Rumpelstiltskin stares at the small note in front of him. Over the past few hours he has read it so many times that the previously rolled piece of parchment is now completely flat and slightly worn at the edges, but the words still refuse to sink into his mind. The writing is neat, making him guess that the sender took time to meticulously calligraph the letters to give voice to the carefully chosen thoughts.
I miss our encounters, she writes. Rumpelstiltskin knows she's well and in no need for anything – not after he slipped a heavy pouch of gold into her sack without her noticing. His hands itch for the mirror to verify that nothing has happened to the girl since he last watched her last night, but he tries to lessen the interference into her life; otherwise he'd do little else but hungrily watch her every move via the magic mirror and in truth, he'd be quite content to spend an eternity like that.
Could it be that you miss them too? Like there ever was a question. There are no more excuses for them to meet, no logical grounds or binding contracts and Rumpelstiltskin doesn't even consider tricking her for a deal. He half-expected to never hear from the girl again. He knew Isabelle wasn't using him, but the irrational fear lingered at the back of his mind. Those several days without her have been hard; even more so when he realized he may never see her in person again.
I'm staying at the "Whispering Goldsmith". There is nothing else on the parchment, he flipped it over to find only an elegant flowing B instead of signature. B for beaming, brilliant, baffling, brave, bookish and beautiful. B for Belle.
The invitation is innocent enough but it made him shake with excitement and… hesitance. At first Rumpelstiltskin doesn't understand why she chose to send a note and then it dawns on him. Perhaps, he's not the only one who nurtures doubts. Isabelle gives him a chance to ignore it, to pretend the note was lost or simply undelivered. Instead of using magic to summon him, she gives him a choice. Despite the first instinct to rush to her, the man paces around his spinning wheel, curling and straightening the parchment and rereading the three short lines. The choice is easy but consequences may be hard.
The day turns to twilight by the time he builds up the courage to do it.
He finds the girl in the stables, brushing her horse's mane and humming off-tune and clears his throat hoping he won't startle her too badly. Isabelle spins on her heels and the smile she gives him seems to illuminate space and chase all of his silly fears into the furthest shadowy corners. Fighting his own grin is an impossible task and he hides it helplessly under the curtain of his wavy hair when he bends down, his arms swooshing in a practiced graceful bow.
"Rumpelstiltskin!" she exclaims, bubbly with excitement and laughter and he thinks she is going to throw herself at him. The man feels a pang of regret when she doesn't. Isabelle carefully puts away the brush and wipes her hands on her breeches, coming closer and dropping him a quick curtsey.
She looks well indeed or, perhaps, her eyes, radiating genuine pleasure of seeing him, make it hard to read anything else on her face.
"How have you been?" Rumpelstiltskin asks when he begins to fidget under her intense stare.
"I'm well, thank you," she shrugs and it's mostly true. It took her less than two days to discover that travelling is not as much of an exciting adventure she hoped it to be. Horse-riding gives you blisters and leather wear sticks to the sweaty skin, making it only worse. It's no fun to sleep in the open and sometimes even less in a tavern populated by bed bugs. Food is simple compared to what she was used to and mostly… dry and she wouldn't mention to a living soul about the troubles of answering the nature's calls in the woods yet she feels happy. Isabelle discoveres that people are nice and smile back at you if you give them a smile; most farmers do not mind sharing a meal or proving a roof over your head for little help or an amusing tale.
"It's my name day today," she says almost apologetically as if she needs a good reason to have the sorcerer around.
Rumpelstiltskin's eyes go wide and he curses himself for so little insight.
"Such a grand occasion calls for a gift, dearie," he proclaims and swishes his right hand in the air. When he offers his hand to her, she sees a beautifully crafted gold ring with a large sapphire in the middle.
"You really shouldn't have…" she blushes as she watches the gem reflect the light softly. She never liked the jewelry quite as much as other women seemed to, but the idea that this ring was made especially for her and receiving it from Rumpelstiltskin makes her stomach flutter with pleasure.
"It's nothing, I just found it laying around the Castle," the man replies and it's true. He did find it on the stone floor but he doesn't want to say anything about the circumstance or the preceding events that made Belle lose it. He thinks that it's a poor substitute for a gift, as it was hers before and it's only fair if she has it now; he should have known about his love's birthday and prepared something better. "Will you allow me to..."
The girl shakes her head and his heart drops.
"It's beautiful, really, but I can't," she says regretfully and Rumpelstiltskin frowns. "I shouldn't wear it, it looks too expensive and I'm afraid someone will attempt to steal it."
"Ah! Is this better?" the man waves his left hand over it and the ring is replaced by a pendant on the delicate chain. The stone remains the same though and he spins his index finger indicating she should turn around.
Isabelle exhales noisily as the slightly cool chain slides across her skin. It's quite long and she admires the stone, turning the sapphire in her fingers before tucking it underneath her shirt, shivering as the gem scrapes against her chest but it warms up quickly. Rumpelstiltskin's hands rest on her forearms and she is in no hurry to face him again, enjoying the hot breath that tickles her neck just under her hairline.
"Thank you," she repeats quietly and he jerks his hands away. Isabelle tries to hold back a sigh of disappointment as she turns around. Discreet as he may be, she still catches his eyes drop quickly to her chest before snapping back to her face.
"I thought I'd be granted three wishes," she jokes to break the moment of awkward silence. To her amusement, Rumpelstiltskin wrinkles up his nose and gives her a scowl.
"Do you mistake me for a bloody fairy?" he asks sourly and Isabelle giggles at his exaggeratingly insulted tone.
"Maybe just a little," she teases and she would mistake his frown for a real one if not for the mirth sparkling in his eyes.
"Three wishes it is then, mistress mine. Choose wisely," he drawls haughtily and she laughs again.
"Have a drink with me," she commands and he blinks at her in surprise. It's not something he anticipated but he follows the game. "I'll even pay for both of us," Isabelle suggests even if she doesn't realize that whatever gold she has, used to be his anyway.
The tavern is a filthy place, full of all kinds of fairy tale folk – Rumpelstiltskin sees dwarves, goblins and in the far corner of the bar even a group of men who look like pirates but Isabelle seems to be quite content so he doesn't say a word. They take a table and he eyes its surface suspiciously – if he puts his elbows on the layer of sticky grease that has probably collected on it over the years, he's likely to be permanently glued to it. The light is dim and the chatter of drunk men is so loud so the sorcerer has no concern to be recognized.
"It'll be my first strong drink," the girl confesses when a grumpy waitress brings them each a pint of ale. Without meaning to, she makes him feel guilty. She has missed on so many things, on simple pleasures of life. While she was his world he failed to give the world to her, selfishly keeping her away from… well, everything.
"Don't you like ale?" Isabelle asks, her voice full of concern, reaching forward to cover his hand and Rumpelstiltskin snaps out of his thoughts.
"Oh no, it's not that," the sorcerer raises his mug and gently clicks it against hers. "To the adventure and the happy ending you seek," he toasts and curiously watches the girl sip the rich dark beverage.
Isabelle cants her face at the unfamiliar bitterness at first but she adjusts to it quickly and finishes her mug with admirable determination. Her cheeks redden as the alcohol makes her blood circulate faster and she suggests taking some fresh air. Not quite trusting her to do it alone while the place is crowded with men who gave her more than one wishful glare, Rumpelstiltskin follows the girl outside, feeling relieved as the cool night air washes over his face.
They walk around the corner and Isabelle leans against the wall. She watches him with a small smirk on her lips and the man can tell there's something on her mind.
"Oh just say it already. You look like you'll burst if you don't get it out," he snaps but the girl's smile only widens.
"I still have two more wishes, you know," she says mischievously and by the way she bites down on her bottom lip, he knows exactly what will follow next. "My second one will be…" her voice gets quieter and Rumpelstiltskin instinctively steps closer to hear her. Why he suddenly finds himself standing close – too close – to her is a mystery even to him.
"Kiss me," she whispers, looking up to him and although it's oh so tempting, his gaze lingers on her lips only for a moment before flying up to meet her eyes.
"Are you tipsy, little mistress?" he asks more bitterly than he intended but Isabelle shakes her head.
"I'm not," she argues and he can tell it's true. Although he senses the alcohol in her breath, the girl's eyes are clear and confident. She rises to her toes not breaking the eye contact. "Kiss me. Please," she repeats in a small voice and he knows he doesn't have to nor is he obliged by magic but it's too good of an opportunity to pass. Especially when he wants to do it more than he cares for air.
"Yes," he breathes, leaning in and Isabelle makes a strangled noise of enjoyment, pressing herself against him as she opens her mouth for him eagerly. The tip of her tongue strokes against his bottom lip and then boldly across the seam of his mouth, sliding in without hesitation. Rumpelstiltskin cannot quite grasp what is different about the way she kisses him, but there's hunger that had not been there before and the urgency. Isabelle rakes her fingers through his hair before resting her palm against the back of his head, guiding the man even closer as she explores the soft slick texture of his mouth, seeking out small places bound to drive him insane. She practically purrs as Rumpelstiltskin responds with equal passion, his tongue dancing along her own. He switches to suck on her bottom lip, gently nibbling and biting on it and she groans and mimics his movement before deepening the kiss again.
Her breath is ragged and the girl's lips are positively swollen by the time they part for a gulp of air. She looks sinfully beautiful and he pulls away, careful not to allow the lower parts of their bodies to touch and give away how much he is affected by her.
"Was the second wish to your liking?" he quips, but instead of laughing he thinks her eyes darken even further.
"Oh yes," she pants, slowly licking the taste of him and ale off her lips. He watches her like a hawk, although at this point Rumpelstiltskin could not confidently point out who is the prey. "I think I'm ready for the third one." She pauses to take enough air for the next phrase. "I want you… not to stop at kisses only."
It catches him off guard but does little to cool his desire.
"You…"
"Yes, I'm ready," she says and despite her intent, Isabelle's voice quavers slightly. "I want to. With you. I've thought about it a lot and… If you don't mind… I mean…" she babbles but before she can finish, he's kissing her again.
Rumpelstiltskin wants to be good, he knows he should say no, but the smell of her is intoxicating and she's so soft and sweet and greedy and there's not enough blood in his brain to function properly and find a reason for him not to accept. His instincts tell him he wants her and the heat of her skin under his fingertips tells him she does too and his rationalizing part can piss off.
"Room," Isabelle manages to say pulling away enough to blurt the word out and he nods in agreement before her mouth captures him again. He doesn't know how they make it to the second floor, gripping on each other and not breaking apart. It's a miracle they manage not to fall or encounter anyone on their way, otherwise the world would miss several curious dwarves. It doesn't even occur to him to use magic and he thinks the time it takes her to fumble with the key and to find the lock with her trembling hands is going to kill him.
His hands sneak around her waist and his lips find the soft spot on her neck just behind her small ear and Isabelle squeaks as his hot moist tongue lavishes the sensitive skin.
"Oh gods," she moans and the heavy key slips from her fingers clicking on the floor but she makes no move to pick it up, leaning back and grabbing onto his hips.
Rumpelstiltskin hisses as he feels her pert buttocks nudge his straining cock and draws her away before he loses his head and begins grinding against her lewdly. He pushed the damn door open with a puff of magic and they stumble in.
As soon as they cross the threshold and shut the door behind them, the awkwardness kicks in. It's real, it's happening but he's unsure whether he should follow along. Rumpelstiltskin hesitates and the girl turns around, her hands sneaking under the shoulders of his cloak and pushing the heavy leather down. He lets her slip it off and watches her drape it over the back of the chair. He shivers when he's left in his thin shirt only, although the air in the room is warm. Belle's eyes, darker in the dim light of kerosene lamp, look up at him seriously.
"You're not going to break your promise, are you?" she asks with concern and the man shakes his head. He gave her no specific promise, and if anything is going to happen between them tonight, it will be by his choice and not dictated by the constraining magic. What stops him is his doubt; he doesn't know if she truly wants him, or he sees what he wants to see; after all, she thinks herself to be a virgin, so despite it being a big step for her, she doesn't quite realize what she's asking for.
Belle misinterprets his silent denial.
"Good. Because… I want to. And I know you do as well," she draws a shaky breath but her eyes do not waver. "You said that I should not rush it, that it had to be my own decision instead of a whim. And it is my choice. I've spent enough time thinking and I do not want to wait anymore."
Her eyes are piercing and Rumpelstiltskin feels like his soul is bared before her. Her words are sweet poison and he silences her with small kisses. They are soft and brief, teasing nips that quickly follow one after the other that distract them both. Isabelle moans as her hunger deepens and she becomes more impatient, wrapping her arms around his neck and stepping backwards to the bed, pulling the man with her.
Rumpelstiltskin lowers her on the mattress, putting his left hand between her shoulder blades to soften the impact. He kisses her unhurried and deep, stroking his tongue first across the smooth inside of her lips and then re-exploring her mouth. He supports his weight on his left knee and elbow, careful not to crush her beneath him, although his darkness screams to pin her to the bed and rut against her until he rids himself of the pulsing tension in his crotch.
He puts his hand on her side, feeling the pleasant warmth seep into his palm through her cotton shirt and slowly strokes in down, resting it on the protruding bone of her hip. Isabelle tenses up immediately, and her reaction cools him down more efficiently than a bucket of water would. He springs up, muttering apologies and ready to flee, cursing his stupidity for letting himself believe she wanted him like that. Her fingers close around his wrist and she pulls him down on the bed insistently.
"I'd better go," he says, his voice dead as he studies the laces of his boots. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have forced myself on you."
"You did nothing wrong! I just… I don't really know what I am supposed to do," she looks miserable and her teeth nearly break the tender flesh of her pink lip. "I'm afraid to disappoint you." In the poor light he cannot tell if the blush of her cheeks appeared due to the heated kisses or the shame of admitting her insecurities.
"Impossible," he vows and Isabelle smiles. "Here," Rumpelstiltskin suggests, laying back and pulling the girl on top of him. "Do what feels good."
Isabelle nods and experimentally runs her palms over his chest, enjoying the softness of the silk against his coarse skin. She pulls on the lace at the neck of his shirt, tugging it loose. The girl's fingers dance on the edge where the fabric meets his skin and she strokes him just with the fingertips, as if she is afraid a simple touch can hurt him or make him vanish. Her knees are on both sides of the man's body and she's leaning forward slightly to reach him better but she keeps her body off him. Rumpelstiltskin's hands cup her petite waist and this time she doesn't fret when he coaxes her down.
"I don't bite, you know," he says and wiggles his eyebrows with a wolfish smile. "Unless, of course, you ask me to."
Her trilling laughter breaks the last of the uneasiness and embarrassment between them. Isabelle's eyes quickly shoot down to him, glancing at his bulging breeches with a mixture of curiosity and raw passion but she doesn't work up the nerve to touch him there yet. Fair enough, he thinks, they agreed to take things her way so Rumpelstiltskin doesn't rush her, even though being so hard and excited may prove to be unhealthy. In a way, he gets to be her first for the second time, and no matter how long it takes, he knows every second will be worth it.
Her fingers steadily work their way inside his shirt and, refusing to stay restless, he props himself on one elbow and caresses the pad of his thumb across her check. Her flesh is so soft and smooth and it's hard to be patient when he's drunk on her proximity, on her scent and her warm weight on his hips. Isabelle sighs and her eyes flutter at the touch of his rough fingers and her own hands go still just over his heart. He busies himself by pulling the pins out of her hair and when it falls down, he's surprised to see how much shorter it is. Her locks barely reach Isabelle's shoulders and he idly notes how it's longer on the right.
"You cut it," he observes, feeling the sharp tips prickle his hand.
"I did. It was not practical on the road. You don't like it?"
"It's just… different. But beautiful nevertheless," Rumpelstiltskin assures her as his fingers continue the journey down her neck. He watches her skin break into goose bumps as he trails the delicate shape of her collarbones and slides lower between her breasts, following the gold chain he presented her with.
He sits up abruptly, cradling her body between his legs and bending down to capture the top of her breast in his mouth. His breath is hot and moist as his mouth closes around the nipple, his tongue repeatedly rubbing against the hardening point as his hands slide under the hem of her shirt and stroke the silky bare flesh of her back. Isabelle throws her head back and moans, feeling the jolt of sharp pleasure shoot through her body at the contact. Rumpelstiltskin raises his right hand to squeeze and knead the soft flesh of her chest, holding it closer to his greedy mouth.
When he finally pulls away, admiring his handiwork, the shirt is wet with his saliva and nearly transparent, clinging to the creamy skin in the most obscene way. He smirks smugly and blows on the damp fabric, the contrasting feel of cool air against the heated body making her nipple shrivel further.
He is about to do the same to her left breast but Isabelle yanks the shirt off and his eyes meet her flawless curves. Rumpelstiltskin groans and pushes her breasts together, capturing the gem in-between, pressing kisses and nibbling on the soft peaks, alternating between sucking the pebbles of her nipples into his mouth and scraping his teeth across them while her fingers get tangled in his hair pushing his head even closer. She's making the most delicious noises, mewling and twisting in his lap. She cries out when his wicked tongue lavishes the sensitive underside of her breast and he almost disgraces himself without even touching his member. His cock is bent downwards in his trousers uncomfortably and he is certain it's leaking and it will be a waste of magic, trying to clean the stains inside the wear later.
"Off, get it off," Isabelle rasps, twisting her hands in the fabric of his shirt and where he would chuckle and twist at her impatience, he's only too happy to oblige now and the sorcerer discards their clothing. The full skin to skin contact is tantalizing and he needs more, so much more.
Her small fingers close around his aching shaft and he grits his teeth together, a wounded sound still escaping. Her eyes are wide as the girl watches the foreskin cover the head on the upwards pull and expose the wet glistening head when her hand lowers.
Her slowl pace falters when Rumpelstiltskin's fingers reach her core, gasping when he finds the thick moisture there and gently coats her labia with it. She's dripping, so marvelously ready and excited for him. Her rapid breath is in sync with the mad beats of his heart and he wants to bottle this moment, to preserve and re-live it time and again.
Even without being told to, Isabelle kneels on the bed and raises herself over him. The tip of his prick grazes across her core, and both of them gasp. She holds his stare as she begins to push down and his large hands hold her hips to steady the girl and prevent her from hurting herself.
"Oh," she sighs, unable to say anything coherent as the head of his member slides in. She expects the pain, Isabelle has heard that it was inevitable. The slow stretching she feels is unusual instead of piercing. Rumpelstiltskin's hands guide her up and then back down and this time when her body wraps around to accommodate his length, there's a spark of pleasure, intense and brief, making her warm in her lower belly. She wants to do that again.
She holds onto Rumpelstiltskin's shoulders as she rises over him and falls down and he groans. The deep vibrating sounds of enjoyment and her own peculiar sensations drive her body to move, and she's bouncing up and down, down and up, trying to embrace everything she feels but realizing it's an impossible task.
"Belle," he moans, helpless in her arms and his lips find hers once again, and they're rocking in gentle waves, oblivious to the outer world. His arms support her, stroking, touching, caressing her all over and it's perfection, neither of them has ever been so complete.
He's impossibly hot and hard inside of her, and her inner muscles clench around him involuntarily, but when Isabelle hears a strained hiss from the man, she does it again, grinding her hips against him. There is a fine sheen of perspiration on her skin and her legs begin to ache from the movement but she doesn't stop. She feels like her body is building up to something, but she doesn't know what to expect. It's sweet and wonderful and so right, surely they were meant to be this way.
Her mind is foggy and she's floating on the waves of pleasure. The man's fingers dig into her thighs, and he pulls her down, the strokes getting out of the pattern, hard and fast and full of need as he hides his face in the crook of her neck. She's only vaguely aware of his feral groans and a splash of wetness inside and then his fingers touch her there, willing her to break apart and she is lost, her body shaking as she spasms over him, again and again, until she's exhausted.
Rumpelstiltskin holds her but she doesn't open her eyes. Her mind tells her she'd been lowered down to the bed and the covers are being pulled over her damp skin, but it's of little relevance. What matters is the warmth she feels against her side and the calming heartbeat that is the best lullaby imaginable.