Rumplestiltskin couldn't remember the last time he'd been this intoxicated. He lay sprawled, flat on his back with fingers folded over his stomach, staring at the tent ceiling. Belle was several feet to his left, wrapped up in her cloak and facing away.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, her shoulder slowly rising and falling. He thought back to their dance the night prior…the feel of her in his arms, her heat radiating against him. Her breath on his neck….

His eyelids fluttered closed.

—That was enough of that. That sort of thinking was the absolute wrong thing to do.

Sleep came upon him quickly, once the spinning ceiling settled and there was nothing left to focus on but the lull of his own vertigo.

—

Sometime during the night, a disturbance woke him. He opened his eyes to see that Belle's head was resting on his chest; she had apparently migrated from her side of the tent.

But there was something moving. He thought it was a small animal of some kind at first, but then he realized that…it was her hand? He watched her fingers in the darkness as they idly toyed with the buttons on his vest. The idle toying became drowsy fumbling—until the top button released. Her hand moved down to the next one.

His eyes flew wide.

"…You're awake," she murmured.

He swallowed, hard. "How could you tell?"

"Your heart is racing. It wasn't just a moment ago." Her head shifted a bit onto his shoulder, and she continued to work on his vest buttons.

He opened his mouth to speak again, to ask her what the hell she was doing, to tell her to stop. But his voice wasn't working.

When the final button was undone, she reached her hand inside the vest and began to undo the shirt closures.

Belle…oh, Belle, no….

She slid her cool hand into the folds of his silk blouse. His body locked head to toe as her fingers trailed down his sternum, and his jaw set as if in dire pain. She pulled herself closer still, curling her arm around him inside his shirt.

"I'm cold," she explained matter-of-factly. "You're nice and warm."

A string of nervous sniggers escaped him and he shifted uneasily. "Is that all?"

He sucked in a breath as her fingernails raked along his bare ribs. She moved her head then, to look at him.

"Just let me touch you," came her earnest whisper. "If it's all that I can do…then just let me touch you."

Rumplestiltskin had no response for her. No words of acquiescence. No words of objection. He simply gawped at her obscure form. It was too dark to read her expression, but he could hear the seriousness in her voice.

He couldn't decide what to do with his hands. For the moment, his fingers remained tragically clenched at his sides, the tendons lurching out of his skin like wretched tree roots.

To add insult to injury, she'd added her breath to her movements. Her mouth lingered just near his bare skin, so, so careful not to touch. Her warm exhalations elicited a tremble from him.

He envisioned seizing her…burying his fingers in her hair, pulling her face to his. He imagined himself kissing her this time, with all the power and force behind it that he was capable of—instead of sitting like he had at his spinning wheel, as a feeble whelp. She had nearly turned him. She had nearly stripped away his supremacy and left him to wallow in the pathetic cesspit of humanity.

He remembered the way she'd tasted. That brief, sweet moment, before the rage. He craved that taste again—but he wanted more of it. He wanted to taste the place where her neck met her shoulder; he wanted to taste the hollow of her throat. And her mouth he wanted to savor, for much, much longer than that fleeting moment when she'd changed his world forever.

It was impossible to remember the last time a woman had touched him in such a way. It was also impossible for him to even enjoy it, for all he could think about was how much he needed her to stop.

"Belle. Belle."

He caught her by the wrists. Squirming out of her grasp, he promptly exited the tent and hastily re-buttoned his clothing.

"You're a coward, Rumplestiltskin."

He froze in his tracks, then spun on his heel. "How dare you!" he howled at the tent. "You know the rules! You have to stop this. You can't—" his voice cracked and he hesitated. "You can't keep making me want you."

"Stop blaming me," her voice wavered, quieter than before. "This is your own fault."

Rumplestiltskin threw his hands up in the air, and stomped away from the tent. In his heart, he knew that she was right. He'd taken her into his home, gotten to know her, allowed her to grow close. He loved her. But he could not have her. She knew the reasons why, and yet she persisted. She taunted him…teased him, as if she could care less about the world.

Perhaps she didn't, he realized. Perhaps she didn't give a care to the world at all.

Infuriated, he stalked off into the forest. He needed to go for a walk…at least, until his trousers didn't seem quite so tight anymore.

—

After thirty or so minutes had passed and his head was sufficiently cleared, Rumplestiltskin returned to the camp.

"Belle," he called out. There was no answer.

"Come now, dearie, you can't still be angry." Bitter silence continued. Irritation began to brew within him once again. He bent to throw back the flap of the tent.

"Girl, now I've told you— "

He stopped as he realized Belle wasn't inside. He peered into the darkness within, her slight form nowhere to be seen. He spun about, instantly alert to the sounds of the forest. He could neither hear, nor see anything that merited alarm. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a large, flaming orb that lit up the entire area.

He called out her name again, and went several paces before he finally looked down at the ground.

It clear that someone had followed them; he could see several sets of large footprints all around the tent. There were hoof prints as well, along with drag marks…as though a young girl had been hauled away. He snarled as he whirled to examine the indentations. He realized then, what a horrific decision it had been for him to leave.

Without warning, there was a piercing twinge in the back of his mind; something inside him lurched. He stumbled forward a few steps, as though yanked by an invisible thread.

And then he heard her—she was crying out for him. There was terror in her voice. He twisted around again, trying to find the source of her frantic pleas.

"…Belle?"

It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't actually hearing her—she was in hishead. He felt it then, an agonizing awareness that could not be ignored. An awareness of being beckoned. As if he was being called home. The impulse to obey was overpowering and irresistible.

His eyes closed, gooseflesh rose along his skin…and then, he knew exactly where she was and what she was doing.

Belle was using the dagger to summon him.