He'd almost given up on her coming back. Or, more accurately, he'd pushed that thought away. Rumpelstiltskin tried his best to keep Belle at the forefront of his mind, but the fact remained that there were a million other things he had to focus on as well. He needed the curse broken to find his son, but to break the curse required a series of other small steps be completed in the shadows. In the grand scheme of things, finding Bae had to be his priority even over winning her back.
He'd finally stopped waiting for her, at least. There was a storm coming, and he was trying to prepare his shop for the tempest by covering the windows and moving things off the floor and onto pedestals in the event of flooding. The ringing of the bell on the door drew his attention, and it was on the tip of his tongue to inform this last minute customer that the shop was closed when he glanced up and the words died on his tongue. She was damp and she was shivering (and, he belatedly realized, he was too late to get home before the storm began) but she was here. Belle had come to him for shelter, and he'd not fail her here.
"I hadn't expected to see you so soon," he admitted as calmly as he could manage which admittedly wasn't that calmly at all.
R-A-I-N-I-N-G, she signed slowly. G-O-T-S-T-U-C-K. T-H-O-U-G-H-T-Y-O-U-M-I-G-H-T-L-I-K-E-M-O-R-E-L-E-S-S-O-N-S.
The mention of his abruptly aborted ASL lessons reminded him.
"I got you a present," he said, ducking beneath the counter to grab it from where it had laid waiting for her the weeks she'd been angry. "To help with the lessons."
By the time he stood again, she'd come to stand in front of him curiously as he placed the parcel in front of her.
"Go ahead and unwrap it," he encouraged her. "It's not really much."
She traced the string tying the brown paper together with a finger before pulling the bow undone. She carefully unwrapped it until she held the small whiteboard and shot him a curious look.
"I know you don't much like writing notes," he explained (he'd thank Emma Swan later for that piece of information if this worked). "But you can erase this. And if you like it can stay here. I just want to be able to have a real conversation with you where we both talk."
She didn't smile at him, but she also didn't hand it back. Instead she was holding the board gingerly with her fingertips, as though she were afraid of catching something should she properly grab it.
"If you don't want to, that's fine," he stammered. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Here, I'll take it back..."
As he grabbed for it, she snatched it away, shaking her head no. She set the board on the counter and uncapped a marker.
No, it's fine, she wrote, a strange smile on her face. It's a very good idea. Thank you.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted to impress her, after all. He wanted her to be happy with him.
Delilah erased the writing on the board, uncapping her marker again.
Would you like me to start your lessons again?
"I very much would," he said.
Usually, their lessons were her pointing to things in the shop and signing them – clock, necklace, ring, sword – or else him saying words and her signing them – man, woman, house, car, dog, cat – but having the whiteboard put her completely in control, and she surprised him.
The first thing she did was to hold her left hand flat with her right hand n a cup shape and resting on her palm where she mimed raising her hand to her lips.
Cup.
He imitated her a few times until she thought he had it down, at which point she switched so her left hand was the cup and her right hand made a stirring motion over it.
Tea.
He wasn't sure what was going on, no scratch that – he was pretty sure he knew exactly what was going on but he couldn't let himself believe it. Her words became more and more fanciful – fairy, castle, straw, forest, gold – before she moved her hands in a circle and made a throwing motion with both hands.
Magic.
"Belle?" he whispered, his voice sounding as awe-struck as he felt. If she didn't understand he'd pretend like he was asking about the one on the door, but he had to know.
He half expected her to tilt her head in confusion and ask him what he meant. Instead, she was nodding and smiling and there were tears in her eyes and oh gods, she was Belle.
He didn't know how she got around the counter so fast, but he didn't care. Belle was hugging him, and Belle was pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks and jawline, and Belle was filling his lungs with her scent. She wasn't angry, she didn't hate him, she was here and she'd come back and he was sure he'd never need anything else ever again.
She brushed her lips across his delicately and she pressed her body against his tight as though she were trying to melt into him. He wanted to be stronger than this, but he couldn't help his physical reaction. He hoped she didn't notice, but she did and he could tell the exact moment it happened. She stilled in his arms, but she didn't pull away or blush or any of the other things he would have feared – instead, she smiled at him again, a different kind of smile than before. This one was reassuring and lovely, and as she stretched up on her toes to press her lips to his again he was practically knocked backwards by the force of her acceptance and her love.
This time when she kissed him it was a slow, lingering thing. Whereas before she had been brushing lips across whatever body part she could reach, now his lower lip was between both of hers and her tongue was teasing his with its presence. She threaded one hand through his hair, her nails scraping pleasantly against his scalp and reminding him that this wasn't a dream, this was Belle here in the rain where nobody would come looking for them.
It was impossible to tell which one made the first move towards the back room, but since he didn't remember the idea coming to him he was sure it must have been Belle. It was Belle who pulled him down on top of her on the little cot, it was Belle whose arms were wrapped around him tight, it was Belle who loved him even as his hands trembled to cup her breast through her still damp shirt – dammit, he should have offered her his coat earlier. It was Belle who he would keep safe and warm and here no matter what.
He slowly unbuttoned her shirt, willing himself to be steady as his hands worked. He could do this, he had done delicate work with his fingers since he was a boy, after all. She arched into his touch, his fingers touching skin that was so soft he could barely stand it. He wanted to jerk away and to run from this beautiful thing for fear of breaking it, but it was Belle and he couldn't leave her again. Once he had her shirt off he covered her body with his, offering her warmth at least if he could do nothing else, and she seemed content with that for awhile, her legs finding their way around his to press her against him and her hands seeking skin wherever they could find it.
Eventually, though, Belle seemed to grow discontented with him fully clothed and her in a bra and she pushed his jacket from him and deposited it unceremoniously on the floor. He didn't know how far she meant to take this, but he knew how far he could go. Rumpelstiltskin hadn't been touched with kindness since she had kissed him last, and had barely been touched for any other purpose for another thirty years before that. There were some things that time didn't improve, and this was surely one of them. Instead, he slipped a hand down under her skirt, pulling it up to pool around her hips. Belle laid back as he traced his fingertips over her thighs, she looked so trusting and all he wanted was to win a moan from her lips though he knew he'd not be able to do that – nor to hear her call his name as she came.
He cupped her folds through the thin cotton panties she wore (pink with little flowers on them and beautiful in a way he couldn't have explained if anyone had asked) and pressed the heel of his palm against her apex where he knew she'd want him. She gasped, arching into him and her hand came up to fist his shirt. He smiled indulgently, leaning down to place a kiss to her temple as he continued his ministrations, not daring to slide his hands under the cotton jersey fabric until she was clawing the cot, panting heavily. He held his breath as his fingers slipped easily inside of her and her face twisted up into something resembling pain but oh so much more beautiful than that. He kissed her face and her neck as she panted and clawed at him and finally – finally – shattered around his fingers as she clung to him for dear life.
He wished he could have heard her say his name, and he was painfully hard in his trousers, but Belle was wrapped around him and breathing heavy and had his hand trapped by her thighs and it was hard to think of anything but how beautiful that was and how he'd never expected it.
She finally released him, and he slid his hand out and tried to reposition her skirts. She gave him another of her quizzical looks, glancing down to his groin.
"Another time, sweetheart," he promised, wiping his hand on the sheets quickly so as not to embarrass her before giving her a gentle kiss.
She tilted her head and made a single sign – one of the few he recognized – something close to a salute.
Why?
"We've only just met," he said as charmingly as he could manage when all he really wanted was to wrap himself up in her and never let go.
She pointed to herself, then made a sign he didn't quite recognize (holding her hands in front of herself before pulling them back as though grabbing something) and then pointed towards him.
"Darling, I don't know that sign."
W-A-N-T, she spelled before repeating her earlier movements. I want you.
She wanted him, and he didn't want to turn her down, but at the same time his anxiety levels had skyrocketed just from being this close to her. He couldn't do this, he needed some time to adjust, needed time to come to accept this.
Belle – blessed, beautiful Belle – tilted his chin to look at her, trying to see in his face what he couldn't quite put into words yet.
"I'm sorry," he whispered but she put her thumb over his lips, shaking her head with a gentle smile.
She pushed him onto his back and curled up against him (she fit so well between his arm and his side). He distracted himself by alternately weaving their fingers together and watching her toy with the buttons on his shirt.
She was here, they were together, and he would never let her go. He repeated those words like a mantra as the storm outside raged on and the lights flickered a few times. This time, he would keep her safe. No matter the risk, no matter the cost, Belle would be safe.