and the used dishes like this, but she knows well enough that he can undo the biggest mess, domestic or otherwise, with a flicker of his hand whenever he wishes to do so.
Belle intends to follow him, not minding to walk a step behind him just like she usually does, but he pulls lightly at her hand again, until she is right next to him and they walk side by side.
Although Rumplestiltskin is still guiding her, she is very much aware that it isn't only simply unheard of for a master to treat a servant as such, but also for a man to make so blatantly clear that he considers any woman, even his wife, as an equal.
Lord Maurice's daughter might have been both a lady and a caretaker at various points in her life, but even when there was no reason to suspect that she would ever be anything other than a nobleman's daughter and another nobleman's wife, a future mother of yet more noblemen, Belle could not have expected to receive the respect and status that the supposed Dark One is freely giving her.
She squeezes his hand, for the time being the only way she can think of to let him know that she understands what he is doing, and that she appreciates it very much. He glances back at her, lips quirking upwards in a smile of a kind of which she senses that very, very few people have ever seen it.
In response, he carefully rearranges their fingers. Not only are they holding hands now, like any couple in love might do when there is no one around to frown upon such a open display of affection, but their fingers are closely entwined as well.
Belle is quite certain that this, for now at least, is his way of telling her that he intends to never let go off her again and that the intimacy between them so far is only a small start of all what he hopes to share with her in the near future.
After a short walk, they are back in the main hall, where she found him just a few hours ago. With a few snaps of his fingers the shards of glass and porcelain are gone, easily getting rid of both the mess on the floor and the evidence of his earlier despair.
He only stands still when they're in front of the hearth, its fire roaring invitingly. There's a chair in front of it; she's seen him sitting there frequently, often deeply lost in thought. At another gesture of his hand, the seat is transformed into a large and comfortable looking couch.
Rumplestiltskin doesn't say anything and he doesn't need to in order to let her know what he has in mind. The longing look in his eyes makes very clear what he would like to do.
Sensing that he once more won't be the one to make the first step, that he won't risk attempting to put the new and unfamiliar request into words, Belle is the one to sit down on the couch. She extends her hand to him, showing him that she wants the same as he does.
He sits down next to her, managing to look both eager and awkward while doing so. His posture doesn't change when he is seated, sitting ramrod straight on the comfortable couch. If it weren't for his ever so expressive eyes, telling her that this is exactly what he wants, his tense bearing might have given her the impression that he'd much rather be somewhere else - with someone else.
She has been taught many things in her life so far, but this is yet another situation in which Belle is entirely clueless. She definitely wants to get closer to him, to experience the warmth and pleasantness they shared when they embraced and touched before, but she has no idea how to accomplish that.
In fact, she wouldn't know what to do even if she were to be in Gaston's castle with her straight-forward fiancé at her side - something she has been prepared for for the greater part of her life.
But once again she finds that she doesn't need rules or etiquette to find a way to make this work. Seeing Rumplestiltskin sit next to her like this, all strained nerves, her wish for him to just relax brings an intuitive solution.
Getting up on her knees, she goes to sit behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. Not deterred when he only tenses further, she simply remains still for a moment, letting him get used to her nearness.
When his breath becomes more regular and even, his posture slightly less taut, Belle experimentally slides her hands off his shoulders, running her fingers up and down his arms before letting them find their way back to his neck.
The sensation of sliding her hands over the silk which covers him is a novelty she can't imagine herself ever tiring of, just like the feeling of warm skin and wiry muscle beneath. Belle hums in appreciation, far from oblivious to the similar sounds that he makes despite her own increasingly consuming enjoyment.
She could spend a long time just touching him like this - and so she does, marveling as he leans back against her.
Making herself more comfortable between him and the back of the couch, she includes his hair in her exploration as well, making good use of her current vantage point. From where she's sitting she can even peek downwards, into the opening of his shirt, some of the skin of his chest revealed to her for the very first time.
She might not be able to see the expression on his face, can't experience his wonder and appreciation that way, but the noises she evokes from him more than make up for that, just like the way he gradually reacts underneath her hands, his earlier unease making place for something quite different.
No matter how much she treasures touching him this way, how the thrill of exploring a man like this drives her to distraction, she has never been more in control of her own emotions and reactions. It greatly helps that Rumplestiltskin is simply sitting there, basically allowing her to do with him whatever pleases her, for once not directly stirring her own desire.
Belle has never enjoyed anything more than the fire he can stoke within her, but she finds a definite delight in this as well, consciously getting to know him – his body – like this. It's another sort of intimacy which was previously completely unknown to her. The thought of marriage - and the marriage bed - would have been significantly more appealing if she would have known of this wonderfully careful exploration of the man she intends to spend the rest of her life with.
Then again, no man other than Rumplestiltskin might appreciate these timid, seemingly pointless touches, the slightest stroke of her fingers against his silk covered torso seemingly bringing him pleasure of the kind she supposed only activity of a yet more private kind could bring.
More importantly, there simply is no other man who Belle wishes to touch like this. The mere thought of running her hands over Gaston like this brings her nothing but some amusement, for she can't imagine her former fiancé approving of such leisurely exploration, presuming him as straight-forward and to-the-point with this as with anything else.
Belle isn't thinking of Gaston or any other man though, not when Rumplestiltskin is whispering her name repeatedly, his reverent tone not all that different from anything he has said to her today, or any day for at least several weeks - months, in all likelihood.
Yet, it's so much better now that both of them have been honest with one another at last, now that they don't have to pretend any longer not to want anything other than this. Their love is no longer something that's hanging silently between them, existing without truly being; it's real, almost tangible now that it is acknowledged, ready to be further explored and uncovered.
Aware that he hisses with delight each time she touches his neck, Belle fully devotes herself to that part of him, already knowing that she can have him groaning just by scratching him lightly with her nails at his nape.
He tilts his head in response, rubbing his cheek against the palm that isn't teasing him for the time being, while her other hand makes grateful use of the increased access he has granted her.
A tempting idea develops at the sight of all the shimmering skin in front of her. Not needing to ignore such urges any longer, Belle lowers herself until her mouth is on the same height as his neck, bringing her face towards him as soon as she can.
Rumplestiltskin wails when her tongue comes in contact with his skin, the tentativeness of that first lick clearly all but diminishing his enjoyment. Smiling against his skin and feeling just a little smug at her success, Belle continues at this clear sign of approval, licking and nibbling on his neck.
She breathes in deeply, once more not capable of remaining silent herself when she takes in the smell of him. Already his scent is clearer to her, the elements that makes him smell like him more recognizable. There is the leather of his clothing, the straw of his spinning, the parchment of books she too loves so very much, and...
Belle breathes in deeply, literally burying her nose in his hair to be closer to him and identify more of him.
When Rumplestiltskin tenses, she presumes that he does so because she subconsciously stopped touching his neck when she focused on his hair instead. But as he makes a quiet sound unlike any she heard during the past few hours, she presumes that something else is going on.
"What's wrong?!" she cries out, her voice slightly muted by the curly hair that she just can't bring herself to move away from, her eyes still closed. She doesn't want this moment to end, wants more of this - more of him - now that she finally has him, but the dismay in his voice can't be ignored, even in her current state.
"What... what are you doing?!" he asks, the words little more than a squeak as he ignores her own question.
"I'm... smelling your hair."
Only when she says the words out loud, it dawns on Belle how utterly absurd she must seem right now, how ridiculous this must be to him. She doesn't know anything about such things and although she quite likes the idea of going against most of the rules she has been brought up with, sniffing a man's hair just because she wanted to is something she should have stayed away from no matter what.
"But... why?"
The lack of mockery in his tone is the only thing that persuades her to actually attempt to answer him.
"I... I like smelling you. And I like your hair."
It's not much of an explanation, but it's the only thing she can think of, her eyes tightly shut in denial as her face is still resting against his surprisingly soft hair. If this is the last time that he lets her do this, she fully intends to enjoy it for as long as she can.
Belle doesn't quite know what to make of the little noise he makes in response, but his next words are more than enough to encourage her, to persuade her that her urge might be bizarre and plainly odd, but that there's nothing wrong about it as long as both of them enjoy it.
"Then, by all means..."
She doesn't understand why his voice is hoarse, as if her behavior has pleased or moved him, but she isn't going to question it just yet. Much as she'd like to know why he reacts like this, why it influences him almost more than anything they've done so far, the explanation is going to have to wait until they are less occupied with finding out what else can impact him like this.
Pressing her face more firmly against his scalp, Belle breathes in deeply once more, letting out a little sigh of delight when his scent envelops her again.
Aware that she isn't touching him anywhere else at the moment and that she would like to do so again, she brings her hands to his front, caressing his chest through the silk of his shirt.
Her touches are slow, more and more purposeful as she starts to find out what draws particularly vocal reactions from him. In his ever increasing loudness, it takes her a while to realize that she has subconsciously gotten closer to him, to the point that her front is pressed tightly against his back and that her thighs are on either side of his.
It turns out that she is accidentally but undeniably rubbing herself against him with each movement. Moreover, she is all but straddling his back, her usually modest skirt not decent any longer as it is basically bundled up around her waist. Still, it's not embarrassment at their so-called inappropriate nearness that has her blushing.
If anything, Belle is beyond excited to be so very close to her True Love, to find that she can please him, pleasure him, despite hardly knowing what she is doing - and to find that she finds incredible delight in such actions as well.
She has no point of reference for this, none whatsoever, but her next step is just as logical to her as the day that follows the night. Knowing by now just how very sensitive his skin can be, she is intend on finding out whether there are other parts of him which react just as interestingly to her touch as the nape of his neck does.