You demanded it, so I delivered. Thank you everyone for your love and encouragement. You're such sweethearts! There are, by my estimation, about two chapters left. Maybe three if things get too long. Rating will remain T, but I'm going to test my boundaries in the coming chapters. I'll also probably write up M-rated companion pieces to fill in he censured bits for those wanting the really juicy stuff. Sound good? What would like to see in those pieces? Please keep sending in your heartening feedback!
After finishing yet another story, Belle's eyes went to the window. The slit glowed a deeper shade of orange gold. "The sun's setting," she said. Her tone was a cocktail of excited anticipation, uncertainty and worry.
"I'm nearly done," Rumplestiltskin assured her. His hands fed the straw faster than ever.
That wasn't her greatest concern, truth be told, although completing the king's quota was important. What a quota it was! Rolls of thread covered almost half the floor even when stocked in three layers. Would Dathomir order more each time? Would his greed outpace even Rumplestiltskin's abilities? The thought made her ill, so Belle discarded it. Stories were set aside so the imp could finish his work and Belle could snatch more straw to add to her pallet. They would need enough for two now. Her face flushed even while holding its concentrated expression.
She found something both comforting and unsettling in night's descent. The darkness would wrap around their secret. In one sense, Belle liked that she couldn't see it in bright, unflattering light. But in darkness one could also not see the things to guard against - an unwanted touch or a leering smirk, for instance. Would the night encourage her to do things she'd hate herself for the next morning? Was it immature to figuratively wear a blindfold and pretend she was still an innocent, when reason told her to acknowledge and accept of her soon-to-be-lost purity? She wasn't a child anymore. It may have been improper to give herself unmarried to a man she made no romantic commitment to, but it wasn't a crime.
It was for the baby, she repeated to herself.
The sun's departure signaled more than the bonding time she and Rumplestiltskin would share in her bed. Before she heard footsteps, Rumplestiltskin raised a finger in warning and vanished. The door shortly swung open. Guards trooped through to carry off the gold. No Dathomir to dispense unwelcomed ogling and veiled threats. Once she was alone again, breath came more easily.
"So," a high, halting voice said in the dark, "shall we?"
She turned around. Rumplestiltskin stood next to the pallet, hands clasped in what she read to be an anxious pose. Was he nervous? Belle smiled at the idea, even with the butterflies inside her. "Yes, let's. You must be tired."
He waved away her comment. "Not at all. I spin more than that on my own every day."
His words were a sharp reminder that he had a life outside their deal. What did he do with it? Was he in the middle of other deals as well? Where did he go home to? How did he relax? Maybe this evening, and a few evenings like it, would provide answers. She walked over to him with her head level. Her heart on the other hand thumped a fast, relentless rhythm. A shiver moved through her when her eyes locked on his. Their shared timidity gave her courage to grip his hand. His fingers carefully closed around hers. She stepped past him and knelt on the straw. He slowly followed.
"You said you had a family once," Belle asked. She reclined on her side. "Were you ever married? You must have been in this situation before."
Rumplestiltskin lounged flat on his back. His eyes looked at her while his face compromised between her and the ceiling. "I didn't have to be married to be familiar with this situation." There was that shrill tone again. The childish pitch that tried to put a mocking coat on everything when he wanted to back out of a serious discussion.
She leveled a raised eyebrow at him. "That would explain why you're so nervous."
"I am not nervous." Now he sounded piqued.
Sighing, she took both his hands in hers. The act encouraged him to turn more toward her. "Do you think I'll judge you if you are? You don't need to be defensive. I don't need to be impressed. I'd rather you admit to it and make things easier on both of us."
The exhale through his nose was almost a snarl. He looked down so the lids hid whatever emotions his eyes threatened to reveal. "I simply haven't done this in a while. And I'm not sure what you expect of me right now."
"I promise I'll tell you. When I'm ready." To be the inexperienced one making the calls did strike her as backwards. But what a relief it was, too. Her body wiggled to his until she could rest her head against his chest and drape her arms around him. "This is fine for now."
His hands drifted up and settled around her. If he wasn't nervous, she couldn't explain his hesitance except for being afraid of hurting her. She asked if that was so.
"Well, I am the Dark One," he said, shrugging.
She craned her head back to look at his face. "The Dark One?"
"Yup. The most feared creature in all the land."
The phrase had a familiar ring, but she'd never thought to connect Rumplestiltskin with such a title. "What exactly is a Dark One?"
He giggled. "There's only one Dark One, dearie. There is no one more powerful than me."
"Even fairies?"
A pause. He cleared his throat. "For the most part, yes."
Belle had never met a fairy - that didn't mean she hadn't read about them, they being such mysterious creatures. According to texts in her father's library, certain fairies had more power than others. It depended on how long they had existed and what responsibilities they held. Considering that Rumplestiltskin's abilities, though surely limited, covered a wide spectrum, it took little imagination to believe that he superseded many fairies. Not all of them, however.
Her mind circled back to her questions about his origins. Fairies could live much longer than three hundred years, placing Rumplestiltskin as someone comparatively new to the echelons of magic-wielders. As she pondered this revelation, Belle stroked Rumple's side. He had traded the dragon-leather vest for a red, velvet brocade one. When had he switched? Not before he'd finished spinning. Even with magic, it wasn't feasible that he changed outfits while they had been in each other's constant company. When he disappeared as the guards came in - that had to be it. To what end? This one's texture had a more luxuriant association than the leather, but it did not seem as comfortable. It was rigid. She was feeling some stiff material under the outer layer, not his chest or back. Its collar stood so high it reached his chin. No wonder Rumplestiltskin had chosen to lie on his back first. There was no other way to rest in this contraption! It was as bad as a corset.
Belle sat up. Rumplestiltskin's eyes, which had half-closed, flew open. "What? What's wrong?"
"How are you comfortable in that vest?"
Hands pressed to it as if to defend the article from her attack. "Comfortable enough."
She caught her bottom lip under her teeth. "Would you mind taking it off?"
The imp stared at her, then awkwardly rose to a sitting position. The vest kept his back straight. "Is it going to keep you awake if I wear it?" He brandished a hint of snark. At the same time he sounded serious.
"I want us both to be comfortable." Her stomach erupted into a flutter. The imprisoned butterflies traveled down to her core before rising into her chest. She swallowed quietly and let her hands take charge. They grabbed the vest's big round buttons and liberated them one by one.
It hadn't been decided how far she intended this to go. She did want the vest out of the way for both their sake. When she let herself think about it, it made sense. To feel comfortable caressing him the way a wife caresses a husband, she ought to begin with more innocent touches through clothing. Clothing that gave her access to his natural shape. Nothing he wore would let her do that. And here men were the ones allowed to remove their shirts in public without scandal!
Rumplestiltskin appeared paralyzed with shock. He did not help or hinder her. Last night must have informed him it was better to behave passively after seeing how his advances brought Belle to tears. That he now gave her implicit permission to do whatever she wished - it was rather sweet. She didn't know how to feel when the final black button came free and, after looking for a few seconds at his face, she pushed the vest open. No more skin showed than what the vest had already revealed. Nonetheless, it displayed enough with the low V. Even in the dark, his scales reflected tiny shards of light. The bizarre trait enchanted Belle into a smile. She crawled forward to slough off the vest until he could extract his arms.
Their faces hovered close together. Fire hit low in her belly. It was no wild burst of passion, but it persuaded Belle to stay so she could feel his breath stroke her mouth. She actually liked it better than kissing. There was something both viscerally and spiritually intimate about sharing another person's air.
He had changed not only his vest but his shirt as well. She'd seen it a few days ago. The silk fabric felt cool and lush. Belle pinched it without touching Rumplestiltskin's arm underneath to appreciate its sleek texture. The froufrou ruffles accenting the sleeve cuffs amused her. Who knew the Dark One could be such a fop? Her hands finally pressed down to feel both him and the shirt, then swept up from the cuffs to his shoulders to take in his slight frame, more bony than toned. He needed some meat. Maybe his rejection of her meals was caused not only by snobbery, but by general negligence of sustenance. Her hands continued up until they went around the back of his neck and laced into his hair. As if taking a cue, Rumple's hands rested on her waist and pulled her against him. He rose up on his knees so Belle would not fall into his lap. She accepted his first exercise in assertive action. With their bodies touching from chest to thigh, they could wrap their arms further around one another. Mouths lingered a hair's width apart. The end of his nose nudged hers. Her thoughts on whether or not to kiss him scattered when his hold tightened and he said, beginning to smile, "Let's make another deal. I'll leave the vest off if you take off your corset."
Every word lavished her lips with hot streams of air and cast a thickening haze over her thoughts. Still their meaning registered. Her eyes rounded. "H-how am I supposed to do that without taking my other clothes off?"
"Is it a deal?"
Her body sweltered in several places, her face just one. "I . . . I suppose."
His grin expanded. Fingers trailed up and down the sides of her torso. At once her breasts and ribs relaxed with release while remaining covered by the other garments. All right, she had to admit it felt freeing. She hadn't allowed herself to take off her corset previous nights. She didn't want to give the guards ideas. Or Dathomir, for that matter.
"Where did it go?" she couldn't resist asking.
"No worries. It will return to you in the morning."
She laughed despite herself. Her head finished wagging and her mouth returned to its earlier position. This time Rumplestiltskin took the lead. His mouth met hers more gently than what she did to him at the spinning wheel. It resembled their first kiss, minus the awkward bump. They fell into it more smoothly thanks to practice. Belle let herself lean into him, trusting him to support her, and little by little she melted from the heat of his body and the slow attentions of his hands. Her own hands migrated down his spine and ran loops over poking vertebrae. He ought to feed himself better, she thought even as her fingers savored the dip between his shoulder blades and how his muscles flexed and softened from incremental movements.
Concern over his diet was lost when he pulled out of the kiss and went right back in, this time to give her a chance to take more of his lower lip. She liked having something to hold on to, and soon she was sucking on it. Her tongue finally got curious and gave his lip a tentative lick. It didn't taste like much of anything, but the textures of its smooth inside and scale-peppered outside tempted her tongue to try another brush-over. Rumplestiltskin sighed and squeezed her against him. Without needing to think, she reciprocated. Sweet tension swelled and passed, and though the embrace stayed snug, their bodies relaxed. Suddenly Belle felt lightheaded, as though her bones had turned to vapor. Her body teetered.
She broke from the kiss and gasped. Her eyes opened to see his - those huge irises and the focused pupils that saw everything and left her trembling - before she lay back down on her side. He went down after her; his hands never quite left her waist. Once they were settled on the straw they dove back in. Lips played with lips. Hands explored the safer regions of each other's landscape. She went as far as sliding her hands across his chest and over the waistband of his leathers, where her clever fingers found the braces that latched them to the vest. Her mouth grinned as she undid the clips and fully unleashed the corset-like trapping. His fingers risked grazing the front laces of her bodice and the upper swell of her bottom. Belle barely had time to chastise him before the hands traveled on to more modest spots. Their kisses were still tame, even when Belle's tongue awoke to get better acquainted with Rumple's lips. In one daring moment, the imp's tongue met her lips, which to her own surprise opened to suck on it. A sigh that leaned toward a groan flooded his mouth. Her tongue greeted the intruder and earned a real, albeit short and breathy groan. Belle still deferred from opening her mouth further. This was her first experience in finding pleasure with her tongue. It shyly but with increasing interest rubbed its tip against that of Rumple's. A spasm ran down the center of her on first contact, almost hitting that spot between her thighs.
Restrained as their kisses were, she enjoyed them. The rest of her relished the figure-eight patterns his hands sketched and the feel of his soft hair, lean face, back, shoulders, arms, chest, stomach. When her jaw muscles tired and she had her fill, she slowly withdrew. Her greedy lips held on to his lower lip a second longer. Afterward their mouths basked in their steamy breath. She whispered an apology for not being a more exciting lover. He gave a smile she didn't quite understand. His grin and glittering eyes seemed to laugh, but they were warm, not harsh. Maybe he liked how slow they were going while also finding her maidenly trepidation funny. As he preferred to say nothing, Belle had no choice but to cuddle and hope she wasn't a great disappointment. Rumplestiltskin rubbed her back and pressed his cheek to her hair. She could hear his heart going at a jaunty pace. It sounded like the beat of a happy man. Or of an aroused male hankering for more. Her mettle crumbled at the idea of continuing. She needed to shift attention away from her meager performance.
"So, is there a special reason you can't tell me whether you were married once? Or twice? Or more times than you can count?"
He giggled more deeply than usual. She smiled at how it echoed through his chest cavity. "Why ruin the enigma by telling you something so trivial?"
"It's hardly trivial. I'm just curious how experienced you are. You could perhaps give me ideas on how to handle Dathomir in bed when the time comes."
"Hmph. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction."
She looked up with a surprised and appalled scowl. "How about giving me the satisfaction?"
Although the corner of his mouth twitched upward, a hint of his earlier nervousness returned. "Is that an invitation to keep you company post-nuptials?"
A blush conflagrated across her cheeks. "I'm not making any more promises. I don't want to even think about nuptials!" Her forehead flattened his skin where the shirt opened. Drawing in air and courage, Belle moved up so more of her face made contact with bare flesh. It scratched a little, but its coolness acted like a balm. She wanted that chill to bleed through her, extinguish every ache. Splash out the stubborn fires of her terror and uncertainty. Bad dreams of the past and future still pursued, and she wanted the cool control to drown them into smoke.
"There's so much around me I don't know or understand, and I hate it. I hate being left in the dark. I hate not knowing what's happening to my people, the rest of my family and friends. I'm not even sure what happened to Gaston. For all I know, Dathomir lied and my father's alive, holed away somewhere to make everyone think he's dead." She cut in as Rumple's chest rose with air, about to speak. "No, don't tell me. He is probably dead and I should accept that. But I don't know for sure. You're the only thing I can see for myself. And you're . . . interesting. I want to know you better." She breathed deeply for a few minutes in hopes of relief. All he gave was more back-rubbing. That did help calm her a few degrees. A roiling hunger continued churning inside her.
"Would it be so terrible for me to know you?"
His rubs slowed. "It's not a simple question. I keep things about myself to myself for a reason. For many reasons. Most are unpleasant."
She tilted her face up. "You mean, you'd rather people find you difficult to understand because they don't know you, not because of what they do know."
He lowered his mouth to her forehead. "Yes, I suppose," he murmured.
"But even if you've done awful things . . . you don't seem like someone who wouldn't have his reasons. You wouldn't hurt someone just because you could, would you? For fun? I mean . . ." Belle tensed against him.
"Why wouldn't I?" he whispered. There was no menace. Just cold, sad deprecation.
She held that tone in her mind. That wasn't the tone of a man who gloated over the agony he'd caused. It couldn't be. It belonged to someone who knew what he'd done and believed it was all he was capable of - that it came with being the Dark One. "Have you?" She bit her lip.
His breath rushed against her skin. "Probably. I can't remember everything I've done."
Her gaze drifted to the far wall over his shoulder. She needed a blank space to stare into to organize her thoughts. A part of her convulsed at the realization that she was in the arms of a man who had hurt many people. Maybe even a man who had done unspeakable things. Someone people might have called a monster. He had called himself a monster. But most of her held her nerve. People who do awful things should be held accountable for their deeds. That didn't mean there wasn't any good in them. No one could know what was in a person's heart until they truly knew them. What was in Rumplestiltskin's heart? She would have landed in a different situation had he wanted only power or her misery. They had negotiated this deal, and he was doing what he could to fulfill her condition without taking advantage. He could rape her and say he'd done what she wanted. Instead he was spending the night soothing her insecurities with cursory kisses and touches. She barely ever had to divert him from going beyond her comfort zone. Why, if he was indeed nothing but an evil fiend underneath?
Belle wrestled with these thoughts and more. Eventually her next question broke the silence. "Why do you make deals?"
Rumplestiltskin's hands stopped. They lay flat on her back. "Because all magic comes with a price."
When she gave him a quizzical look, he briefly explained how magic of any kind required payment. Where magic gives you something, something must be taken.
A grin curled on Belle's lips. "You see? You don't do it only to watch people squirm. You probably like that, but that's not the underlying reason."
"That doesn't make what I do more forgivable."
"No. But that's why I said you're interesting. You have all these reasons to do what you do. Some cruel, some more . . . understandable." Her eyes found his face again. "See? Not that difficult to understand. I think you like making it difficult for people to understand you."
The imp snickered. "Well, of course I do."
"But why?"
Without warning he propped up on one arm and leaned over her. His hair dangled past his cheeks. Her pulse throbbed in her ears at the change. She couldn't say for sure if she was afraid.
"I don't want people to understand me," he said. "I want them to fear me. People fear what they don't understand. If they understood me, their fear would disappear. And once you no longer fear something, you control it."
She considered this. Some mulling cleared the brush away, and an epiphany dawned. Belle widened her eyes and smiled. "Oh! Now I understand!"
Rumplestiltskin flinched. "What?"
"That's what all this is." She gestured broadly with her arms, careful to not hit him on accident.
The imp sat back. "What's this?" He copied her movements.
"You," said Belle.
"I don't do that."
She laughed. "Yes, you do!"
"No, no." He dismissively waved his hand. "You must have me mistaken for someone else."
Her eyes rolled up. She and the imp became quiet. The warmth his hands provided slowly dissipated, and she began to miss it. Her body tingled when Rumplestiltskin leaned over her again. "Why are you so interested in understanding other people when you have your own aura of mystery going on?"
Belle reeled at the question. "What? What are you talking about? Are you saying I'm mysterious?"
"Yeah." He made it sound obvious.
"You're ridiculous! I am not a mysterious person!"
He pointed a finger at her. "You are the most confounding individual I have ever met."
"In all your three-hundred years? Yeah, right."
The ironic scowl on his pointed face turned serious. He reclaimed her waist and lay down with his eyes arrested on hers. The crease in his brow smoothed down when they were back to holding one another. "Why is that hard to believe?"
"Well . . . no one ever told me I was confounding." Frankly, she couldn't see it in herself. Everyone had private thoughts and desires to keep secret. For herself, though, she had little reason to conceal her true nature. Sure, there were times when her anger and a yearning for vengeance boiled in her heart, and she did not want to share that fact on a common basis. The fact she felt these things did not mean they defined her. What she wanted, regardless of situation and fleeting emotions, was to be the best person she could be, and to help other people be the best they could be. Was that so strange?
She flicked off a strand of moss-grey hair that had fallen on Rumplestiltskin's cheek. "Are you sure you've not met someone just as mysterious? I'm not a hard person to figure out. You must have encountered someone I remind you of. There are only twelve distinct personalities in the whole human race. No two people are exactly alike, but they have close matches, I'm sure."
"Maybe," said Rumplestiltskin with unfaltering focus, "but I haven't met one like you yet."
"Oh, come now! You've probably just forgotten. I'm not anyone special."
His jaw tensed. There went his nostrils again, flaring as though she said something offensive. Thinking it wiser to relent, Belle moved in so her nose and forehead abutted his. "Well, thank you for the sentiment," she said, closing her eyes.
The moments that followed gave his words time to sink in. Aside from her parents, no one from Belle's memory had ever said as much. Certainly not Gaston, who one might imagine would throw around such an idea to coddle her and earn her gratitude. Gaston wasn't really a flatterer, though, except of his own abilities. Other men had praised her appearance, and some even complimented her wit in conversation. But many women were beautiful and smart and witty. These traits did not distinguish her, and she could live with that. It was therefore very difficult to understand Rumplestiltskin's reason for his remarks. Especially someone who had seen so much of the world and seemed to have grown jaded. Make no mistake - Belle thought it wonderful to feel unique and be told she was unique. If she hadn't earned those words and that feeling, however, they became gross illusions. She wouldn't let anyone feed her lies.
"But, just so you know, you don't need to say things like that to make me feel better. I'm not saying you're lying, but I know it can't really be true. You shouldn't say something so loaded and run the risk that you were wrong or -"
Rumplestiltskin shoved his mouth against her unsuspecting lips. Teeth lightly scraped them. Her eyes popped opened. She grabbed his shirt collar and make a half-hearted attempt to push him off. With her mouth incapacitated, her brain shouted protests and hoped his magical senses could pick them up. He had no right to cut her off like this! She was making a valid point and he thought kissing her to shut her up would . . .
He seemed oblivious. With words rendered useless, Belle angrily kissed him back. She tried biting his lip in retaliation. What few nips she got in provoked more vigorous sucking and licking from him. He even had the effrontery to give a pleased groan. Wicked man. It didn't help that a fervor invaded her as she mentally put his actions together. Even if he was mistaken in the moment, he meant what he said. She was something different to him. A new mystery, even after three-hundred years of the same stories. Now he was kissing her. It felt different. As the aggression petered out, a deeper tenderness took its place. Annoyance failed to prevent her heart from thrumming madly.
They both came out of the kiss panting. A dozen seconds of air set Belle's thoughts in order. She frowned and smacked her fist against Rumplestiltskin's chest, then turned over. "That was incredibly rude."
"You hitting me my chest?"
"You interrupting me!"
A breathless pause passed. "My apologies. Won't happen again."
"It better not."
His chuckle tickled the back of her neck. For a while, though, they lay where they were and made no more attempts at touching or talking. Her body unwound enough that she approached sleepiness. At that moment his fingers decided to start dancing on her back. Belle glared over her shoulder.
The imp's spindly fingers retracted. He gave a chagrined, puppy-ish look.
Whether it was the look or how he managed to behave himself after that, Belle's put-out mood subsided. She sighed and shimmied to line up her back along his front. A smile unseen by him illuminated her face. Her hand found his, brought it around and hugged it against her stomach. "Goodnight."
Another sigh washed over her neck. "Goodnight."
The nights they spent together followed a similar pattern. What was intended to be a few nights became a week. And then another. And another.
As Dathomir had stated, he soon established a schedule where Belle would spin for two days and rest for one. Rumplestiltskin usually came to her the night before the first spinning day and stayed the following one. Sometimes he stuck around for a third night but would always be gone by the morning. Belle's rest days went by in solitude. She understood that these were the only days Rumplestiltskin was free of his deal with her, and so he had to commit that time to his other obligations, which he still deferred from speaking about.
As the weeks passed, the imp seemed to amend these absences by making the remainder of her incarceration more bearable. He started bringing a small lunch he assured was for him; after seeing her decrepit meal, he offered a consolating piece of cheese or strip of meat. These delicacies that had once been a regular part of Belle's diet transformed into heavenly delights that made her sigh, laugh and almost cry. It was only at her insistence that Rumplestilstilskin ate his own food. Before long they were consuming the entire contents of his lunch basket. Belle foisted the prison food on the indiscriminatory rodents.
Unfortunately, these more lavish meals brought on the embarrassing consequence of employing the wretched hole that served as the latrine more frequently. Belle had thus far succeeded in using it when no one was around or when Rumple was too engrossed in his spinning to notice. The first time that nature called her in an urgent way and she was forced to explain herself, Rumplestiltskin sighed like an amused parent. "Dearie, I did notice, and it's no trouble. So long as we don't have plumbing issues."
That was not to be the end of similarly mortifying admittances. At the one-month mark of their arrangement, after many incidents of heated kisses and snug spooning, she thought she might have it in her to take things the rest of the way. The morning of the intended leap greeted her with a different sign. When night took its turn and Rumplestiltskin settled beside her, she told him it was her time of the month.
"You don't have to stay with me tonight . . . or this week."
Rumplestiltskin angled his head. "Why?"
"Well, we can't . . . you know."
"We didn't do it before and that didn't stop us." He wiggled his brows.
"But I'm . . . you don't find it repulsive?"
A clawed finger scratched his chin. "Should I? I've been known to drink the blood of children."
She shoved him to the ground and sat on his stomach until he apologized for the quip. He was rewarded with her shuffling off and giving him a peck on the nose.
"Hope I didn't ruin your clothes," she quipped back.
He conjured up enough sanitary rags to bandage an army. That put an end to the discussion.
While in part she wished she could have avoided these topics, they were easily forgotten most of the time. The days were full of more appropriate conversation points. Belle continued telling stories, but she encouraged the spinner to share a few of his exploits. As one might expect, he remained vague at the start, and only with patient questioning did he open into detailed narratives. Most of them never touched on personal points in Rumplestiltskin's life. Belle nevertheless took pleasure in his tales of distant lands and even other worlds where magic worked differently. He often referred to a man he used to travel with named Jefferson.
"He doesn't travel with you anymore?"
"Not at all, from what I've heard."
"Why not?"
Somberness darkened his tone. "Personal matters. He lost his wife. They had a daughter he had to take care of."
Belle looked sadly at the gold she wound. "Poor man. Do you ever visit him?"
"I prefer not to linger in the past," Rumplestiltskin solemnly remarked.
These dropped morsels only whetted Belle's curiosity. More daylight came and went with her still wanting to hear his adventures. They may not have had quite as many cutthroat pirates or dramatic sword fights, but in many respects she found more to savor in the quests and deals Rumplestiltskin imposed on himself. The clever antics and bizarre turns that saved and thwarted him. Best of all, she loved when he gave vivid descriptions of places and people, going as far as imitating accents. If the accent was at all familiar, she would try it out to the imp's praise or hilarity.
Rumplestiltskin grew comfortable with sharing his accounts with Belle during the day. At night, though, even when she wanted him to keep going, he insisted on listening about her. Belle felt sure he would find her boring with her provincial experiences; she had barely ever left her father's fiefdom. In answer, Rumple asked to hear about the few journeys she had made away from home. After she told those, he asked about her family. There she had a few entertaining antedotes. They were a comfort in light of the recent tragedy.
On some nights, however, once she fell asleep, the nightmares would circle like jackals. She might wake with only a start, Rumplestiltskin at her back or her lying on his chest or stomach. On those nights she would listen to his slow, soft breathing until she could doze off again. A few times she awoke in tears and sleep would not return so easily. She would lock her sobs in her chest so as not to disturb Rumple. The fifth night this happened, the sobs fought for liberty. The mounting memories of her father and the imagined trials of being Dathomir's captive wife slammed her in one moment. They sent her spinning into a vortex of fear, sorrow, self-blame, and eventually the beginnings of hysteria. Her resistance failed; the sobs broke out.
Against Belle's hope that he was too deep in sleep to hear, Rumplestiltskin started stroking her shoulder and asked what was wrong.
All control left her. She rolled over in his arms and buried her face in his chest. Tears poured out, staining his shirt. "I'm sorry," she blubbered over and over. Her tired, grief-burdened mind could not muster the will to explain herself right then. All strength pooled into the muscles that let her cry as hard as possible. The most she could do otherwise was grit her teeth from time to time.
His hands danced in slow circles on her back. In a kinder whisper than she had yet heard from him, he assured and coaxed her into talking. She nodded when he asked if she'd had a nightmare.
"I keep dreaming about my father," Belle finally said, still crying. "Sometimes I forget he's gone, and when I wake up and remember . . . it's unbearable! I've lost the only family I had left. I've lost everyone I've ever known. I want to be brave - I'm trying hard to be brave! But it hurts . . . it hurts remembering I'm alone. Sometimes so much I'd rather be dead." She sniffed and wept on. With her eyes becoming puffy and snot trying to escape her nose, she knew she must have looked a disgusting wreck.
In much happier moments he sometimes teased her with kisses or raspberries on the neck. She would thrash and laugh and shout, "Stop, you beast!" This night he coursed gentle fingertips from her jaw to her shoulder. A sprinkle of kisses trailed the same path, collecting tears as he went. Then he nuzzled into the juncture of her neck. The combined sensations from his mouth and his comforting hands set Belle's heart racing, and her sobs started to ebb. She tightened her hold. They lay that way until her quaking frame stilled. What followed felt like another dream, if only because Belle did not feel like her proper self, stripped bare by her grief and stoked by Rumplestiltskin's unexpected tenderness. Quiet panic, like what someone feels when they begin thinking about their mortality - a frantic lust for life that only fear can inspire - stole away her inhibitions.
Belle knit her fingers into his hair and guided him to her mouth. It was their neediest kiss yet. Before long she opened up and let his tongue taste her. It did not matter in that desperate breath of time if she found it pleasant - she ached with a hunger worse than food starvation. She needed him there, as close as they could get. She needed his sighs and moans crashing into hers. Tongues lashed out in clumsy, passionate combat. Teeth clacked together a few times. Fingers twisted into fabric. Nails pressed through to get at the flesh underneath. Raw instinct urged them both on. The fragment of Belle's sense that remained noted with detached amusement that they weren't kissing so much as trying to devour one another. A cannibalistic solution to quelling the loneliness they both perhaps suffered from.
Even that did not seem to do enough. Rumplestiltskin grabbed her hip and ground his pelvis against hers. She whimpered from the scorching contact and the frighteningly insistent bulge pressed against her lower belly. It might have been the thrust or the way her hips and thighs shifted in response - either way, she felt a hot liquid gush and understood, with some delay, that it wasn't the gush of womanly arousal. She was in the middle of her menstral cycle. There might have been arousal, too, but any ideas of accelerating things came to a halt.
She mumbled his name into his mouth. It went ignored. He kissed her so hard she almost forgot what she needed to say. She could think only when they broke contact. Rumplestiltskin seemed bent on sidetracking her. His lips and teeth first assailed her neck, next her ear. Though she repeated his name in a sterner note, one hand stayed tangled in his hair.
"Rumple," she ground out, teeth locked. "I'm still . . . I'm still having . . . I have my AH!"
He had licked the ear's shell and sucked on the lobe. "I don't mind," he whispered.
Panting, Belle turned a glare on him. "I do."
Huge, hooded eyes flitted over her tense face. "I could speed it up-"
"No." She shut her eyes and nipped her lip. "You said magic always has a price. Whether it would be me or you, I don't want anyone to have to pay for something so . . . minor." Heat rippled through her. Cheeks inflamed and chest heaving, Belle nevertheless regained restraint. Her eyes focused on his, sporting a calmer blue shade. The lids and lashes shadowed them like a window curtain shutting out their midday brilliance. "Sorry for ruining the moment, but maybe it's just as well."
She prepared for anger, accusations, maybe even forced continuation. There was certainly frustration wrenching his features that a part of her wanted to kiss away. If she tried to, though, they would more likely start the same cycle. Had he lost his temper, or at the very least threw a snide word at her, she could have resigned to turning away and going to sleep. But his face drooped and softened around the lines. He glanced furher down - to her lips, she wanted to think, or at nothing. His eyes closed like a door to a room she had been afraid to enter, and now that it was barred from her, regret choked her and sent her pounding on it for another chance. Even worse, she feared she'd hurt him in some delicate spot she wasn't sure existed.
Rumplestiltskin flopped over. He and she lay on their backs. Their heavy breaths echoed one another, never quite matching. After blinking back a salty sting, Belle's eyes wandered to him. His shirt was more open. It exposed him from neck to just above his navel. His chest surged like ocean waves. The air from his nose reminded her of wind that blows above the seas and carries boats and sailors to mysterious horizons. She glanced further down to the hard shape she'd felt before in his trousers. The leather material contained him more than thinner, looser fabrics would have. She'd felt it anyway, and it was a good guess that it was still there.
Belle crawled over him and kissed his chest. Her lips felt a few hurried heartbeats. "I'm sorry. If you want, I could help out." Every inch of her skin that could and wasn't already scarlet acquired the color. Rumplestiltskin's undisguised shock exacebated it, but she refused to flinch. Slim fingers brushed down his naked chest. They took their time enjoying the alternating rough and smooth texture. They came across a trail of sparse, light hair that stretched on beneath the buttoned half of the shirt and the trousers' waist band. The hair was a pleasant, unexpected feature to Belle. She had thought at one point that aside from his scalp and brows, the latter of which had little to boast, the imp was otherwise hairless. His chest had none, and for a while she saw no facial hair. On a previous night not far back, however, she had caressed his jaw and felt a speckle of stubble that could easily be taken as rougher scales. That and the hair on his belly made him more human to her. She smiled from both this thought and how he started taking short, excited gasps as her hand traveled.
Wanting to have more room to maneuver, she slipped her hand free only to resume outside his clothes. Apprehension stalled her when she approached her destination. What little reading she had to guide her seemed insufficient now that she faced the real thing. Belle breathed deep and compelled her fingers to cup the crest and underbelly of the bulge. Another gasp and a strained groan rewarded her.
Rumplestiltskin's hand caught her wrist. He sat up huffing. "Don't. I can take care of that."
"I said I want to help. It's my fault, after all." She grinned through her deepening blush. His worried look prompted her to give a gentle squeeze. Every part of him reacted: the hidden member throbbed, his hips jerked forward, his torso spasmed, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth gaped in a moan. His hand approached crushing her wrist. He pulled her away and begged for mercy. Mainly through his expressions since words could be issued only in gasping sputters. She had never heard nor seen him this ragged, vulnerable and pleading. It softened her resolve while simultaneously stirring a thrilling sense of power. She decided to relax her hand, a sign of relinquishment. When she did, he let her go.
And disappeared in a puff.
"Wait!" she cried. Her surrender did not mean he had to leave. She called him and tried to explain. He did not return.
The rest of the week saw mostly long silences. He came back in the day to spin and nothing more. Not even to tease her or make a show of how little her cared about what happened. Belle put in a few words to clarify her side of things; it proved pointless as Rumplestiltskin feigned obliviousness, no matter if she cajoled or scolded. He also declined to stay the night even when he had to spin the next day. This impasse was prolonged beyond Belle's completed cycle. She grew crosser and crosser with him until her body couldn't take it. Sleeping was hopeless with this much tension, worsened by the fact she actually missed him. Not just that she missed having someone to hold her and for her to listen to breathe as they slept. She missed him - stupid, stubborn, incomprehensible man. She wanted his stories, their conversations, his ear to tell her own stories to. Her dreams of her father were being replaced with dreams of waking up at home with Rumple snuggled against her, or of them strolling in the castle garden. In one dream she'd fled the king and his forces to become a bandit, and she met Rumple again by chance in the woods. He helped her plunder a wagon of goods headed for Dathomir's realm; she talked him into distributing most of the spoils to poor families in the area. He gave her a lesson in sword combat, which she continued to be rubbish at, and thanks to the blissful heat from their exerions they ended up making love in the heart of the forest so none could disturb them.
Happy dreams yielded to miserable reality. More than a week after the last time they touched, she put an end to their standoff. Rumplestiltskin worked at the wheel as she set aside another gold coil. "You look tense," she said, her tone flat.
For the first time in a week, he paused in response. It lasted a second. The wheel resumed whirring. "I'm fine."
Belle looked at him, head tilted. She tried a kinder timbre. "I could give you a quick massage. You'll work faster if you're looser."
He flashed a sneer. "Am I going too slow for you? Then by all means, milady, do what you must."
She didn't want to combat his beastliness with hers, but gods, she was tired of waiting this out. They both needed to unwind. Belle stood behind him and showed no mercy. Her fingers clenched into his stiff muscles. She became a cat clawing at a tree. The digging and kneading grew violent enough that Rumplestiltskin had to take a break from spinning - it disrupted his concentration. But he did not tell her to stop, so she kept on it. A soft groan left his lips. Belle barrelled through initial concern that she might be hurting him and squeezed harder. Her hands burned.
He was wearing his black dragonhide vest today but no arm coverings. She tried to work around it. Her exhausted patience and considerate temperament took a holiday. With a growl she reached around for the front laces.
"What are you doing?" asked Rumple, sounding more dazed than shocked.
"Taking this stupid thing off! You and your stupid vests!" She hoped he didn't pick up on the sob that caught a ride on the last word.
"Why?"
"Because it's making it harder to massage you!"
A few seconds ticked by. His breath shallowed. "Belle?"
"I've almost got it. It'd be a lot easier if you wore one of the other ones with buttons, you know!"
"Belle."
"You wear this one to make me cross. Every single time I've done something wrong - doesn't matter if it's justified or if I apologize - you come back wearing this thing."
Rumplestiltskin swallowed. "Belle."
All but the last two lacings at the bottom hung loose. Her finger pulsed red trying to undo them. "What?" she asked, another sob folded inside.
He said nothing. His hands cradled hers. They rubbed away the soreness and the aches. Belle, near tears, butted her forehead against his spine. "At least before you came back giggling and throwing your hands around. At least then you talked and were kind of funny . . . in an annoying way." She paused to stave off more sobs. "Why are you pushing me away like this? I didn't mean to be a tease. I got caught up in it and . . . then I realized I wasn't ready. It wasn't just my womanly issue."
"Did it occur to you that you might never be ready?"
She raised her face into his hair. Musk laced with straw, leather, and the sharp sweet residue of magic bathed her senses. It had taken getting used to, but now his scent comforted her even when he didn't want to.
"It seems silly to think so, the more I think about it. When we first kissed, I never thought I'd want to kiss you with my whole mouth. But I have. It was . . ." She giggled, which made her more breathless than she already was from smelling and holding him. "It was very different. But not bad."
"No?" He seemed breathless, too.
Belle shook her head, nuzzling the nape of his neck. He shuddered. Good. Now he felt as she had waking up from any dream that ended with her in his arms. She rested her cheek on his shoulder. The scale pattern in the leather imprinted into her skin. "I didn't mean it when I said your vests were stupid. They're not - they're beautiful. But they're stiff and tight and you wear them like armor. The fact you let me take them off means a great deal to both of us. I know that. I wouldn't betray your trust. If you feel I did, that wasn't my intention."
A slight tightening in her bent legs warned her they were tiring from her awkward stance. Rumplestiltskin had her hands, however, and her hands had his vest. She didn't want either of them to let go. Her stool appeared to be the only option. She tried hooking her toes under one of the rungs. Another thought came to her. Her hands forfeited their place, both the vest and Rumplestiltskin's hold, but they did not leave the imp. She and they traded places. Rumple's eyes spanned as Belle circled around, still hugging him, and straddled his lap. Blue cotton fell over black leather. There was plenty of skirt to create a barrier between her legs and his, although it required one of her hands to tuck said skirts under her rear. The hand hurried back to its position.
They had never expressed this level of familiarity in the daylight. It hardly differed from their nighttime ventures, except Belle could see Rumplestiltskin in stark clarity. Her hands traced his ribs, pectorals and throat before losing themselves in his mane. He gripped her waist to steady her and himself.
"You would do all this," he said, bewildered, "to protect your child? A child who doesn't even exist yet?"
Belle silently admitted that the future infant, while no less important, had not remained the sole reason. Opening herself to the obscure realm of carnal wonders had begun to redefine how she saw herself as a woman, albeit with very gradual progress. Her view of men changed, too. They were not mindless salivating beasts that one should fear or recline before like a sacrificial offering. No wonder her first efforts fell apart - putting herself through that even for a loved one's sake appalled her. But she had found a compromise: she could give herself and enjoy it without the romantic trimmings her books had insisted on. She wasn't looking for eternal happiness with Rumplestiltskin, but that did not diminish the remarkable connection they shared. Convention was a composite of rules as breakable as pie crusts. And might they not continue to have something after her marriage to Dathomir and the child's birth? She would visit, and he would be lurking about to watch after their offspring. If being Dathomir's wife left her bed cold or devoid of affection, the occasional tryst with the imp might be arranged. If Rumplestiltskin wanted that. Maybe he wouldn't mind giving her more children. She didn't much at all.
The dreams of her and him over the week buoyed up, making her body heat rise. Her eyes closed. She touched her face to his - brow to brow, nose to nose. Their inhales and exhales danced. Her fingernails drew swirling patterns on his scalp.
"I'm doing this for me, too."
Their eyes opened at the same time. Belle gave a small smile at Rumple and his still confused expression. "Would you like me to finish the massage?"
The imp pouted, giving Belle had another reason to giggle. "It means you have to leave my lap, doesn't it?"
"I have to leave anyway if you're going to spin the rest of the straw."
He chuckled and let his hands fall away. She pulled back. Clear eyes scanned his lizard-skin visage. Then rosy lips claimed pinkish gray ones in a long chaste kiss. Although closed, Belle poured every ounce of need and care that had accrued over the duration of their acquaintance into it. A tingling warmth filled her head and fingers, and her heart staggered when his hands anchored on her thighs. She unlatched her lips and lay her head on his shoulder a second time. If she didn't get up soon, they would have a repeat of the night that led to this mess to begin with.
She watched his adam's apple roll up and down as he swallowed. It stood out regardless the soft wrinkled folds, which at their first meeting repulsed her, and now intrigued her. She wondered how the skin here would feel and taste.
"Does this mean I should stay tonight? Do you . . . want it to happen tonight?"
For all her slowly building confidence, her insides still tensed. She had never wanted and feared something with this much intensity in her life. "Maybe we could wait until after I get another wash." It had been a few weeks and she did not know the precise scheduling. "Besides, tonight is supposed to be your night off. We have tomorrow free."
"I've taken quite a few nights off this week. I will stay to keep you company if you wish."
"All right. I'll try not to have another nightmare." She chuckled and kissed his cheek. Soon she was behind him again, on her stool this time. The vest was loose enough for her to rub his back underneath the garment. Her hands kneaded him much more peacefully. The massage lasted until the gold piled so high it obstructed the bobbin. From there some normalcy returned. Rumplestiltskin reaccounted his travels to a world where there was no color and there lived a doctor who tried to use science to bring the dead back to life. She forlornly remarked how she had considered asking him if there was a way to resurrect her father, but presumed the price would be too high. He explained that magic could do much, but it could not reverse death. Belle nodded in acceptance and watched the gold she wound, causing her to miss the pained glance he regarded her with.
That night Rumple offered a massage in return. It came admittedly as a huge relief for Belle to lie on her stomach while his dexterous hands squeezed out a week's worth of unbroken tension. She turned to jelly under his ministrations, not caring about the appreciative noises she made. He finished, lay down in his usual spot and rolled her to him. They fell asleep spooning. Relaxed and cradled, Belle soundly slumbered. She dreamed of her castle, the library and the gardens, Rumplestiltskin at her side, a miffed Gaston looking on. Her father wringing his hands in worry - she ought to think be thinking of marriage, not wasting her hours with this beastly cretin that shadowed her. In her bedroom as they prepared for the night, Rumple said that her father had cause to worry. No suitor would consider her eligible if she openly spent so much time with him.
"Maybe I don't want a husband," she said while crawling under the covers.
Rumplestiltskin slunk in after her, his skin looking darker against the abundance of white decor around them. "What lady doesn't want a husband?" he asked in his ironic fashion.
She tugged him down to her. "Why would I need a husband when I have you?"
They kissed and groped while outside, she knew, Dathomir had tangled himself in an argument with Gaston and Maurice. They agreed on most things but were shouting too loudly to hear. Metal clashed and fists began pounding on the door. Belle and Rumpleltskin held tighter and kissed deeper.