Rumpelstiltskin was late for a very important date. He had no problem being fashionably late, but the time for that had passed a while ago. The realization made his skin clammy and his stomach knotted and more than once he debated backing out. But how could he when he promised to attend?
No doubt he'd never hear the end of it if he failed to show his face.
It wasn't his fault he couldn't decide on what to wear. An armless man would have an easier time dressing than an oversensitive one. Getting the shirt on your body when armless was the frustratingly tricky part, but at least he didn't have to continue suffering with it afterward. Every piece of clothing on Rumpel's body felt unnaturally coarse, the threads strung taut over his bare skin, rubbing the wrong way.
Rumpelstiltskin rotated in front of his mirror, examining his body from every angle. He stretched his limbs wildly to test the comfort of the fabric. He would have enjoyed this more if Regina was watching, but spying on him while he was modeling this way gave her chills and the severest of stomach flus.
Nope, too many ruffles. I feel like an oversized bird, he thought in disgust, stripping off the black shirt with the ruffled collar. How did birds put up with that amount of plumage? He snapped his fingers, replacing the discarded shirt for his treasured, golden silk.
It was noticeably soothing and smooth, practically woven with cool water. Still, Rumpel stuck out his tongue at his reflection. Too extravagant. I'll be a king dining in the company of a peasant, he declined. A stab of guilt swept through his chest, restricting it tightly. She really didn't deserve that remark, especially when he experienced the peasant life first-hand.
Another snap of the fingers and the golden silk stiffened into his deep crimson dragon-hide vest. It was bold, it was menacing, it was seductive and powerful…and it would most likely frighten her to death. Who in their right mind wanted to witness such ferocity at teatime?
This will be the last one, he swore. Whatever outfit I dress in shall have to do. I'm late enough as it is. Didn't want to keep the girl waiting.
One more snap and the dragon-hide was whisked away, brightening into luxurious white cotton. The sleeves hung loose over his arms, barely grazing his skin. The opening at his throat descended halfway across his chest, revealing the golden-gray tinted skin underneath. He shivered as the drafty air in his castle blew across the new exposure.
Gods, he resembled one of the feisty men painted on the cover of one of Belle's romance books. All he needed was an invisible breeze blowing the hair from his face and holding Belle's willing, curvy form in his arms. There was even a faint scent of muskiness clinging to the fabric.
But it would have to do.
The next time he snapped his fingers, a purple cloud of smoke enveloped his feet, snaking around his legs and waist, climbing ever higher. He didn't want to resort to magic for transport, but there was no way he was stomping around the Enchanted Forest in broad daylight dressed like this. Women would assume he was advertising himself as a bachelor, of which he was not.
Sorry, ladies, he thought, snickering to himself. This imp is taken.
The smoke seeped over his face, the tendrils circling his neck like a pair of lover's arms, curling upward through his nostrils. Growing heady from the incense, he began to think funny thoughts. Purple…everything purple…I love purple…wonder how Belle looks in purple? Whoa, traveling too fast…where's the stop button on this thing?
Thankfully, the ride only lasted all of three minutes. The purple fog—or Purple Rain, as he preferred—spat him out on the rough ground. He rolled onto his back to stare up at the blue sky above, trying to collect his thoughts. Slowly but surely his brain floated down from the clouds and planted itself snugly in his skull. His tongue was thick, his toes tingled inside his too-tightly-laced boots, and dots danced in front of his eyes, a myriad of glittering orbs of pink, yellow, and of course purple.
That Purple Rain was some strong stuff.
Rumpel dizzily regained his footing and brushed the crumbs of dirt off his white shirt. He always liked to look his best for important dates. He weaved his fingers through his wiry hair and checked his breath. Not bad, thanks to Belle's tea.
Turning around, he found himself standing directly in front of the door. This was it, no turning back. Standing up tall—not that it made much difference for his five-seven build—he knocked three times.
Wait, what was he supposed to say during this little date? He should have written notes on his hand. It was bound to be supremely awkward. It wasn't like he could babble on about his "work" in an effort to make small talk.
The door creaked open, a sound that made Rumpel's teeth ache. For a full minute, he underwent a critical examination of his attire and he awaited approval.
"Are you here for my daughter's birthday tea party…or to ask for her hand in marriage, Romeo?"
Jefferson scanned over Rumpel's lustrous white shirt, his curve-hugging black leather pants, and laced boots. Over his shoulder, Rumpel glimpsed little Gracie at her tea table, pouring tea for three. It wasn't make-believe this time, thank the gods. She caught him staring and jumped in her seat, but managed to smile politely.
"Too late for proposals, dearie," he lilted, brimming with inner joy of taking Belle as his wife. It had been hours since she had said yes and still he could not believe the wonder of it. Words like Belle, wife, husband, and marriage paraded across his mind. "By this time next week, I'll be a married man. Happily, if I might add."
Jefferson's eyes flew wide in surprise. Rumpel chuckled and patted the hatter's cheek.
"Don't worry! You're invited. In fact, I'd love nothing more than for you to be my best man. Gracie can provide the flowers." Jefferson frowned, seeing right through Rumpel's act. Being Rumpelstiltskin's best man was payback for forcing Rumpel to endure teatime with Grace.
Rumpelstiltskin snuck past Jefferson to enter their pitiful hovel. He would never miss those days of his poor social status. Maybe after his wedding, he'd be gracious enough to invite Jefferson and Grace to spend the night at his castle.
For now, he bowed enthusiastically to Grace.
"Happy birthday, Grace," he exclaimed shrilly, helping himself to a seat across from the child. She nearly dropped the delicate tea kettle, gazing at him unblinkingly as if he had three heads. He studied the table and all her little stuffed friends. "Enjoying the company of your new bear, I see."
He pointed out the bear in the gown he'd bought for her at the marketplace.
"Yes. Thank you," Grace commended again, fixing her brown eyes on the pretty bear.
Apparently her father told her the reason for the Dark One's presence in their house since she was trying to be polite. Jefferson took the seat between Rumpel and Grace and offered both of them an endearing smile. They were all hoping to make the best of the situation.
"Would you like some tea?" Grace edged the cup closer to Rumpel. He picked it up carefully by the handle and sniffed the contents. Something lightly nudged him in the ribs.
"See, this isn't so bad, is it?" Jefferson tipped his teacup to his lips and drank deeply. Then he hungrily eyed the plates of cookies and cake on the table. Grace had the biggest piece, which sparked Rumpel's jealousy a bit.
Rumpel might have argued about the madness of this event…but he'd gotten into the habit lately of conserving his energy when it would only come back around and bite him in the arse otherwise. Grace relaxed a little when he finally tasted the tea. Better than the last time he was here, but nowhere near as heavenly as Belle's.
Worse things have happened, he mused. After all, I could have been having tea with King Maurice.
….
It's a quiet day, Regina thought, her suspicions rising by the time she planted her feet in front of her enchanted mirror. It was too quiet, if you asked her.
Hardly a quiet day passed since she magically pushed her mother through that mirror, starting her down a dark path of which she could never retrace her steps. There was always a war, always tavern fights among drunken idiots, always false sightings of Snow White in a greedy attempt to heap the rewards, always massacres that had…nothing whatsoever to do with her eager command.
Why should today be any different?
With a wide-spread wave of her palm, the glass rippled. Her divine reflection disappeared, replaced by a vivid scene that was taking place somewhere deep inside the Enchanted Forest. This mirror was her window to the outside world when the citizens of those filthy villages named her a prisoner of royalty, hidden away in the sanctuary of her castle like a recluse. Though, oftentimes peering into her mirror yielded unsavory results.
The memories made her shudder from head to toe.
There are the dwarves. How boring. If only they placed those pick-axes in the hands of someone who has the capability of realizing their true potential. Like me, she thought with slight amusement. She flicked her nails and the picture changed. There's the Blue Fairy. Did she shrink her dress by two sizes since the last I've seen her? Or does the mirror add ten pounds to those globes she's carrying? How does she not tip over while flying?
Suddenly, the image of the Blue Fairy fizzled. Nothing but gray and black dots buzzed on the mirror's glass. Regina banged her hand on the ivory frame, but the picture didn't return. She never got away with spying on the fairies for too long. Fairies were much too self-conscious for their own good.
Regina cast the disrupted picture away, focusing instead on another corner of the realm. Her eyebrows rose in genuine surprise as the glass flickered with an incoming signal. That was odd—Rumpelstiltskin still had his mirror uncovered. Was he so perturbed by the disaster with his fair maid that he neglected to cover it again?
Regina grinned, rubbing her palms together gleefully. Well, if he was inadvertently offering an invitation, it would be rude not to accept it.
It only took a few additional seconds to get a clear image of the inside of the malevolent Dark Castle where her former mentor resided. Two seconds beyond that, Regina blinked uncomprehendingly at the mirror. Three seconds and Regina wanted to claw her eyes out of their sockets.
Rumpelstiltskin was modeling in front of his mirror. Trying on fancy clothes as if he could ever pass for handsome. Blech! Regina's stomach rolled unpleasantly just by watching the egotistical behavior unfold. Her throat burned as acid raced up from the pit of her stomach.
Was he going on a hot date? Who would ever care to date such a hideous beast? Unless…the maid never left his castle. Unless what those two had really was true love and the fools were willing to fight for it.
No! This was not the way it was supposed to happen!
Regina growled at the nauseating sight tramping through her mirror. Rumpel stuck his tongue out and she blanched. Did he just…stick his tongue out at her? It amazed her to no end that his tongue wasn't forked, given his reptilian appearance. Did he know she was watching?
No one stuck their tongue out at the Queen! If he wasn't busy trying to look like a Prince Charming wannabe with a skin disease, she would reach right through that mirror and rip his tongue out. Then she would wrap it up and send it to him as a birthday gift!
Regina's stomach rolled again, this time more violently. She clamped her hand over her belly while her skin glistened with cold sweat. Oh, she was going to be sick! Her chest heaved and her lips parted for air. This isn't fair! I just got over the last stomach flu!
She raced for the window and tossed her head into the fresh air, in time to empty her breakfast all over the courtyard below. Without looking in the direction of the mirror, she willed the nasty image of Rumpelstiltskin away.
That was the last time she ever spied on Rumpelstiltskin through her magic mirror.
….
Rumpelstiltskin did plenty of thinking that morning. He indulged in so much thinking, in fact, that he swore the crown of his head caught on fire from the overexertion of the wheels in his skull. The hot flash afterwards was so severe that he dunked his head in a tub of ice-cold water.
He couldn't say which he despised more: the startling heat or the frigid cold.
Fortunately, he arrived at an answer for the question he was pondering all morning.
He wanted to do something special for Belle, as an early wedding gift of sorts. For having the heart to accept him no matter his flaws, for loving him, and wanting to cure him of his sensitivity. No other woman in the world or the next would be selfless enough to do it, but then no other woman in the world was his true love. These strange feelings building inside him made him want to skip freely through his castle, slide down the railing of the stairwell, jump on his bed, and sing everything instead of simply speaking it.
He already gave her the library, but there was one other room he was confident she would enjoy.
"A little farther now. Almost there, I promise. Just follow the sound of my alluring voice," Rumpel directed, bobbing in front of Belle as he led her down a hallway that she rarely tended to in her duties as his maid. She had her eyes firmly closed and he made a note of watching closely in case she decided to pull something funny.
He learned a while ago never to underestimate Belle's curiosity.
Rumpel flitted backwards, a hair beyond Belle's reach, keeping an eye out for the correct door over his shoulder. A-ha! Here they were! He carefully edged the door open and shivered when a gust of wind slithered through the crack. Belle instinctively rubbed her arms for warmth. He pointed a finger to her elbow and fashioned sleeves under her blue dress.
"Thank you," she gratefully gasped, tugging the sheer sleeves over her wrists. Was that a trick of the light or did her eyelid flutter open?
"No peeking," he berated shrilly, clucking his tongue in annoyance. "Or I'll—" His words trailed off, his head empty of threats. How was he supposed to threaten his blushing bride-to-be?
"Or what?" She smiled sweetly, a sugary challenge presented at his feet. "What would you do to me, Rumpel? Bind me in a pair of those constricting leather pants?"
Something stirred deep in his abdomen, something terribly pleasant. The mental picture of Belle clad in skin-tight leather was…ooh, holy gods. Would she object to a leather-themed wedding?
"You don't even want to know what I would do—it's that dire! Best not chance it," he advised. The rasp in his voice betrayed the effect she had on him. Belle placed her hands on her hips—oh, those hips!—and blindly pouted in her childish way.
"Can't you give me one hint? Please?"
Rumpel tentatively clasped her hands, a sign of progress in taming the beast since this was one of the first times he touched Belle without initial physical contact on her part. He escorted her into the heart of the room, the hem of her sky-blue skirt whispering over her knees. He wracked his brain for a bone to toss her in the subtlest of clues.
"Da da da da," he chirped, pitifully off-key to his own ears. He began humming softly and swaying with Belle, only to be embarrassed to be so intently watched by the painted angels on the ceiling overhead. Belle giggled, a gentle note of music of its own accord.
If she knew the answer, she did not reveal it.
Rumpel guided her into the center so that she would be standing in the midst of the beauty he was about to present to her. He cautiously drew away, his hands lifting from her supple skin.
"Okay, open," he instructed, tenting his fingers under his chin and awaiting her reaction.
Belle's eyelids parted swiftly, fluttering sleepily for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the golden light. It fell upon her head like a halo, casting her in brilliant illumination while Rumpel shied away from it, creature of darkness that he was.
Then she gasped, the laces of her bodice straining to cradle her rising bosom. Not that he was staring at her chest as it rose and fell or whatever it naturally did. He just happened to notice, a brief glimpse or two.
Belle's cornflower blue eyes swiveled around the ballroom, her body whirling in rapid circles. There was gold everywhere: the marble amber floor patterned with rose-colored latticework in the center, gold columns on either side of the room and supporting higher balconies over-looking the dance floor, an exquisite golden chandelier with diamond teardrops that twinkled bright as the evening stars, golden high-vaulted ceiling featuring a delicately painted mural of heavenly angels. Belle was a lush blue river of color in the heart of the ballroom. Even Rumpel matched the décor with his unusual gold-tinted skin and silk clothing in shades of red, gold, and brown.
He'd caught Belle staring at his exposed chest one too many times to continue wearing that seductive white shirt. Self-conscious was an understatement when it came to his nature.
"It's so much more beautiful than any room in my father's castle," she sighed, enthralled in the majesty of the ballroom. She had never stepped foot inside this room because it was one of the rooms in this castle he kept under lock and key, magically speaking. As short as half a year ago, he never intended to share the ballroom with anyone, let alone a woman.
Belle continued to drift in circles under the enchanting glow of the chandelier. At one point, her normally adept footing faltered, her feet betraying her over the slick marble floor. Spinning herself dizzy, she pitched forward with the risk of falling to the ground. Alarm rang out through Rumpel and he swooped in to catch her in his arms. Those precious hands of hers scoured over his shoulders, entwining their way around his neck and splaying over the muscles of his back. Her breath clung to his mouth, teasing it enough to warrant the parting of his lips. Never before had the blood in his veins boiled with the intensity of molten lava, nor his thoughts become scrambled because of a sweet, floral aroma.
Purple Rain had nothing on the natural scent of Belle.
Rumpel sputtered and righted their bodies. He was intensely aware of the scorch of his cheeks as he averted his gaze elsewhere, somewhere that was not filled with the color blue. Pretty soon, his skin would be as golden as the ballroom because of his blushing.
"It's all yours," he finally stated, motioning his hand broadly to the length of the ballroom. He marveled at the way Belle's eyes never followed his hand. Surely the glory of the ballroom was a more welcome sight than the grisly, miserable face of the Dark One. "This whole castle is yours, Belle. The ring on your finger guarantees that."
Even without the promise of becoming his wedded wife, he would grant her this castle long before anyone else in the Enchanted Forest.
Gathering an inkling of courage, he reached across the breath of distance and tucked a stray curl of chestnut hair behind her ear. When Belle did nothing to interrupt or rebuke the gesture, his hand fell upon her rosy cheek, caressing it in the manner of a lover.
"It's ours," she replied, nuzzling her cheek deeper into his palm. He hesitated and she lifted her hand to hold his there. The sapphire ring sparkled on her finger, reminding him about their vow of marriage. "Dance with me."
Belle pulled away from his grasp, but only to catch his hands and encourage him to sway with her again. Rumpel froze. The last time he danced with a woman was….gods, he couldn't even remember! Had he ever truly danced with a woman? Milah never cared for it in the cramped space of their hut and Cora would rather learn magic instead of dancing. His feet shuffled backwards.
"No, no, no, I…I can't," he argued, shaking his head fervently. His heart started to ram in his chest. Of all the skills he possessed, dancing was not one of them. "I'm not a very good dancer." Belle tilted her head in disbelief. She probably figured he was only nervous.
"You are the most graceful man I've ever met. There are women in this world that would envy your footwork." She insistently tugged on his hands, but he struggled.
"Belle, I don't think I would know how to—"
"Then I'll teach you," she retorted.
Belle seemed unwilling to take no for an answer. He had a sudden vision of Belle possessing all the courage in this relationship, of being the one to make the most critical of decisions. They played a game of tug-of-war, their heels scraping over the marble in completely different directions.
"I'll step on your foot," he warned in desperation for an escape.
"It'll heal," Belle casually returned.
Rumpel glimpsed the door over his shoulder. How could it be so far away? He considered transporting magically to the library or the kitchen or the gardens, if only Belle's grip would loosen. It was like wiggling out of iron bracelets.
"You know, I think I left a fire going in the kitchen—" With one last tug, he managed to squirm away from Belle, nearly falling on his behind in the process. Belle used his clumsiness to her advantage and latched onto his elbow.
"Do you trust me?"
His fingers were poised to snap and conjure a cloud of Purple Rain, but he paused. Belle let him go, instead holding out her hand in offering. There were no strings attached—she was letting him make the choice. He slowly licked his lips, contemplating.
"I trust you more than any person in this world," he admitted. Hesitantly, he laid his hand in hers. Belle smiled proudly, reeling him back to her.
"Alright, now place your hand on my hip," she commanded.
Rumpel balked, his eyes flying straight to the curve of her small waist. He stared back and forth from her waist to his fingers, fearing what the stimuli would do to his addled brain. It was true that he'd been fantasizing about what those hips would feel like under his hands, but this wasn't the way he imagined it.
"Your….your what?" Belle started to bring his hand down to her waist.
"My hip. Right…here."
She pressed his hand to her hip, so round and soft under his touch. Someone moaned and he realized a moment later that the sound fell from his open mouth. His desires got the best of him and he readjusted his hand more strongly on her hip, savoring its perfection. The other hand wove with Belle's, his fingertips tingling as they brushed hers.
"Now we dance."
Belle pushed against him, the force of her body urging him to step backwards. Back, forth, back, forth, side to side once he got the hang of the first stage of dancing. With Belle's guidance, it was like floating on clouds. Belle seemed comfortable with the activity, but Rumpel couldn't stop looking down at his staggering feet. Occasionally Belle would tap his chin, directing it upwards again with a whisper of trust me.
He almost lost control when she let go of his hand long enough to spin outwards, her blue skirt flourishing, and then tuck herself snugly in his arms.
"This isn't right," he murmured, forcing Belle to quit her movement after a few minutes of awkward sliding across the floor. Belle's shoulders slumped, her expression one of sympathy.
"You're doing fine so far," she assured. He dared to take a step further into her embrace, reassuring her that he wasn't going anywhere yet.
"No, not the dancing. It's…" How did he put this in a way she would best understand? He had never been so tongue-tied in his life. He pinched the hem of her simple blue dress. "I don't want to dance with my scullery maid. You're to be my wife, not my servant. I want to dance with the beautiful, strong, confident princess I fell in love with. It's about time you had a change of apparel, dearie."
Still pinching the cotton bodice, the fabric split apart and fell from Belle's skin in strips. Instead of exposing her undergarments, however, the sky-blue dress was replaced swiftly with golden silk. The skirts rustled as Belle examined the golden dress she wore the night he met her. She nodded in approval.
"What about you?"
She gave his attire a small once-over. Rumpel glanced down at his leather pants. He didn't quite see what was wrong with it, though it was somewhat tedious to dance in leather pants.
"Too dark?" An idea formed inside his head. He would give Belle exactly what she needed. "I suppose I'll have to dress the way you make me feel." He waved his hand over his clothing and it transformed into sapphire garb, worthy of royalty. "Like your Prince Charming. May I have this dance?"
This time, it was his hand that extended in request. Belle smiled and readily took his hand. A surge of desire shot through him and he raised Belle's hand to his lips, kissing it softly.
Then they began to move rhythmically together, swirling as one entity over the shining amber floor. Rumpel never once glanced down at his feet, drowning headfirst in Belle. There was no way to tell how much time had passed except for the shadows stretching over the balcony beyond the glass doors of the ballroom.
Rumpel did not need to voice it aloud, for he was entirely certain Belle felt the same as she twirled in his arms: this was a dance they could have continued forever.
….
I hope everyone enjoyed the Rumbelle rendition of that iconic Beauty and the Beast moment there. I'm glad everyone seemed to enjoy Alice's reveal last chapter. Anyone else looking forward to the spin-off of Once this year?
Also, I have to thank my reviewers for bringing this story up to 100 reviews. I appreciate all the support and the encouragement to continue writing.
By the way, you are all cordially invited to the wedding of Rumpelstiltskin and Belle next chapter. *marriage theme* *hands out invites* The question here is: will Rumpelstiltskin make it through the ceremony without fainting?
Shout-outs: I want to thank Huntress4455, thedoctorsgirl42, Grace5231973, Leona, MyraValhallah, asalia, Drac1026, Just 2 Dream of You, SwanQueen4055, cheesyteal'c, juju0268, Guest, thewordgirl, and AngelofDarkness1605 for their awesome reviews. You shall have extra-large slices of wedding cake to show my gratitude. (-;