Thank you to everyone for all your reviews and support! And just so you know (and can stop asking ;D), I will definitely be finishing this fic :DD!

Sleeping with Belle was like sleeping with a disoriented octopus. When she slept, she gained an infinite number of boneless limbs, capable of hitting Gold from any angle at any time. It hadn't been this way the first night she'd stayed, or even the next few after that, but the more nights they spent together, the deeper she slept, and the more she beat him up.

He knew that it was because she felt safe sleeping there, so some part of him looked forward to dodging blows. He was getting better at it, now that his leg was starting to heal from what he'd done to it on Halloween. After the day he spent curled up in a ball from his hangover, his leg had taken a downward spiral, and it had taken a weekend of Belle's devoted care for him to be able to use his cane without pain.

This was good, because it was nearing the end of the semester, and he was going to have more things to do at the university than just sitting in his office and building trains. Belle had to be evaluated, and he had scheduled his evaluation for Monday, which meant faster moving than usual to get from his classroom to his office to her classroom in enough time. It would have been bad if she hadn't healed his knee with her magic lips.

Belle did not know that she was being evaluated. She wasn't supposed to know, but he'd considered telling her anyway—whispering it into her ear while he was tangled around her at night, trying to keep her limbs where they belonged—but he had promised himself when this had started that he wouldn't mix their personal relationship with their professional relationship.

Also, he was more than a little excited to watch the color drain from her face when he stepped in with his clipboard and red pen.

The window on her classroom's door was dark when he limped up to it, and he frowned. He knew he hadn't gotten the time wrong—he sat in his office every Monday at this time, waiting like a faithful dog for her to come back. There was a flash of light, then. Maybe she was showing a video. He knew some of the freshman composition classes analyzed commercials.

He pushed the door open, and was greeted by the class erupting into squealing laughter, led by Belle herself. For a second, he thought the laughter was directed at him, and a chill of rage feathered down his neck—until he saw a puppy projected on the overhead screen, and realized that no one had even noticed him.

After gentling the door closed behind him, he cleared his throat. It had the same effect it always did, bathing the room in still silence. Belle was the only one who made a noise, letting out a tiny squeak as she leaned over from her perch on the desk to mash a button on the keyboard. The video froze.

"Dr. Gold!" She crossed her legs at the ankle, sitting up straighter as though it would make it look more professional to be sitting on a desk, showing a video about puppies to her class. "What are you doing here?"

He raised the clipboard in explanation, giving her a bland smile, and she paled.

"Right. Well, I'll pretend you're not here, then. Right?"

He nodded, drawing a finger over his lips to mime his own silence, and then limped his way to the back of the room. All eyes were on him until he had settled himself in a desk behind a girl with a ponytail, whose neck stiffened.

Belle turned on her perch, pointing her knees toward the projector. "All right, let's get back—and when we're done, someone tell me why I'm showing this video."

He could tell her why—because she thought puppies were cute—but he admired her attempt to make it seem relevant. When the video ended thirty seconds later, he was even impressed by the boy who raised his hand to say that it was a representation of the commoditization of feelings.

At the beginning of the year, Gold would have taken these things and made notes about how they were negative and unprofessional. Now that he was in love with Belle, he found that he could be a bit more objective and accept the fact that she was just good at teaching. It had to be killing her that she taught a class based on research and theory where there was little reading, but she made it look like it was what she was born to do. He made notes on his clipboard, keeping tally of every time someone made her laugh-and then a separate tally of who it was, so that he could make sure there was nothing for him to worry about.

He chose not to make note of the fact that there was a crowd of male students in the front left of the classroom, a phenomenon which he had never experienced himself. In all of the other freshman comp classes that he observed, it was the jocks who sat in the back and clowned like this was still high school. In Belle's classroom, the jocks were her most devoted students, and he wanted to sneak into her grade book and fail all of them-but then there was the chance that they would be in her class again next semester, and he was already clenching the clipboard a little more tightly than necessary for the occasion.

By the time class was over, he had a few words jotted down to remind him of what he wanted to say in his glowing review, a tally of twenty-two times that Belle laughed, and a tally of thirteen times that it was the jocks who made her do it. He had to keep reminding himself that he could make Belle laugh just by talking, or he was going to end up casually terrorizing all of the jocks whenever he passed them in the hallways.

He remained in his seat as the class filed out at the end, amusing himself watching the girl in front of him flee like she was being chased. Belle was sitting on the desk again, returning farewells as she got them. He was going to have to give her some bullshit critique that he usually gave to TAs—don't be so chummy, stand up straight when you teach, prepare better for your lecture so that you don't say 'um' too much—to make sure that his review didn't look off.

Everyone was taking much longer to trickle out than they did in his class, and it took him a few seconds of glaring to realize that it was because a few of the jocks had stayed behind, and were crowded around his Belle in a semi-circle. She was still perched on the desk, and this gave them a perfect view of her perfect legs, which made something hot and empty rise in Gold's throat.

Belle always dressed with demure propriety, and if it had been anyone else looking, he would have thought she looked professional and delicate. Watching the boys stare, though, made the skirt too short, too revealing. Those were his legs to look at, to admire and to caress. Someday, they would be wrapped around his waist or slung over his shoulders, and it didn't matter that they were covered in tights, he was not okay with anyone else looking at them.

He was too focused on scattering the group to pay attention to what they were saying. He stood, making sure that his steps were slow and deliberate, with his cane tapping the ground at a steady rhythm. It worked like it always did, and the conversation had fizzled out by the time he arrived to the desk.

It rarely took words for people—students in particular—to leave. Under normal circumstances, the fact that he had sidled over to Belle's desk and rested a hand on it would have had any group dissipating and gone. This time, however, no one left. The boys inched closer together, but they stood their ground. He clenched his teeth, and turned his head to Belle.

"We'll need to discuss your evaluation, Miss Blue."

"Of course." She smiled at him, clasping her hands in her lap and looking like she could have been talking to anyone in the world. He wanted to die.

"So you're coming, right?" one of the boys asked, stepping forward and puffing his chest up. Following his lead, the others joined him, moving forward an inch or two each like they were forming a shield around Belle.

If he hadn't decided to give in to the despair, he'd have been amused at their attempt to protect her from him.

"Of course. I'll be there. It sounds fantastic!"

Gold jerked his head to look at her. Where had they invited her? Why had he thought it was okay to not listen to what they were saying?

"Cool," one said, and none of them made any effort to leave.

It seemed he was going to have to pull out all the stops. Putting on his most blank face, he rested both hands on his cane. "I need to discuss Miss Blue's evaluation with her. Alone."

They looked at each other, and he wished he could just beat them until they left. He watched them, hoping to intimidate with his unwavering gaze, and was surprised when one stepped forward.

"We just want you to know that we think Belle's a great teacher—and you should give her a good review."

It went a long way toward healing his despair to see that even the people who were the worst students in his opinion would fight for Belle. Still, he wanted them to leave. "That's for me to decide."

They cast Belle aggrieved looks, and she laughed. "Don't worry. I can handle this beast."

They still looked unconvinced, but presented with a united front, they had no choice but to leave. Once they were gone, Gold inserted himself between Belle's knees and pressed his face to her neck. Belle snorted.

"Beast indeed. You're a kitten," she said, running a hand through his hair. Frowning at that, he bit her on the neck, and she yelped.

"Don't test me." He licked the spot he'd bitten, then shifted to bite somewhere new, relishing the way she squeaked whenever his teeth struck skin.

"Raphael—the door—there's a window—kitten."

He rumbled out a growl by her ear and the shiver it caused made her laughter sound like a CD skipping. Resting his cheek against hers, he tightened his grip on her waist. "Where did they invite you?"

"Frat house dinner for professors," she said. "It's on Thursday."

"You're not a professor."

She pulled away from him and leaned back far enough to cross her arms and glare at him. He tried to look innocent, but his face wasn't used to the expression, so he was sure that he ended up just looking mean and pouty.

"And yet, of the two of us, I'm the one who got invited."

"Thank god," he said, pulling her toward him. "Rejection is cuter coming from you."

She put her hands on his shoulders to keep herself where she was. "I'm not rejecting the invitation, Raphael. You heard me say I would go."

The doorknob rattled, saving him from having to find something to say to that other than, "No, don't, stay with me forever." He leapt backward while Belle rearranged her skirt, and he couldn't decide whether or not he hoped he'd left teeth marks on her neck.

The jocks all tumbled back in, like they'd been listening at the door. Gold was glad for his naturally quiet voice.

"Did you forget something?" Belle asked, smiling as though he had not just been pressed between her thighs.

"We said it was Thursday, right?"

"You did, and I will definitely be there."

They all looked at Gold, and he gave them his blankest stare. They were interrupting on purpose, and he wasn't going to stand for it. He would remember all of their faces—if they decided to take his class as upperclassmen, they would regret it.

"Okay. Okay well, good. I'll email you the info."

Belle looked far too cheerful for a person being invited to a frat house. She must not have known how dangerous it was to be alone there—he would make sure to tell her before she went. Perhaps he would go with her. Surely, she was allowed to bring a date?

"I think Ruby Lucas and Dr. Blanchard are coming, too," one of them said, and Gold bit back a curse. She would never agree to his argument if her lackeys were there. This was not a battle he was going to win.

"Great. I'll see you on Wednesday, okay? I need to head down to Dr. Gold's office."

He looked at her, and she met his eyes with a secretive sort of lip twitch. They couldn't save her from him there.

"Do you—want us to walk you?" They looked uncertain, like a group of clones.

"Oh, for God's sake," Gold said, stepping closer to Belle's knees. "I'm not going to eat her."

The silence was so thick, he was sure he could have reached a hand out and touched it—and then Belle broke it with a bubble of laughter. She hopped off the desk and smoothed her skirt, taking his elbow to start pulling him toward the door.

"See you all on Wednesday," she said, and Gold couldn't help the triumphant glint to his grin.

Belle hurled herself onto her side of the bed. He turned to look at her over his reading glasses, and Belle heaved a sigh that he felt all the way on his side. After marking his page and setting his book down, he scooted closer to her.

"He didn't take it well?" he asked, raising his arm so she could throw herself into his side. Tonight was going to be an adventure in sleeping.

"I didn't tell him."

He made the mistake of looking down at her just as she snorted a tendril of hair out of her face, and ended up with a mouthful of it. When he spluttered, she turned her head up to him, relaxing into a sheepish grin.

"Sorry. No, I couldn't do it."

He stroked her hair away from her face. Was the twinge of hurt he felt normal? He didn't much care if Belle's father knew about them, but the fact that she couldn't—or wouldn't—tell him made him want to sink back into the pillows and stay there until he fossilized.

"What happened?"

"Well, I was about to tell him that I had a new boyfriend and that his name was Raphael, but then—"

He lifted his head, waiting for her to continue. It was like balancing on a string, and what she said next would either keep him stable or knock him on his ass.

"Hm?"

"I didn't want him to think that I had to sleep with my professor to get my degree," she said, and her voice was small enough to bring him gently to the ground. He tucked her against him, pressing his lips to her hair.

"He does seem the sort to jump to that conclusion."

She jerked her head to glare at him, and he raised his empty hands.

"That's my father you're talking about."

"Just making an observation."

She sighed and settled back into him. "I know. I'm sorry. I just wish I could tell him and have it not be weird, you know?"

He didn't have this problem, since the only person he ever told things was Belle, and she already knew that they were dating. "I know, sweetheart." He kissed her again, pleased when she turned her head so that he could reach her mouth.

"Are you ready to sleep?" she asked, looking toward his book.

"Not quite," he said, leaning down to kiss the confused twist off her lips.

He had been asleep for twenty minutes when he was awakened by Belle throwing herself at him, limbs akimbo.

"Belle?"

She pushed at his chest, and he couldn't tell if she was crying or just whimpering—and then she was scrambling over him and her foot was in his windpipe and he couldn't breathe until she leapt over him like a clumsy martial artist. She stumbled when she hit the ground, then flew backward, babbling something he couldn't understand.

"Belle," he tried again, throwing off the covers. "Belle, what's wrong? Are you awake?"

Her eyes were fluttering and her chest was heaving, and he wasn't sure if this was one of those instances where he was supposed to let her wake herself up or not. Bae had stopped having nightmares around age five, and Milah wouldn't have wanted to be comforted by him.

"Belle." He inched toward her, hand out. She was acting like she was awake, but he couldn't tell if she was aware that he was there.

"There's something there," she said, and he almost jumped at the clarity in her voice. Oh god. Was something there?

"What? What's there?" He turned around, grabbing his cane off the nightstand in case he had to pulverize anything.

She babbled a few more things until he managed to make out the word "spiders." He frowned, shuffling toward the bed. Wouldn't he have noticed spiders in the bed?

"Turn a light on." He made it to the edge and started looking around. Perhaps he should have grabbed the box of tissues—his cane would be ineffectual against a spider unless it was a behemoth. He searched, straining his eyes to find whatever was bothering her while he waited for her to turn the light on, but all time brought was more babbling and no lights.

He sighed. She was asleep, and he had just let her go on living a nightmare. Steadier now that he had his cane, he limped over to her. She had her arms wrapped around herself and was quaking like someone was pointing a gun at her.

"Belle, wake up." He pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Belle, it's me. You're safe, sweetheart. Nothing's going to hurt you. Wake up, Belle."

She turned glassy eyes toward him, like she wanted to understand what he was saying but couldn't, and he shook her. Gradually, her awareness shifted, and he could tell when she realized what was going on, though it didn't stop her shaking.

"Oh." Her voice was so soft, he almost didn't hear her. She curled herself into him, arms still crossed over her chest, and he wrapped himself around her. "Sorry—I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine. Are you okay to get back in bed?"

She whipped her head up. "Did you check for spiders?"

"There's nothing there that shouldn't be."

She let him lead her back to the bed, where he sat against the headboard so that she could tuck herself under his chin. She folded the blankets around them, effectively trapping both of them in a blanket cocoon. If Gold was ever going to be trapped anywhere with anyone, he would rather it be in blankets with Belle.

Her shaking still hadn't stopped, so he set about stroking her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and he almost snorted at the ridiculousness of her apologizing.

"Don't be, sweetheart. You can't help it."

"Sometimes I have nightmares when I get stressed out."

He looked down at her. This was her father's fault, and he was not pleased, but he wouldn't say anything to her unless she brought it up. "Should I make you tea?"

She shook her head, tickling his chin with the top of her curls. "No, thank you. Did I hurt you?"

His chest remembered the pain of her foot, but he shook his head. If he ever let on that she beat him up in the night, she might stop sleeping with him. "No, you were very graceful. Leapt right over me."

At that, she snorted, tilting her head to look up at him. "You know, you're a great liar, but you can't expect me to believe something I know isn't true."

"I think you're graceful." He kissed her on the forehead. "And I consider it my privilege to have your dainty foot stepping on me as I sleep."

Belle's lips parted. "I stepped on you? Oh god, I'm so sorry, Raphael. Are you all right?"

"I'll survive."

She twisted around to look at him, but his impish grin didn't seem to soothe her at all, and she chewed her lip. "I'm so sorry."

"I suppose if you're terribly upset, you could kiss me."

She watched him for a few seconds, and he was afraid that he had somehow gone too far—though how, he could not imagine—and then she shifted around until she was facing him on her knees.

"Where?"

He pointed to his sternum. To his surprise, she didn't kiss it, but instead tugged the hem of his shirt up until she had revealed his skinny torso. He was glad it was dark.

At the first touch of her lips to his skin, his entire body felt like it was melting. He focused on not doing anything weird, like making a noise just because she was touching him with her mouth, but as she circled around his chest, his mind clouded over more and more. When she pulled away, he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from whining.

"Better?" she asked.

"Perfect," he managed, petting her head with a clumsy hand. "You're perfect." And I love you.

He couldn't tell if she looked amused, flattered, or embarrassed, which made him want to blush.

"Even after I stepped on you?"

He pretended to consider this, running his hands through her hair and down her back, clad in one of the university t-shirts that she usually wore to bed. He hated the shirts, because it meant she wasn't naked, but he didn't hate the fact that she wore pajamas around him.

"Even after you stepped on me."

She looked up at him, eyes darting back and forth across his face. He wished that he could know what she saw there, but supposed that it didn't much matter when she leaned forward to press her lips against his. She could see whatever she wanted in him, and he would strive to be the best man he could for her, just as long as he could be with her forever.