In the following couple days Belle's frustration became almost palpable. She did not give up, never that, yet no matter how hard she tried, the water refused to cooperate. Normally it was considered one of the easiest elements to master – water was changeable and volatile, but the sorcerer wasn't surprised. His power was granted to him by the curse and he never had to learn how to use it; the knowledge was passed to him along with the weight of the memories of those who bore the burden of the Dark One before him. He only had to control the magic, which he often failed to do. It might take Belle weeks or even months before she could alter water but he thought it was best not to let her know that. While her attempts remained unsuccessful, Rumpelstiltskin decided to try something different. Perhaps the girl would have more luck with potion brewing.
They agreed to meet at his tower around three o'clock every day and the girl was never late. Now that she was slightly more comfortable with him – he had not made any advances on her although he looked at her every time she was distracted enough not to notice it – Belle returned to wearing clothes she was more used to. She preferred calm pastel colors and gowns that ended just under her knees. When Rumpelstiltskin saw that she was still wearing her crude dark boots, apparently too shy to ask for new footwear, he replenished her wardrobe with graceful shoes of every color to match her dresses.
She looked beautiful in any garment, whether it covered her from head to toe or bared her shoulders. It was sweet torture to have her so close and not be able to touch her, and even though his flesh was tamed with the spell, his mind was on fire with constant arousal. His insomnia did not help one bit. He would lay awake and think of her. If he closed his eyes, he would picture the girl all too vividly:
Belle frowning over a glass of water.
Belle smiling as if amused by her own thoughts.
Belle cocking her head while she listening to him.
Belle chewing on her pink lips when she hesitated to ask him something.
Belle simply looking at him.
Hundreds of tiny memories that were not truly sexual or arousing, yet somehow they turned into those just because she was in them.
Sometimes he would give in and stroke himself. He could get hard in an instant at a mere image of her face. He preferred to let his mind wander and not to touch himself until his cock was nearly painful, hard and oozing pre-cum. Only then Rumpelstiltskin would wrap his fist around it, pretending it was her hand. Recalling the feel of her soft touches he'd tease himself, his pumping deliberately slow and his grip around the shaft loose. He'd wet his palm and rub it in circles around the head of his cock, pretending it was her skin he was touching. Gradually applying more pressure, he'd buck up into his fist, trying to still his moans when the sensation became too strong. He'd always finish to the memory of kissing Belle, imagining her tongue swirling in his mouth. Only when he could no longer hold back would he cum, spilling his seed all over his hand and stomach with her name on his lips. Those nights made him feel guilty and he would promise himself not to do that again. But he was weak and would just return to pleasuring himself. He felt if he did not satisfy himself somehow, he would lose the remains of his sanity.
Rumpelstiltskin decided that it could not even be Belle's fault. Luckily, the girl was not aware of those shameful hours he spent dreaming of her. Perhaps, it'd just been too long since he had proper release and his hand was a poor substitute. One night after he was sure Belle was asleep in her room, he hooded himself and left the castle. He went into a brothel. It was a shabby two-storey building, which hosted a bar on the first floor and offered cheap rooms upstairs. It was overcrowded and noisy, girls in just their undershirts (some of them nearly naked) serving drinks, maneuvering between the tables and giggling when they received pinches and smacks on their rears.
Keeping his face hidden in the shadow of the cloak, he ordered a pint of beer and sat alone in the furthest corner, away from the light. The first sip of the beer told him it was a waste of money. Not that alcohol had any effect on him. He brewed his own concoction to get intoxicated, the strong ingredients making it closer to a poison than liquor. Rumpelstiltskin watched the women in this place but he did not feel the smallest sparkle of desire, even though the excitement never seemed to leave his loins when he was at Belle's side.
The only thing he felt was disgust. He hurried to leave the filthy place, swearing not to ever return there again. The failure at the brothel indicated that things were worse than expected. He did not long for just release; he wanted Belle. The darkness in him whispered he could do it, he could slip an aphrodisiac in the girl's drink or take her by force. But the remains of humanity in him did not allow anything like it. He may be a coward but he'd sooner cut his own hand off than touch Belle against her will.
It was exactly three o'clock when she stepped over the threshold of his lab, wearing a light blue dress with the bodice flattering her slim waist and the top part leaving her shoulders open to his gaze. Belle's hair was away from her face, done up in a bun and secured with pins; she often wore it like this during their classes. She gave him a small smile before diverting her eyes to a large brazen cauldron on the floor next to the fireplace. Rumpelstiltskin filled it with water and propped it on a tripod; all of the necessary ingredients were lined up on the edge of the table.
"I thought we should try something different, until you succeed with the water."
She seemed only too happy to take a break from her battle with the water glass. The potion he picked was quite simple, it did not require any special skills. However, it did involve the precise addition of components and meticulous stirring; otherwise the simple cold cure could turn into rat poison.
He conjured a small fire under the cauldron and Belle added ingredients carefully, but her stirring technique was wrong. Rumpelstiltskin could already see that instead of warm honey color with golden specks the contents of the cauldron were more likely to turn murky brown. The pretty color was one of the reasons he picked this particular potion; the girl could hardly catch a cold by staying indoors.
"No, dearie, you're doing it wrong. Relax your wrist and do three shallow stirs clockwise and then a slow one counter-clockwise," he offered but Belle still seemed to get it wrong.
He moved to stand behind her. Rumpelstiltskin adjusted her grip on the handle before covering her hand with his own on the ladle.
"Three stirs this way and one in the opposite direction," he echoed his own words and carefully guided her hand to show her how she should do it. The correct stirring instantly lightened up the potion and he let go of her hand when Belle seemed to grasp how to do it. Rumpelstiltskin did not move away though, watching her hand move the ladle.
He suddenly realized how close they were standing, his breath ghosting over her neck. He could smell the faint aroma of apple soap on her skin. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes were drawn to the curve of her neck where he saw the beat of her pulse. Before he could think, his lips covered the spot and he swiped his tongue across it. Belle's body went rigid under the touch but she tilted her head to the side, exposing more skin to his lips. Rumpelstiltskin let his mouth savor her skin. She was so soft and warm and he nibbled along her neck eagerly, intoxicated by her closeness. He let his mouth lick and suck on her neck.
It was too good but it wasn't enough. His arm slid around her waist, he winced as his hand met the stiffness of her bodice. He wanted to feel her skin, to press against her, to ravish her, to lick every inch of her. Rumpelstiltskin pulled her body closer, pressing to her from behind, his kisses more urgent. He was hard, he wanted her to feel it and to grind himself on her until he could burst. He wanted to hear her writhe under him, make her moan and spill himself deep inside of her.
His desire was maddening, he needed more touch, more Belle. He closed his teeth, biting down her shoulder, trying to prevent a desperate moan from escaping his lips. The girl gasped and dropped the ladle, which hit the rim of the cauldron with a muffled thud. The sound returned Rumpelstiltskin to his senses. Horrified, he jerked his hands away and Belle ran away from the tower without looking at him.
Stupid, stupid! What was he thinking? The problem was, he wasn't thinking, not when she was so close to him. Her abrupt escape was like a cold shower, extinguishing his want. He groaned and kicked the chair before hiding his face in his palms.
It was too late to fix things. Rumpelstiltskin let out a shaky breath. Maybe if he acted like nothing happened, she could just forget about it.
The potion was ready. He poured it into three small vials, put a cork in each one and set them on the shelf. He removed the rest of the potion, leaving the cauldron clean and shiny.
Belle did not come down for dinner. It seemed like some punishment since meals and their classes was the only time they saw each other, but he thought it was fair. The poor girl was probably in tears, trying to scrub her skin raw to remove the memories of his touch.
Rumpelstiltskin went to his spinning wheel. He felt as if there was a cold leaden ball in his chest. He had to apologize, but how could he explain what he had done? He wanted it and he would most likely do it again, given the chance. He could not spin, so he just sat there, feeling like his whole life was just a row of wrong choices.
His head jerked up in surprise as the door creaked and the girl stepped in. He opened his mouth to say something but could not say a word, afraid he would just make things worse. He must have looked a complete fool with his mouth open, for Belle smiled at him tentatively. She sat down on the rug, close to the fireplace and opened her book without saying a word, but the silence bore no tension in it.
Rumpelstiltskin suppressed a grin. Perhaps he did not ruin everything he touched. He did not know what it was, but something he did today seemed right.