Spun
There weren't many reminders left of the life he'd led prior to this one. Design, happy coincidence, and time had made sure of that, and whatever remained was faded by patina.
He still spun. Ever the craftsman.
The soft creak and beat of the wood was hypnotic, and he rather liked the flamboyant touch of spinning the precious from the mundane. It was certainly an improvement over lanolin stains.
Spin, spin, spin. Forget.
Today was different. There was a beam of light in his great hall and a partially cleaned window glittering in place of a dusty old tapestry. A wedge, opening a new space and forcing the mass it penetrated to widen, creating room for itself.
The wedge returned with a bucket of fresh water.
"You've turned your spinning wheel!" Belle set her things down and wiped her brow.
All the better to see you with, dearie. "The light helps me spin."
"Well, it'll get even easier once I've scrubbed the glass. I'll try to by quiet so you can concentrate."
Rumpelstiltskin nodded and waved her off with the usual flick of his wrist. It was nothing to keep the wheel turning without paying much attention to it, and the repetitive noises it made were part of the fabric of life to Belle. As long as the sound was consistent, he could watch.
She wiped the upper panes methodically, just breaking up the worst of the greasy dust before moving on. When she finished a section, she came down the ladder, got a fresh rag, and climbed back up to truly clean them, then dried with a third, clean cloth.
It was fascinating.
Her exposed ankles, heaving bosom, and flushed cheeks had nothing to do with it. Nor did her soft humming, in time to the sound of his wheel, hold any charm for him.
She left the room, carrying her buckets with her, and returned with a mop. She wiped away the sloshed water and carried that away, too.
"Oh!" She exclaimed softly as she prodded the fire. "You're about to run out of straw." She set the poker back and left the room. When she returned with a loaded basket he indeed was feeding the last few bits to the needle. As his hand emptied, she gently settled a bundle into it so he didn't even have to get up from the wheel. Her fingers brushed his wrist as she did so.
"Thank you." For both.
"I have to mend your cuffs again. Honestly, if you didn't have such heavy work on them, they wouldn't need so much maintenance."
"I like the weight." At least, he would. Given the chance to feel it.
"What color would you like me to add?" Belle held up the heavy linen, spreading the cuff so he could examine the rich embroidery.
He grinned. "Gold. I can spin the thread now."
Belle set the shirt on the back half of his bench. "Alright. I'll start tea and bring it in before I get started."
His wheel was one meant for a master and apprentice, so the bench was longer than most. It also allowed the user to access a larger workbench by simply sliding along the polished wood. When used by two, the master could either demonstrate by being in front, or guide from behind. Bae was just starting to sit in front when… spin, spin, spin.
When Belle returned, she didn't have the tea ready, but brought the tray and kettle to set by the fire in the hall. Rumpelstiltskin had several feet of slender gold thread made already, so she settled herself behind him with her needles and threaded one with it, effectively tethering him by her side.
Proximity, and all its implications.
Belle smiled up at him. "This is lovely thread." She settled in, her elbow brushing his back from time to time, still humming her breathy tune to his rhythm.
He'll be damaging every single one of his cuffs from now on. His cuffs will sparkle with ostentation.
Somewhere along the line, Milah stopped mending his shirts. Spin, spin, spin, spin.
But now Belle did, at his side, touching him, with tea halfway made and sunlight streaming across the room.
Belle stood and set the kettle on the fire. When she sat again, the thread was loose and caught on his trouser leg.
"Oops." She swept and hand across his thigh and retrieved it, not noticing the scorch mark she left in her wake. He spun and kept the thread as thin as he could so her stitches could be small. When the kettle whistled she stretched and brushed against him again. "I need a cup. Look, I've finished one cuff!"
It was exquisite. Heavier and more decadent than it was before, and in no way all the more perfect because she'd done it herself. Only wives and lovers did work like that.
"Shall I pour?"
"Of course, dearie." He drank his tea quickly. He couldn't wait for the second cuff.