Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from OUAT.
Gold pushes through the wide double doors, letting a blast of cold air into entryway of the Storybrook library. The crowd of townspeople thins around him as he shakes snow off his coat. He peels off the damp article and drops it on the counter by the book return, where some teenage girl is checking coats. She jumps.
"Mr. Gold!" she stammers, scrambling to pick up the coat. "W-welcome. I'll have this here–" He cuts her off with a quick gesture.
"Fine. And tell your father I'll be by in the morning for the rent." The girl nods dumbly as he makes his way past a sign on an easle which announces the name of this function in neat gold letters.
"Rumple!"
He whirls at the voice, his cane almost skittering out from under him on the smooth marble floors. He catches sight of her and the breath in his chest tightens. Belle looks absolutely stunning. The floor-length, royal blue dress is slit to the knee and fits her like a glove. There is a small, jealous part of him that wishes the neckline didn't plunge quite so low – at least while they were out in public – but with a strange thrill of pride he notices that she is wearing the diamond necklace he gave her. Belle rushes to him in a quick click of stilettos and takes both his hands in her own before standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. "I'm glad you could make it," she says with a smile.
"Of course," he answers, his face softening into a genuine smile of his own. "Wouldn't miss the…" He trails off and gestures vagely with one hand.
"First Annual Storybrooke Art Gallery and Exhibition," she recites proudly, then jabs at his elbow with a wide smile. "You should remember – you're one of the main sponsors."
"Yes of course," he repeats. "But only because you can wring blood from a stone."
"I was only helping remind you of your civic responsibilities," she teases. She takes his arm and walks them into the gallery, guiding them around other couples.
"Yes of course, my lady mercenary," he smirks, but her own wry smile threatens to crack through even that feeble attempt. They round the corner and he attempts another route. "Belle, you look…fantastic."
"You think so?" she says brightly, pulling away and twirling so he can see.
He sucks in a breath, eyes lingering. "Very much so." A waiter passes close by and he plucks a flute of champagne from the tray and presents it to her with a flourish.
She smiles, curtseying as much as she can in those heels and dress. His hand is still braced on his cane – these are the peculiarities of this realm, after all. But as she takes the glass from him, her fingers brush over his, and despite himself he grins. He gives a half-bow as they make their gesture to the old world, to remaking the past in a new and better light.
She tosses back the champagne and takes his arm again, eager to show off her hard work. He allows her to lead him around, her eyes shining as she grips his sleeve a little tighter to point out another detail. He has to admit that the hall is stunning. It actually looks like a real art gallery. The transformation she has wrought on this... backwater… almost puts him to shame, even with his magics. In fact…he frowns.
"Belle, darling, is that fairy I smell?"
She gives her glass to a waiter and squeezes her hand gently on Rumple's arm. "Just a little. Leroy knows an ameniable nun."
"The angry dwarf's sweetheart?" he scoffs.
"She was quite helpful!" Belle ducks her head to hide a smile. "Besides, how else were we going to move seventeen rows of shelves overnight? Now come over here, there's a painting I like."
She keeps her arm loosely wound through his and leads them through the main exhibition room. Tonight, this is her world, her sparking event, and she is wearing his necklace and teetering slightly on ridiculous heels, but still she holds on to him. They weave through the crowd and he catches a glimpse of their reflection in the tall window. The glare from the snow outside helps erase the rest of the gallery, and it is just the two of them in the glass. For a moment he is pleased by the glamorous reflection. His impeccable suit, glittering with gold tie pin and cuff links, is almost a fitting compliment to the sleek and stunning creature on his arm. Most of the men in town know not to stare to openly, but now, he thinks with the hint of a dangerous smile, he almost wishes they would.
She stops them in front of a painting and lets out a little breath, clearly enraptured. It's a standard still life – a vase of flowers, a twisted branch, and a seashell arranged on a crumpled green cloth. Gold glances subtly at some of the other paintings, and judges this one not much more than maginally better. He leans in close to Belle's ear.
"What am I supposed to see?" he whispers. The brushwork is clumsy, the shadows incomplete, and there's something subtly off with the perspective.
"There," Belle points, leaning toward him. "She wore a dress that color green the first time she saw him. That shell is like the one he brought back from a long journey and gave to their daughter. He gave her those flowers at their wedding and every spring for forty years after." She sqeezes his arm with a small sigh. "She painted everything she loves."
He puts his hand over hers. "Who, darling?"
"Her name is Evelyn. She comes with her husband to the evening art classes in the library."
"Well I've certainly seen worse," Gold says, tilting his head towards a particularly dreadful portrait to their left. "What's the stick for? Did her twue wuv give her that, too?"
"I think she uses it to beat off art critics!" Belle laughs, tugging him to another painting. As she does so, her chest brushes subtly against his arm, and he has to repress a shudder. She can so easily undo him."Can you try to behave?" she continues, showing no sign of noticing his inner turmoil. "I'll bet you can't find one nice thing to say about anything in here."
"Wrong. That dress is very becoming."
Belle rolls her eyes. "I meant about the art, Rumple."
"So far, that's the only piece of art I've seen." He stops them in front of a large metal sculpture on a stand. "There! That looks…..sturdy."
"How is that nice?" she laughs.
"It's a compliement!" He gestures toward the identification card on the stand. "Widow Lucas is a skilled welder. Even if it looks like a bloody mess."
Belle grins and leans forward to read the card. "'Untitled with Rake'?" She throws a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. "What does that even mean?" As she straightens, her breast brushes against his arm again. He tightens his hand on his cane, wishing she would be more careful.
She glances up at him and smirks, which makes him think that maybe she knows exactly what she's doing. He tilts his head to whisper in her ear. "While the efforts here are impressive, dear, there's still only one piece of art I'm interested in."
Belle pulls away from him slightly, clicking her tongue. "Tsk, don't be so hasty, Rumple. The night is young, and there are many, many things you haven't seen yet."
His jaw hangs slack a moment before he recovers his composure, but not before she notices. Her eyebrows arch knowingly. She gives him a sly grin and starts toward another room of the gallery. "Come on. There are some fascinating paintings this way."
"Oh, I'll bet there are," he says, letting his eyes sweep over her as she gets a few paces ahead of him. "Many…beautiful works of art."
She pretends not to hear him, instead coming to a stop in front a large black and white photograph of dark cloth wrapped around a woman's arm. "Here. I like this one."
He comes up close behind her, ignoring the polite crowds shuffling around. " lines are all wrong."
She looks up over her shoulder. "Oh?"
"Yes. It's a sloppy composition." He reaches his arm over her shoulder to point. "There. The lines should be more…subtle." He brings his hand back, brushing the hair away from her neck before tracing his fingers down her spine. She shudders, almost imperceptibly, and leans back against him. "And look at her hand," he continues, curving his free hand along her side to rest on her waist. "Don't you think there should be a little more tension in the fingers?"
"Perhaps," she says, turning from his touch to face him. Her tone is casual, but her eyes are a little too wide and her cheeks are faintly flushed. "Although I wonder what qualifies you to be such an art critic."
He steps back, tilting his head and offering his arm like a gentleman. "I thought you would have realized by now – I am a man of exceedingly refined tastes."
"That remains to be seen," she says enigmatically. She takes his arm again, leading them to another painting. When she stops them in front of it, she brushes her chest against his arm again and he tightens his hand on his cane.
"Belle—"
She shushes him, lifting her head to whisper in his ear. "This one is my favorite. Look." He glances down as she speaks, admiring the view her position affords. She swats his arm. "Not at me. Look."
Gold drags his eyes up reluctantly. She's brought them to a huge painting that takes up most of the wall. It's made up of twelve different panels, each obviously painted by a different hand. A large copy of an original that he doesn't immediately recognize.
"The Kiss," Belle supplies. "By Gustav Klimt. The evening art class worked on it."
It's an imperfect reproduction, but the painting is recognizable – the couple in the middle locked together before a spangled golden background, a cloud of flowers and vines below them.
"Right there," she says, pointing to a panel in the corner that's rather heavy with gold leaf. "That one's mine."
He glances at her in surprise. "You're in on this too?"
"I started coming to some of the classes."
"It's lovely." He reaches for her hand and impulsively pulls it to him,kissing their twined fingers.
"What happened to the cynical art crtic?" she asks with a soft smile, tugging his hand to start them walking again. She quickly settles on his arm.
"I know beauty when I see it," he says quietly as they move away from the murmuring crowds. "I told you, I am a man of refined tastes."
"Hmm, I don't believe you."
"No?" He glances down, doing his best to look affronted.
"No. I think your tastes are …" She smiles up at him wickedly, sqeezing his hand and pressing against his arm. "More base. More raw. What do you say to that?"
"I'd say that I'm not the one who's been teasing all night," he whispers into her ear.
"You noticed?"
He chuckles and tugs her close. "I'm lame, Belle, not stupid. Or blind. Now come on." He leads them down the hall from the main gallery.
"What is it?"
"A private lesson in art appreciation," he says in a low voice, ducking around a corner. He abruptly backs her against the wall and she gasps, a grin spreading across her face.
"There's no art out here," she whispers, fingerings his lapel. He grinks wickedly, leaning on his cane to push closer to her.
"How wrong you are. That dress….." He places his hand on her hip, curling his fingers slightly against the material.
Her smile widens, and she tugs his jacket to bring him in close. Her lips meet his, slow and lingering. His eyes slide closed and his hand shifts on her hip. She tastes like champagne, and bubbles thorugh his veins the same way."The dress is nothing," she whispers against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. "The real art is on underneath."
He growls in response, pressing her back more against the wall and crushing his mouth aginst hers. His arm curls around her waist, and she makes a small sound in the back of her throat.
"Rumple…" she breathes, tipping her head back and allowing him to kiss down her neck. He stops at the circle of diamonds falling over her collarbone. His diamonds, that she wore for everyone to see. He scrapes his teeth gently against her skin, half wondering what else she was wearing.
"Belle, darling," he whispers against her neck, his hand tugging the material at her hip. "This has been a lovely evening, but wouldn't this best be continued at – ah – at home?"
"Mmm," she purrs, dragging one hand down his jacket. "Yes, yes that's a great idea, but –" she fishes a hand inside his jacket. He squirms beneath her hand until she pulls back quickly. "No."
"No?"
"No," she repeats, punctuating it with a quick kiss. "Because I'm supposed to give the welcome speech in –" she sneaks a peek at the pocket watch she'd pulled from his jacket. "About twenty minutes. No time for home."
"No," he says, nuzzling beneath her jaw. "I suppose not."
She sucks in a little breath. "No. But there is time for…." She snaps the pocket watch closed. "Here."
Gold lifts from her neck, raising one eyebrow and glancing around. "Oh?" Belle blushes.
"Not here, here," she stammers. "I meant, take this." She shoves the watch back into one of his pockets and untangles herself from him. He pulls back with a frown, but she pushes off the wall and follows him, lifting up on her toes to plant a little kiss at his jaw. "Come on," she whispers, reaching for his hand. "Private lessons." She pulls him down the hall as a knowing grin spreads across his face.