A/N: Hello, readers! I think you'll find this chapter entertaining, but then again I tend to find a drunken Rumpel entertaining. There might also be a little surprise for you at the end. I also want to thank all those that are reading and reviewing—your words mean more to me than I can ever say. Enjoy!
Taking a swig of alcohol while oversensitive was the equivalent of taking your very first sip after sneaking away with your father's flask as a child. Hard to resist, tough to swallow.
It was one of Rumpelstiltskin's fleeting memories of his father and childhood—stumbling upon the flask's hiding place in the hole of a tree, being curious enough to tip it to his lips, nearly spewing it out as the liquid fire scorched his throat all the way down to his belly. His father never took his label as a coward well, so he did what cowards do best: curl up in a corner and hide. He drowned his sorrows and shame in the comfort of the drink instead of confronting the matter that troubled him; just another show of cowardice.
Rumpel was never a big drinker, though he could hold his liquor better than half the drunkards festering away in those seedy taverns. Yet it might be the only way to fend off this vast sensitivity if only for a little while, so Rumpel ventured out into the night to seek the nearest tavern. The possibility of having even an hour's worth of peace was priceless.
"Let the party begin," he muttered under his breath as he burst through the door of the tavern.
When the entire tavern becomes dead silent after you walk in, it is a sure sign that a) you're a child whose head barely reaches the table, b) you're a sword-wielding, blood-drenched hero returning from battle amongst his awed peers, or c) everyone is afraid of you. For Rumpelstiltskin, it was the latter. He definitely wasn't that short and there was no way someone would mistake him for a dashing Prince Charming.
Someone in the back crowed "we are all going to die", followed by the tell-tale thunk of a head hitting the table. It was quiet after that.
His eyes glowed eerily from beneath the hood of his cloak as he scanned every last smarmy face, two orbs of molten gold searching for prey. One of the tavern wenches—a scrawny thing with barely any meat on her bones save for her breasts and a mop of brown hair—cast her eyes down as Rumpel's penetrating gaze swept over her, her nails digging into a torn piece of cloth meant for wiping tables.
With the swiftness of a rattlesnake, Rumpel slid in her direction and she gasped, stumbling backwards into an empty table. Did she think he was choosing her for his drinking partner? Or just partner in general?
"You look to be the type that has a thing for faces," Rumpel said, stroking his gray-gold chin. Who in this world could ever forget his lovely face? "Tell me, dearie…Am I in any way, shape, size, or form a new customer?"
The tavern wench fought to keep her eyes from traveling over the length of his body. It gave him the idea of rotating so she could better examine him from every angle. She shook her head. If she leaned any farther over that table, she'd be lying flat across it. Her eyes were impossibly wide with recognition and it surprised him that her eyeballs managed to stay in her head at all.
"N-no, sir. I remember you, of course I do," she stuttered, scrunching the front of her skirts in her hands anxiously. He was glad to have made such an impression. "You come in here at least once a month, usually to make deals or p-pick apart our bread," she answered timidly.
"Do I have something stuck in my teeth?" His lips pulled back from his untidy teeth. She shook her head frantically. "Did I forget my pants before leaving my castle?" He gracefully extended one foot before him and gestured to the lower half of his body. As he anticipated, the girl couldn't help her gaze flickering past his waist. She mutely shook her head again. "Is my hair sticking up? Am I speaking a different language? Is there a copy of me running around with a halo performing good deeds?" Three times she shook her head. Rumpel feigned shock, pressing a hand to his rapidly beating heart. "Then, why-oh-why is everyone still staring?"
His voice climbed several notches over the last two words, betraying the nature of the beast that inhabited his body.
All at once, every head in the tavern whipped around, shoulders hunched like mountains, and an obviously forced murmur of chatter resumed. He grunted at the show of frightened, feigned indifference. "I'll see myself to my table. And would it kill you to sweep out the hay? It smells like I'm dining in the stables. Seems no one in this tavern has heard the words tub, water, cleanliness, or gentleman before, either."
"If you're lookin' for a fancy banquet, I'd suggest you try King George's kingdom, aye?"
A spindle-thin man with wiry hair and barely half his teeth had the gall to retort. He also had a wooden eye that startled Rumpel by rolling around in its socket. Most likely, the alcohol was the source of such confidence. A shorter, balding man next to him struggled not to choke on his ale, the cause of uprising laughter if Rumpel was correct. Rumpel made a pit-stop at Toothy's seat and stole his tongue, dropping it into his partner's drink.
"Next it'll be your nose," he warned, flicking his fingers toward the shorter man's bulbous nose. It defied gravity; Rumpel didn't even know how that man walked around without his nose making him tip over like a sinking ship. Or was that what Toothy was here for? To make sure that thing didn't poke an eye out? Oops. The man yelped nonsensically and squeezed his nose with both hands, protecting it from Rumpel.
Rumpel pinched his own nose all the way to his seat in order to block out the nauseating stench of sweat, lust, grime, and smoke. He avoided speaking to anyone else along the way. With his fingers pinching his nose, he would sound like a chipmunk if chipmunks could talk. A chipmunk with a thick accent.
He always adored the table by the window. It was in the corner, so he was able to scope out the entire tavern. It was in front of the window, so potential customers would notice him inside, waiting to strike a deal if need be. It was dim enough in the evening so that he could easily blend in with the shadows if he didn't want to be disturbed. Even better, it was the least smelly area of the bar, something he hadn't bothered to notice before the sensitivity.
This was his seat. He even carved his name into the wood once. Granted, it said D.O. because his true name was too long, but everyone got the idea.
Rumpel settled into his usual chair. Only, it didn't feel like his usual chair. It was unbearably flat and hard under his bottom, forcing him to wiggle around unattractively to try to get comfortable. This chair just wouldn't do. He plopped into the one beside it, only to feel the same effects. Hard, lumpy, and uncomfortable. Plus, this one wobbled and when it wobbled it squeaked. It was annoying to hear nothing but ee-thud, ee-thud, ee-thud whenever he moved.
So he exchanged that chair for one across from it and sat down. Something small and round dug into his thigh. He stood and looked down at his seat to find a pea, gone rock-hard from sitting there for who knew how long. He flicked it away and it hit the nearest drinker, a muscled oaf with a worm for a mustache.
"Who's the imbecile—" The man spun around on his seat to see the Dark One aiming daggers with his snake-eyes. It amazed him that this mini-Ogre even knew the word imbecile, especially with those five mugs sitting in front of him on the table. Heat coursed along the man's neck. "Nice throw."
"If you think that's impressive, you should witness my archery skills. I never miss my target," Rumpel boasted with a wink. The man's face turned white as cow's milk. Rumpel chuckled to himself and settled for sitting in his usual seat, the one that didn't wobble or have leftover food. The tavern girl hurried over to serve him, though she did not quite meet his eyes.
"I'll take your strongest drink," he ordered, waving her off with a flourish of his hand. How many rolls in the hay did she make this evening? The scent of her was the exact opposite of Belle's. It was almost putrid to behold.
The tavern girl nodded once and quickly turned on her heel to fetch his order. A thought occurred to him: what if the drink was too strong on his newly sensitive taste buds and he found he couldn't hold it down?
"On second thought," he called out, stopping her in her tracks before she went too far. "Make it your lightest drink." That should do. The girl nodded again though the pinch to her lips betrayed her annoyance and confusion. Wait…what if this one was too light and he couldn't get drunk at all? He leaped up from his seat. Dozens of eyes turned in his direction. "No, no, no! I changed my mind! Just…bring everything you have."
The tavern girl whirled around incredulously and stared at him from across the tavern. Stared at him as if he lost his mind. It wasn't too far off the mark, anyway.
"Everything?" She tilted her head dubiously. Was there an echo in here? He slapped his hands down on the table and regretted it as his palms burned from the impact.
"Did I stutter? Ev-er-y-thing," he pronounced slowly, as though he were communicating with a simpleton. The girl bristled at his insolence, but held her tongue. She probably figured she would lose it like Toothy over there. "Except water and milk. If it'll get me drunk, send it my way."
The tavern girl made no comment about the strangeness of his order nor did she inquire if he had money to pay for it. As Belle put it, he spun more gold than he could ever spend. Tonight's the night I test that theory, he mused to himself, rubbing his sore palms until they grew unbearably hot from the friction.
"And don't get any hairs in it, either!" He didn't favor the tavern girl trying to choke him. He didn't know whether the girl heard him, but he would steal Toothy's tongue for every hair he found. He'd magically pop it back in, rip it back out, pop it in, rip it out.
All at once, he realized how many eyes had landed on him during his indecisiveness.
"Any of you charmers up for archery practice? I need someone to hold the apple atop his head," he hissed. No one raised so much as a finger. He plopped back down in his seat. Now I have to find my sweet spot again, he grumbled inside his head. At this rate, he was on his way to inventing the art of Chair Dancing.
The tavern girl returned, balancing a tray that was loaded with mugs of alcohol. There were three of them, each a different size. One was exceptionally tall, one was pitifully small, and one was somewhere in between. She set the mugs carefully in front of him and awaited any further demand. He scrutinized all three mugs, his nose hovering over the rim of each one so that he may sniff the contents. None of them smelled pleasant, the bitter smell stinging his nostrils and making his eyes water.
Well, no point in prolonging the inevitable, he thought. Take it like you would a potion, Rumpel. Down the hatch, smooth and steady. If only I had a spoonful of sugar to help it.
"Hmm….should I try this one first? Or this one? You choose," he demanded the tavern girl, gesturing to the three mugs. She rocked uncertainly on her feet for a moment before pointing to the tallest mug. "Alrighty-then…Wait. Is there a reason you chose this one first? Or should I just take your word for it? Never mind—you picked the tallest, so I'll take the smallest."
He lifted the smallest mug and tilted it, the dark liquid sloshing inside. Here goes nothing, he thought, bringing it to his lips.
The alcohol drifted into his mouth and he had to slap a hand over his lips to keep from spewing it out onto the tavern girl. His foot pounded on the floor as he struggled to choke it down. Only, he must have swallowed too fast because it came out his nose the next second. A fountain of alcohol gushing out onto the table. My nose, my lips, my throat…It burns, it burns, it burns!
"Must be one of your strongest ones," he commented once his nose stopped scorching. He clucked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, despising the aftertaste of the alcohol. He wiped his chin and then rubbed his tongue on his sleeve, hoping to scrub off the taste. That only made him gag more. The taste of old leather wasn't appetizing.
"No…that's the lightest one," she said. He gaped openly at the three mugs sitting in front of him. If that was the lightest one…This is going to be harder than I thought.
….
The Evil Queen had been watching him for quite some time. Years, even; ever since she fully came into her power and moved on from his influence. Watching and waiting. Waiting to see if the great and powerful Dark One had any sort of Achilles' heel. He must have one.
It was tricky to observe Rumpelstiltskin for extended periods of time due to the impenetrable wards around his castle that nulled her magic and the sheets he used to cover his mirrors in case she found a way to peek inside. Her only hope of glimpsing her former instructor was when he moved out in the open, often conducting his deals. She would watch from troughs of water, from puddles on the ground, even from the glistening jewels that hung around the necks of royal women. Any reflective surface would do, really, though mirrors worked the best.
Though, it was a bit disturbing to watch Rumpel tease and taunt the women and stare at their breasts all the time. She always wondered how he might react if he ever looked deeply into one of those jewels and saw Regina's face hovering there. It might be worth a laugh.
Regina sipped her goblet of wine with a bitter curl to her lips. As of right now, Rumpelstiltskin was starting in on his third drink in a row. She knew from experience that he had taste for tea more than alcohol, so this little splurge intrigued her. Where the glass should be in the frame of her mirror, there was a strange view from the liquid in his mug. Gods, she could almost see up his nose!
He must have some weakness, some chink in his not-so-shining armor, Regina thought impatiently, narrowing her dark eyes to slits at her beloved mirror. Everyone does. But what was it? Even during the days of teaching her magic, he had never been open with her, always guarded and mysterious. As if he didn't trust her.
Whatever it was, she planned to find out and exploit it. She'd been anxious about his power for a long time. She had the sneaking suspicion that he never taught her everything he knew. Men with power seek to use that power. In her case, she had extraordinary power at her disposal, but she feared losing it to him. Betrayal was not an unfamiliar concept in her world.
Snow White was not her only enemy in the Enchanted Forest—far from it. She foolishly involved herself with Rumpelstiltskin one too many times, relied on his expertise more than she could afford. There was no telling when that sick little imp might plunge a knife in her back. That man would trade her off for a strawberry tart.
Besides, if she succeeded in vanquishing the Dark One, she'd be doing everyone in the Enchanted Forest a favor. She would gain his power, enough to annihilate Snow White, and the good people would be free of a malevolent, baby-snatching, giggling beast. Everyone wins. Except for Snow White, who would be dead.
So she watched, absorbing every worthwhile detail while Rumpel drank himself into a stupor for ten men. She began to notice small, pleasing details. Details that she had noticed here and there during his dealings this past week. The way it seemed a challenge for Rumpel to gulp down his drink, as if it were poison in his mouth. The way he winced and groaned every time there was a small sound, such as the scraping of a utensil on a plate or a roar of laughter. The way he barked at the other drunkards in the tavern to quiet down. The way he could never get comfortable, squirming restlessly as though someone dumped a tray of insects in his clothes.
Why, if she didn't know any better, she'd say that there was something bothering him. She'd say that….
That he was too sensitive for his own good.
A wicked smirk twisted her blood-red lips. All at once, she knew what was troubling her dear mentor.
Her friend Maleficent specialized in magical curses of the mind: sleeping curses, truth serums to force of hoard of secrets to unfold, compulsion, infiltration of the mind that caused the victim to suffer hallucinations…and then there were the sensitivity curses. Powerful, dark spells that attacked the most natural of inner workings in the body.
In truth, there were several different types of sensitivity spells, each attached with their own dangerous side-effects should a person have the misfortune of stumbling upon them. Though, she doubted Maleficent told her everything she knew during their teatime. Honesty was much like sacrifice these days: vastly overrated.
There were lust spells, capable of significantly heightening a person's sexual hunger until it was the only thing they thrived on. Ordinary nourishment—food, drink, sleep—became futile. Concoct a strong enough lust spell and two lovers could go at it all night without slaking their desire. Their only hope was to continue doing it until they were satisfied…or die trying.
Secondly, there was the Plague of the Five Senses, dealing specifically with the sensations of touch, taste, smell, hearing, and sight. Everything in the environment turned against you. Finally, there were the cases of Emotional Investment. Rage, depression, happiness, longing, fright, excitement—every emotion became astronomical to shoulder. If Rumpel had that one, he would die of fright, literally explode with rage, and sink into the deepest depths of despair, crying nonstop into his pillow like a hormonal pregnant woman about to give birth.
The answer was clear as day. Rumpel had the Plague. She snickered over the rim of her goblet. Oh, Rumpel…you've bitten off more than you can chew, haven't you?
Fortunately for him, the Plague was arguably the least devastating of the sensitivity curses that she knew of, though the rising levels of the five senses could evoke sensations similar to the weakest lust spells. The five senses ensured your perception and responsiveness to the world and if something turned you on because of a woman's scent or the feel of a lover's fingertips across your skin….the consequences could be messy.
Regina's fingers curled tightly around the stem of her goblet as she imagined the things she could do with this knowledge. What if she showed up at his castle with a basket of freshly picked flowers? He'd sneeze to death or at the very least turn his brain into cooked stew. Or what if she sent a horde of bees after him? Their stings would feel like swords on his skin, pricking and stabbing…
Or….
"Seven mugs of beer on the wall…seven mugs of beer. I choke them down to be free of Belle…Eight mugs of beer on the wall…"
She cocked an eyebrow in alarm as Rumpel sloppily began to sing to himself. Maybe it served as a distraction from having to force down his alcohol. It must not be an easy feat. Trying to get numb, are we, Rumpel? Tsk-tsk-tsk. That'll hardly work, you silly man.
Belle. That was the name he said, wasn't it? Or was it Bella with a little slur at the end? The sweet princess he took from the kingdom near Avonlea; Regina knew all about that event. She supposed the girl was innocent and pretty enough to stoke Rumpelstiltskin's fire. He always seemed to have a thing for princesses.
Could she…? No, she couldn't possibly be…his true love?
Even a foul, black-hearted monster like him must have one, though Regina hadn't found her yet. It made her shudder to think of Rumpel ever having a true love or what he might do with her if it were true. There was no way that little mouse was living in his castle untouched by his grimy claws. Even if this princess wasn't his true love, an unexpected passionate kiss might be thrilling enough to make Rumpel fall head over heels…into his grave.
Love and sensitivity did not mix well.
But how to orchestrate such a kiss? He has to let her out sometime, doesn't he? Surely he won't allow his precious rose to wilt in that dark, dank castle he calls a home. If not, I have other ways of planting thoughts in foolish girls' heads. Who knew? This could turn out to be a fun game on her part.
Regina went back to sipping her wine, smiling this time instead of scowling.
"Ugh, how many times must I see inside his mouth?" Regina shivered from the gruesome visual in her mirror before waving it away, the image returning to smooth glass. Note to self: drinks do not make good places to spy from.
….
"Eight mugs of beer on the wall, eight mugs of beer…I force them down or in Belle I drown….Nine mugs of beer on the wall."
It truly wasn't so rough after the first few mugs. By not so rough, he meant the drinking went from worst nightmare to completely horrendous. Believe it or not, it was progress.
Gods, how did men swallow this stuff? He might as well stick his tongue in a roaring fire and wait for it to toast. Not even the stares were that disturbing anymore, most of which he earned from his constant writhing on the tabletop. Twice the tavern girl tried to cut him off before he ever really started.
The sensitivity was persistent. The alcohol was fighting to numb his senses, but they only dipped a degree, maybe two per…five mugs. He tested it by hopping into the wobbly seat and wobbling, his arms waving in the air as his thighs worked to shift the chair back and forth. If there was any change, it was barely noticeable. The chatter was still deafening and once the tavern girl clumsily dropped a whole tray of mugs that made his ears felt like they'd been poked with an axe.
"Will you all pipe down? Indoor voices!" Rumpel finally shouted over the tremendous roar. The squeaking of the rodents on the straw-ridden floor were the only sounds after that. Couldn't a man just drink in peace?
The way this was going, he would have to drink three times as much as the average man in order to put a decent dent in this sensitivity issue. And yet, he thought he could feel his body wearing out, slowing down, his organs giving into the duress of the alcohol. He could feel himself getting slowly but surely…drunk. If he didn't poison himself first.
"Another," he demanded sharply, sliding his empty mug across the table to where the tavern girl waited. It rocked side to side, spinning faster and faster until it settled in one place. She crossed her arms under her breasts and made no move to take the cup. He snapped his fingers twice and watched her cringe—not from the sound, but from his behavior. He envied her. "Come on, come on, I'm not getting any younger here, am I?"
"That will be the ninth one in a row," she pointed out snippily. He sneered up at her. Who replaced the timid mouse with the fierce lioness? Or was this what happened when you served a woman alcohol? He briefly wondered what Belle would be like if he switched her tea for alcohol. "You can barely keep your head off the table as it is."
His head started to droop again, as it did every few minutes now. This time, his forehead hit the table with a hollow thunk. He lifted his head and rubbed his brow, soothing the ache. He accusingly pointed a finger toward the tavern girl. Or he would if his finger stayed in one place.
"Let me get this straight: are you cutting off the Dark One?" She gave no answer, but the guilt was readable on her face. Still, she stood her ground and ignored the empty mug on the table. "I have no qualms about turning you into one of them." He jerked his finger to the right, pointing. The tavern girl followed his direction, but her face revealed more confusion than fear.
"A…stool?" A what? He looked to where he was pointing and scowled. Naughty finger. He used his other hand to guide it toward the right spot. Stay…right…there, he encouraged it while trying not to topple over in his seat.
"No, not the stool! What kind of fate is it to have people sitting on you all day? Them! Them! The potatoes with whiskers. The rodents," he clarified. The tavern girl scrunched her nose as a particularly large rat with a ropey tail and beady eyes skittered in the corner. "They're everywhere! Ever wonder why they're multiplying so fast? Other than nature at its finest?"
He cocked his head to listen to the tune of squeak, squeak, squeak. The girl gulped nervously, but did not back down. Perhaps he should provide her the friendly advice of steering away from alcohol. She was starting to look too much like Milah in his mind. He sighed and weakly rose to his feet. Whoa…the world was spinning sideways…in so many colors…
"Have it your way. Don't expect me to recommend this place to my pals," he pouted, swaying around the table. On his way toward the door, he tripped over his feet and knocked his knee into a stool. "Just for the record, your alcohol is only one step above water. I still felt that."
….
If there was one thing Rumpelstiltskin learned about the mishaps of magic, it was this: it was not a good idea to transport while intoxicated.
With the heavy, sluggish numbness of alcohol cloaking his mind, it became difficult to picture anything in his castle except the dining hall where Belle had fallen into his arms. In his unsound mind, he thought it was a good idea to transport, but ended up slamming down atop his dining hall table. The impact was sudden and forceful, his back terribly rigid as it met the table that felt more like stone instead of wood. The sound reverberated through the entire castle, making him grind his teeth. White-hot stiffness spiraled up and down his spine and for a minute he was afraid he couldn't move.
Even worse: the sound stirred Belle. Within several heartbeats' time, the sound of the soft padding of her footsteps on the stairs reached his ears.
Spare me…That inescapable stimuli is the reason I got drunk in the first place, he silently pleaded to the heavens, still lying flat on his back. He never knew the ceiling arched that high. Or was the alcohol playing tricks on his vision? He stretched his hand above his head, splaying his fingers apart and wiggling them. He studied the hatched pattern of his skin cells and the parallel grooves of his lifelines.
He had the clearest vision of any drunkard in the Enchanted Forest.
A white shape darted in his peripheral vision and suddenly Belle was standing over him, bottom lip caught under her teeth. He could smell the roses from here, her skin embellishing its scent. My, she was up so high…like a diamond in the sky…
"Did you string yourself up from the ceiling and launch yourself into the table?" He frowned in confusion, his brows straining to knit together. Who would be foolish enough to try something like that? "You could have woken the dead," she added, leaning over to examine his body, probably for injury. There was no way she was admiring the view. He squeezed his fingers together while he squinted at her. "What are you doing?"
"Mmm…Your head is too big to be captured by my fingers," he mumbled. "Must be all those books you read." He pinched his fingers together, the empty space forming what looked like a teardrop. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and succeeded in rolling completely off the table. The floor was no softer than the table and it smelled strangely like lemons.
Belle immediately knelt to help him up, her velvet fingers roaming over his hand and waist, but he scurried beyond her reach.
"I'm fine! Leave me be," he insisted, his voice coarse. Before you render those nine bottles of alcohol useless, he finished in his head.
Belle sniffed. At first he assumed she was crying from the rejection and waited for the water to glimmer in her big blue eyes. But then she drew a little closer and sniffed again. Her nose scrunched as it wandered close to his vest.
"Are you…are you drunk?" He swayed unsteadily on his feet. His tongue ran over his slick teeth and gums, which were still coated with the acrid taste of alcohol.
"What gave it away? My graceful footing? My refined speech?" His words slurred and he nearly toppled while performing a small jig.
Belle was unnaturally still, even for her. She could spend hours curled up in the same position with a book, but it did not compare to the statuesque posture she now held. A glorious marble statue, the fabric of her sky blue dress practically glowing in the moonlight. The way she looked at him now, guarded and unsure, was the way she would indulge a stranger.
"Or was it my charming breath?" He deliberately sucked in a generous breath through the nose, then gagged. "Then again, it might also be the onions you threw in the stew." Belle's hands curled together in front of her chest, as though she were making a secret wish on the Blue Star. If she brought that pesky ball of winged fire in his castle, she was so fired.
"Are you depressed about something? Trying to run away from—"
"I am not a coward," he exclaimed. Belle approached him slowly, cautiously, her hands now extended in front of her in a misguided attempt to calm him. The sight of her hands did everything except calm him; they excited him, they frightened him, made him long for comfort he had not felt in years.
It was a passing thought, born from the deepest corners of his mind, starting as a splash and turning into a towering wave. Maybe….maybe this was a losing battle, after all. Maybe it was pointless to fight this sensitivity. Maybe, just for a night, he should let it have its say, give in to it, unleash it and let it consume his every aching breath…
No, a tiny lingering voice of reason screeched inside his head. That's the alcohol talking! Resist! Resist!
"I didn't say you were," Belle continued, stopping a mere foot from where he stood. Did she sense the distress running wild through his mind? She was cornering him even if she did not realize it. She was an obstacle between him and the door. "You didn't let me finish. Haven't you heard what they say about making assumptions?"
He didn't know who they were and he didn't rightly care, either. So long as Belle didn't offer personal tours of his castle for gold. He perched his chin atop his hands and batted his eyelashes.
"No, what do they say? Tell me, tell me," he mocked. The jeering was brief as Belle dared to catch ahold of his hands in hers, gently guiding them down to his sides. He did not fight, shocked as he was by the physical contact. Her fingertips remained for a minute over his before she drew them away.
"Never mind it. The alcohol tends to have the same effect. My point was….you must have some reason for drinking this way." She peered up at him, patiently waiting and encouraging him to reveal the contents behind the curtain that was his cranium. Suddenly, he felt as though every muscle in his body had overworked itself. He was tired of running circles around Belle.
"Oh, I have a very good reason for drinking, alright. And it involves…Y-O-U," he stated, tapping her nose with every letter. Her nose was button-like and quite small. Her breath tickled his finger and he jerked it away, staring at it as though it was someone else's finger attached to his hand.
Brilliant hues of pink flooded her cheeks as she flared.
"Me?" Was she having difficulty translating his slurs? Maybe she could make better use of this sensitivity than he could.
"Oh, good, you can spell. That means only one of us is drunk," he retorted. He waved his hands over his body, his fingers flexing outwards, but his smell still followed his every step. "Seriously, dearie, leave out the onions next time."
A change rippled over Belle, transforming her before his two superior eyes. Gone was the people-pleaser, the obedient maid, the concerned girl that was the bane of his existence thus far. In her place was an agitated, upset woman whose fists were balled at her sides and whose blue eyes had dropped several degrees in temperature.
Belle was angry, but somehow knowing that he was the cause of it only seemed to goad him even more. Will I never win?
"What do I have to do with your reckless alcohol abuse?" Being clueless wouldn't win her any points in his book. Surely she must have noticed the effect she had on him whenever she entered the room or dared to lay a hand on him. Someone so observant and well-read could not possibly miss the biggest sign of them all.
"You have everything to do with it because I can't stand to be around you for a single minute of the day! There, I said it!" He threw his hands in the air, which only made his stiff back scream in protest. He rubbed his sore back, wondering if he had finally thrown it out.
Belle showed no sympathy for once. She took a hesitant step back.
"If I'm so irritating to you that you must resort to drinking, then why not do yourself a favor and release me?" He whirled on her incredulously. Irritating? Release? Oh, gods, not that word. His lower extremities fought for dominance over his mind. Resist…resist…
"Oh, now who's making the ass-ump-tions?" He chidingly wagged his finger in her face. He whipped it away before she could grasp it. "You misunderstood me. It's not that I find you irritating, so to speak. You're…you're…" Belle held her chin high, preparing herself for the remark.
"Yes? What am I to you, Rumpelstiltskin?" The way she was spurring him on-especially the way she said his name-made his logic go unheard in his mind. The truth was building inside him, begging to burst from his mouth. "You claim you're not a coward, so out with it. I'm what?" His tongue was heavy and it refused to say what he wanted it to say.
"You…you make me want to…"
He paused and that one pause turned out to be his downfall. There was no other way to make her see, but to show her exactly what he meant. Without thinking twice or considering the repercussions, he snaked an arm around her small waist, reeled her in, and planted his lips hard against hers.
The kiss was explosive. It was laced with fire and ice at the same time. The moment his lips met Belle's, his lungs forgot how to deflate and exhale the air building in his chest. The pressure was only made worse by the way his heart threatened to spring through his vest and into her hands. Ironically, Belle's lips were the only thing keeping him from falling away to the floor.
Her lips were softer than he ever guessed, softer than if he held a fresh rose to his nose and brushed his lips over the petals. His hands were draped around her waist, memorizing the small of her back, and her own hands fluttered near his neck though she made no attempt to strangle the life from him. Her lips were doing that already, even if Belle was too stunned to react.
She tasted like strawberries and sugar and the most delicious tea he never had the pleasure of drinking. Gods, he wanted to drown headfirst in it. It was a refreshing bucket of cold water dumped over his head, washing away the stubborn effects of the alcohol. Her lips parted slightly and his tongue slithered through, touching the tip of her tongue and, ooh, that electric tingle went straight to all ten toes!
It might have lasted a minute, but it might have easily lasted the entire night.
When it finally broke, he felt headier than he did under the influence of nine bottles of alcohol. It was the same effect as being suffocated with a pillow, having to gasp and pull in gales of fresh air, filling his lungs with new life. Except this suffocation felt good. Really, really good.
"Do that," he finished breathily, his hands sliding away from Belle's supple hips. The feel of her silky dress stayed with him even after rubbing his fingers together. Belle was quiet. She touched her fingers to her lips, as if wondering if he truly did that. "You make me want to do that. Sometimes. Ooh…Aahh…here come the Really…Pleasurable….Sensations….Oh, yeah."
He fell back against the glass cabinet that hosted the teacups and kettles, the doors rattling. There was no other word for the wave of euphoria except….heavenly. Dizzying. Strange. Belle had no trouble deciphering what was going on this time. Her eyes flickered down to his legs and shot back up again, a blush creeping in on her neck as if she caught an eyeful of him unclothed instead.
She didn't say anything for a long time. Her fingers wrung together, a white ladder forming and breaking apart. For once, he desperately wished to peek inside her mind and see what she was thinking. Did he frighten her? Or intrigue her? Or was she in the process of making a vow to forget this moment ever happened?
Perhaps that would be for the best.
"Do you…want me to help you to bed?"
His nails scraped over the wood of the cabinet as he straightened himself. At first he was afraid she meant….but it was just her being helpful, of course. Concerned. Reverting back to the girl who was here under contract. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat and stumbled forward, eyes trained on the door.
"No, I can handle it," he said. Halfway there, his legs grew unbearably tired and refused to take another step. The alcohol's effects returned with a vengeance. In the end, he flopped down face-first on his dining table and curled into the fetal position, his knees tucked close to his chest. He was asleep in seconds.
Belle eyed the dealmaker with a mixture of uncertainty and wonder. She lightly touched her fingers to her lips again, the taste of him staining her lips. Even with the bitterness of alcohol, it wasn't a bad taste. She had no idea what to make of it.
Logic settled the matter for her, as it did for so many things. He was drunk, that was all there was to it. It meant nothing.
Even in the deepest chamber of her heart, Belle knew that simply was not the full truth. There was something else going on with Rumpelstiltskin, the infamous Dark One, and it was most certainly not illness. She noticed the way he cringed whenever there was a particularly sharp sound or gasp whenever she touched him in the smallest way, be it intimate or not. It bothered him, unnerved him, unwound him as though she unraveled a piece of clothing by the string.
Was it something to do with magic, perhaps? Or something even more severe?
Whatever it was, Belle's curiosity had peaked and there was no shutting it down now. She vowed to find out what was truly the matter and help him, if she could. For now, she retrieved a spare blanket and pillow from one of the many bedchambers and set about making him comfortable for the night.
The next morning, Rumpelstiltskin awoke on his dining table with a splitting headache, a sand-dry mouth, and a miserable emptiness in his belly and vowed never to drink again. He did not remember a single detail of the previous night.
….
Shout-outs: I'd like to thank Huntress4455, NicoleMuenchSeidel, Spinning Folly, CrossBreed777, ZombiesloveMangoes, Revenessa, DragonRose4, NJSoleil, raeymaeker, Grace5231973, 13, and SwanQueen4055 for their awesome reviews. Thanks for reading, everyone!