Title: Of Dreams and Awakenings
Rating: T
Word count: ~51k
Characters: Belle/Isabelle French, Mr Gold/Rumplestiltskin, Mary Margaret, Emma Swan, Archie Hopper, Henry Mills, Regina Mills, Moe French, various other Storybrooke characters.
Pairing: Belle/Rumplstiltskin (Isabelle/Mr Gold)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from 'Once Upon A Time' does not belong to me.
"What – what's going to happen now?" Belle asks. She's curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, cradling a cup of hot chocolate between her hands. She managed to get through the rest of the day, mostly because Rumplestiltskin hadn't left her alone in the library for a minute, and both Emma and Mary Margaret had arrived at the end of the day to escort her home.
Belle had gone with them, but only long enough to pack an overnight bag. Mr Gold had waited in his car outside the apartment, and driven her to his home without comment. He cooked her a meal, and kept conversation away from the events of the day, and afterwards he'd sent her to sit down while he tidied the kitchen.
Now he's seated beside her, a hand resting on her knee through the blanket. He's found ways to touch her all day – a brush of hands when they pass something to each other, a finger sliding across her cheek when he passes by, a hand smoothing across her hair. They've kissed twice, once at the library, and once here at his home. He'd caught her by surprise before supper, pressed her up against the counter in the kitchen and kissed her as if he needed her more than oxygen.
"This evening?" he asks, soft and gentle as he is sometimes when they're alone together, "or after today?"
"After today," she clarifies. She knows what will happen this evening, although she's sure – she's sure that he has no idea. He'll have a guest room, and he'll show her to it when it's time to retire, and Belle knows what she'll do then. She'll get changed, get into pyjamas and brush her teeth, comb her hair. And then she'll go to him.
"The restraining order has been filed," he tells her. "Legally, she can't come near you again."
"But she knows I know," says Belle, and she's been trying to make her fear go away all day, tried to make it disappear into nothingness. She's tried to comfort herself with Rumplestiltskin's presence, his protection, but the fear has been gnawing at her insides, making her feel…
"She can't touch you now," Rumplestiltskin promises, fierce and dark and his hand tightens on her knee. "She's bound by magic, and she knows by now not to work against that."
"Because you said please."
"A condition of telling her how to work the curse," he nods. "If I ask her for something, or to do something, and say please, she must obey. She has no choice. The compulsion is absolute."
Belle nods slowly, sips her hot chocolate. "She must hate that," she observes, and Rumplestiltskin gives a small, bitter laugh.
"I don't much care whether she likes it or not," he says. "You're safe. That's all that matters now. I should have done it weeks ago." He's in danger of heading into guilt, and Belle refuses to allow it. She reaches to put her mug down on the floor, shuffles closer to him and leans against his shoulder. His arm comes around her automatically, pulling her closer.
"I'm going to be alright," she murmurs. "We're going to be alright."
"So sure, love?"
"Yes," says Belle. "Why, don't you believe me?" She lifts her head and she's so close to him it doesn't even take conscious thought to kiss him, to press her mouth to his. It's gentle, this kiss, almost chaste, and it's sweet. It's trusting.
It becomes more, though – it becomes heat and passion, and her lips part for his tongue and she lifts a hand to tangle in his hair. His hand slides up her knee, pushes aside the blanket and comes to rest at her hip. He moves from her lips, presses open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, and Belle closes her eyes, tilts her head back.
"Tell me this is alright," he murmurs between kisses. He lifts his other hand up, rests it on her shoulder. "Belle…"
"Don't stop," she manages, and she lets him stretch her out on the couch, pulls him down with her. It must be awkward for his bad leg, but he doesn't seem pained; he rests his weight on his arms and kisses her again. Belle arches up into him, wants to feel more of him – and he presses against her, not quite allowing his weight to rest on her but enough for her to feel him.
She's lost in him, but she doesn't care. Her world has narrowed to this moment, to this space, to the way he makes her feel, and it's the most wonderful feeling in the world.
She slides her hands under his waistcoat, pulls buttons free from buttonholes, and he's startled enough to stop kissing her. He stares down at her, and Belle hesitates, bites her lip.
"Belle," he murmurs, and he leans back, sits up straight and shakes his head. "You're not ready for this."
"I've wanted this for years," she says honestly. "I'm not…I'm not a child. I'm not going to break. I know what I want – I want this." She sits up, and tugs gently at his waistcoat. "I want you," she says, and refuses to admit she's blushing. She wants this, but she is after all fairly innocent. She's not been with a man in either world, although here she's had a little more exposure to what it means.
Rumplestiltskin seems to understand; he gives a slow nod, and shrugs his waistcoat off. "If you're sure," he says, voice low and rough, a man barely on the edge of control. It should frighten her, but she's not afraid – she's excited. Rumplestiltskin out of control is wild and dangerous, but that's a different thing entirely to this. This is…this is them, together at last, and she knows he would rather kill himself than hurt her again.
"I'm sure," she says. "But…upstairs?"
He breathes for a moment, some emotion that she can't name flashes across his face, and then he nods again.
"Upstairs," he agrees. He rises carefully, steps back and retrieves his cane while Belle stands and folds the blanket over the back of the couch. They look at each other then, and she isn't sure what he's feeling but she's oddly shy, oddly nervous, and she wonders now if this is the right thing.
Then he stretches his hand out for her, and smiles, and she knows it is.
They go upstairs, and he leads her to his bedroom. Belle glances around, still shy, unsure what to do with herself, but Rumplestiltskin takes her hands and draws her gently to the bed, sits beside her and smoothes her hair away from her face.
"Are you sure?" he asks her, and Belle nods at once.
"I'm sure," she says. "But I…I've never…"
He nods, smiles faintly. "It's been many years for me," he says. "You will tell me if…if you change your mind, or you become uncomfortable?" She nods again, but he watches her so seriously that she knows he needs more.
"I will," she says. "I promise." She twists around, lifts her knee onto the bed so she can face him, brings her hands to rest on his shoulders and smiles at him. "Kiss me again," she says, and he obeys, lowers his head and kisses her. It reassures her even as it rekindles the desire she'd felt downstairs, and she clings to him, presses close. In moments she's reclining on the bed and he stretches out beside her, his hand a weight on her hip as they kiss.
Then his fingers slide beneath the hem of her shirt to touch skin, and she gasps. He stills, but doesn't move his hand away; he watches her, and Belle reaches to kiss him again.
"It's alright," she murmurs. "I want you to touch me."
"Belle," he says, and his smile is crooked, almost pained. "You have no idea how I…" But he kisses her, and his hand slides a little higher, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. Belle hums into his mouth, lifts a hand to stroke down his arm, and decides he should remove his shirt. She fumbles with his buttons, but he distracts her then, presses kisses across her throat, dips his head down to the curve of her breast above her shirt – and his hand is warm and gentle but he's touching her breast and she had some boyfriends in high school, she's not a complete innocent, but somehow this is nothing like she's ever felt before.
"Is this alright?" he murmurs against her skin, and Belle nods, reaches for her own buttons this time. Rumplestiltskin pulls back, enough for her to take off her shirt, leaving just camisole and bra, and she shivers at the look in his eyes.
"I've dreamed of this for so long," he says, hands ghosting up her arms, across her bared skin. "Oh my Belle."
"Tell me," she whispers, and his gaze darkens for a moment, he glances away from her and shakes his head slightly. "Tell me what you dreamed," she says, and strokes a hand down his cheek. "I used to lie awake in my bed at night, in your castle, and wonder what this would be like." She's blushing as she says it, but it's encouragement and Rumplestiltskin makes a sound, comes close again and kisses her once more. Lips and tongues and his hands seem to be everywhere, and Belle feels like her skin is all that holds her together.
Desire burns hot inside her, and he tugs her camisole over her head, mutters a curse when he can't easily get her bra off. She lifts herself up, reaches back and unhooks it, lets him pull it away and her cheeks burn but she's not going to be ashamed. She's not going to be ashamed of this, ever.
He pushes her back down onto the bed, lowers his mouth to her breast and swirls his tongue around her nipple. Belle can't breathe, lifts a hand to hold him to her, and she feels his chuckle more than hears it.
"Like that, love?"
"Don't you dare stop," she commands, and he laughs but his hand is at her other breast and he rolls her nipple between his fingers. Belle arches up into his touch, wonders how she has gone this long without feeling this.
Her whole life; two lives. And she has found Rumplestiltskin in both of them, has found the man she loves.
He moves away then and she makes a frustrated sound, but he's unbuttoning his shirt, removing his clothing, and she waits for him, watches as a little at a time he is revealed to her. He seems shy now – he can't quite meet her eyes – and she knows he has never thought of himself as handsome.
Even with his other face – even with the odd-coloured skin and the strange texture of it, even with dark eyes and slightly pointed teeth – Belle has always thought him handsome. It was one of the first things she'd thought, that day so many years ago now when he appeared in her father's halls and offered salvation in return for her servitude.
"I love you," she whispers, hoping it's enough to soothe him, and he returns to her, trails a hand across her stomach and flicks open the button of her trousers.
"And I you," he says tenderly. "You're still alright?" Her heart swells; she knows he feels this as much as she, she knows he wants this as much as she does, and yet he still asks that. If she says no, if she says that it's too much, he will stop without question or complaint.
"You're too far away," she says in answer, and runs her fingers up his chest, through sparse hair, scrapes a nail across his nipple and he hisses. She hesitates for a moment, but it was a good sound, a pleased sound, so she keeps touching him, keeps exploring the lines and curves of him.
"I love you," she says again, and he kisses her, long and leisurely, as if they have all the time in the world for this.
And they do, she thinks. They have all the time in the world.