Rumpelstiltskin doesn't dare sleep. His mind is blissfully empty and he just lies awake, listening to the girl's soft breathing. She spoons him from behind, curling her body around the man and he can feel every rise and fall of her chest against his back. The bed is luxuriously warm although not so comfortable; the hard wooden planks dig into him through the thin mattress and his arm is getting numb but he doesn't dare move or stretch his limbs less he disturb Isabelle.
He needn't have worried. She stirs in her sleep and her hand begins drawing circles across his chest that are too purposeful to be mistaken for occasional sleep movements. The girl's fingers slide lower, curiously feeling the shape of his ribs and the contrasting softness of his stomach. Rumpelstiltskin remains still, but it gets difficult when her lips press to his shoulder and then suck on his skin. Isabelle sighs as if she finds her own pleasure in touching him and nipping at his skin. He grunts when he feels her teeth sink into his flesh briefly and when her hot tongue licks at the marks, he can swear the sensation shoots right down to his crotch.
"There are still a few hours of my birthday left to enjoy," she whispers.
Rumpelstiltskin turns around, propping himself on an elbow and resting his head on his palm. The girl looks at him mischievously and tugs the sheet down his body, exposing his upper half. Apparently, she is not swamped with regret or embarrassment and he curiously watches her, trying to figure out how far this boldness will go.
His left hand reaches out for her almost of its own accord, grazing the side of her face and admiring the softness of her hair. Rumpelstiltskin runs his nails down her forearms, watching as the familiar white marks appear and immediately fade on her velvety skin. His hand cups her right breast, squeezing and kneading it, flicking his thumb across the nipple. She fidgets under his touch, sliding closer and lifting up her head of a kiss. She stops a heartbeat away from his lips and for a while he intimately shares the same air with her, enjoying the warm caress of her breath until he leans in and brushes his lips across hers. Isabelle sighs again and opens up to him, but the man only nips on her lips until she makes a frustrated groan and grabs his head, pulling him into a bruising kiss. She urges him on top of her without breaking the kiss, moaning when she feels his weight and his semi-hard cock press into her.
Isabelle doesn't fret this time when his hand grabs her hip and slides down to cup her buttock. He gives it anappreciative squeeze before reaching lower to her center. There is slight dampness pooling in there and he grunts as the hot moisture coats his fingers. He strokes her nether lips, feeling them swell under his ministrations and she grinds against him and whimpers into his mouth, making him harden further against her hip.
They come apart for air and the man lets his eyes swipe down her body, past her glistening lips and to her quivering stomach. He shifts, sliding lower until he sits between her legs. Isabelle gasps as he strokes her again, now watching his fingers rub the side of her clit and his left hand on her knee prevents her from closing her legs. He presses his fingers against her entrance, dipping them in but not pressing far. He looks back at her and then sucks the wet fingers clean noisily. She feels a rush of heat and shame burning her as he watches her through hooded eyes, humming and sliding one digit one after another into his mouth.
Rumpelstiltskin's hands close around her ankles, pushing them up until her knees are bent and pressed back to her body. The girl is aware of the wet trail on her skin from where his fingers, tainted with her juices and saliva, touch her. She feels intimately exposed and he looms over her, but instead of being intimidated, she only feels more aroused.
He ducks down, dragging his tongue on the sensitive underside of her thigh and she makes an embarrassingly loud moan. She can feel his lips stretch into a smile against her skin as the sorcerer repeats it, his hot textured tongue moving deliberately slow. Isabelle squirms and it's impossible to keep quiet as the caress echoes in the small of her back, sending thrilling sparks of pleasure down to her toes. He gradually moves closer to the apex of her thighs, the touch turning into feather-light kisses and he pauses just over her core, the warm breath tickling her most private area.
Rumpelstiltskin slides his hands behind her knees, keeping her pinned in place and she jerks when his lips make contact with her clitoris. The sensation is incredibly powerful, even if it's just the tip of his tongue lightly brushing the side of her clit and her nerves are on fire, her perception sharpened as each small stoke makes jolts of white heat pulse through her body. She arches her back, craving more, but he seems intent on driving her insane with sweet little nips and kisses, which are maddeningly enjoyable but not enough. Rumpelstiltskin keeps the slow teasing until her voice grows hoarse and she's positively thrashing on the bed. He finally shows mercy and releases her legs. His thumb circles her entrance, applying enough pressure to feel good but not sliding in. The man closes his lips around her clit and sucks it into his mouth gently, his tongue repeatedly stroking the engorged bud.
Rumpelstiltskin wraps his fist around his cock and gives it a few fast tugs torelieve some of the tension. He can feel a bead of precum forming at the tip and he smears it around the head, growling at his own touch. It's difficult to concentrate on licking her and pacing the twists of his hand, so he just slips lower on the bed, capturing his hard throbbing prick between his stomach and the mattress, allowing his body to grind against it.
It's hard to tell where his mouth is on her or his fingers because it's just too good, and he's touching her everywhere just in the right way. Her lower belly begins to spasm. She's so close, so very close and Isabelle grabs onto his hair not to let him withdraw and he just grunts and sucks on her harder and she cums, crying out as he guides her through the pleasure, the caresses getting lighter as she comes down from the peak and her body begins to feel tender.
He places one last kiss to her mound and then his strong hands flip her body over. He gives her left butt cheek a playful bite before licking his way up from her tailbone to the base of her neck. Isabelle shivers and thrusts up her backside. He takes the invitation and jabs his hips forward, but she's too slick and his blunt tip slides across her entrance. Rumpelstiltskin firmly grasps the base of his member and guides himself in. The penetration is easier this time but her muscles have tightened after the orgasm and he moans, feeling them close around him. He is buried in the welcoming heat of her body within several strokes and pauses, trying to distract himself by kissing the place where her neck meets her shoulder.
His hands slide along her arms and he laces his fingers with hers, holding onto them as he begins to move again, only the lower part of him lifting and falling in a wavelike motion as his super body is draped over Isabelle. She turns her head to the side, keeping her eyes closed and whimpers quietly at each stroke. Her cheeks are flushed and he cannot resist kissing them, trailing up to her cheekbone and along her jaw line. His every touch is filled with a heart-breaking tenderness. She is here, so sweet and soft and wet. It's bliss, being able to caress her, to kiss her, to be joined with her.
The girl moans when he brushes against a particularly sensitive part of her and pushes back, willing him to go faster but he withdraws even slower than before, making her gasp when he thrusts back forcefully, still teasingly slow. He licks the sweat off her skin and she tilts her head back, giving him access to her neck and he nibbles on it, the needy cries she makes working him up better than anyhing.
"Belle," he groans when she purposefully clenches her muscles around him.
She smiles, content that after all this time he calls her by the name she reserved only for the closest people and tightens around him each time he slides out of her.
Rumpelstiltskin braces himself on his outstretched arms, driving his hips into her faster, his lower belly slapping against her butt cheeks obscenely loud and she practically screams, clawing on the sheet. He can feel her spasm around him as she cums around his cock, her inner walls pulsing around him uncontrollably as he fucks her through the orgasm. He grits his teeth to hold back his own pleasure; he is deliciously close, teetering on the edge of blinding pleasure, but he wants to make every last second good for her. Soon her body goes limp, only aftershocks rippling through her.
There is no going back now, he slams into her, his prick becoming even harder as the tension in his body curls up.
"Love you."
He hears the whisper but he doesn't have the time to think on it. His world explodes, the hot pleasure sizzling through him, until he feels drained and his arms shake so badly he fears he might collapse on top of Isabelle. He drops on the bed at her side, letting out a long sigh. The girl mumbles something and moves close to him immediately, capturing his leg between hers and wrapping her arm around his middle.
Rumpelstiltskin's heart keeps racing long after she is asleep. How could it be? He smoothes out her hair, watching her calm, relaxed face. He knows she didn't lie, she believes her own words but he cannot see it happening. His mind is numb for a moment and then he begins searching for an explanation. True Love is the most powerful thing among all and even though their kiss didn't seem to work, it could simply mean that they require more time. What if it takes more than one kiss to take effect? Then, by distancing himself he does only harm, slowing the process and unnecessarily prolonging their misery.
He carefully gets out of bed and clothes himself with magic. Isabelle sighs but doesn't wake up, turning onto her stomach and sliding her hands under the pillow. Her short hair is spiked up and he reaches out to smooth it tentatively.
He must know, for his sake and her own. He must discover what she feels and if there is hope. If it's true, he will return to her side forever and let them both have all the time in the world while their love grows back. If not... his mind stops there and he is grateful, as the mere speculations hold enough poison to make him dizzy.
Rumpelstiltskin reappears in his turret and hastily reaches for a pear-shaped vial. He uncorks it with practiced grace and lowers Isabelle's curly hair inside. He stares at it though the glass for a minute and then shakes it until the hair lies flat in a circle on the bottom. The next step is simple but hard at the same time. His left hand flies to his temple and he rakes his hand through his locks, as if it matters which hair of his own he selects. He pinches a wiry thing between his thumb and index finger, tugging sharply and feeling it break in his hand, but it will do.
He twists the hair, narrowing his eyes at the offending thing. Rumpelstiltskin feels like his life depends on this little dead useless piece which his body grew. His hands are still, despite the adrenaline rushing through his system when he places the vial on the table and bends over it, sliding the hair through the neck of the glass jar.
The Dark One bottling True Love. Quite ironic, if you think about it: To capture the essence of the Charming clan's feelings, he used fairy dust. When he thinks of Belle, he imagines warmth and summer breeze and sunshine and the smell of freshly cut grass, but he doubts the bloody fairy magic will interfere well with his own. He rummages through the shelf, knocking down several jars with less precious ingredients, until his fingers close around the cold angled and slightly dusty surface of the container he was looking for. He went through a lot of trouble to obtain this pinch of dark pixie dust, but he is certain that at least it is compatible with his magic and it's the best use he could positively put it to.
Ensuring that not a grain is spilled, he tilts the bottle and slides the tip of the silver knife in. He brings it over to the jar that contains his and Isabelle's hairs and taps on the base of the blade, watching as the glittery black dust dances in the air before landing inside the vial.
And then he waits.
Isabelle stretches in bed, wrinkling her nose at the clammy stickiness between her thighs and turns onto her back only to discover that the spot next to her is empty. She props herself on her elbow only to be certain that the room is deserted as well. She drops back onto the pillows, blowing a wisp of hair out of her eyes. The girl spends enough time in bed to realize that Rumpelstiltskin, in fact, is gone and will not burst into her room with breakfast or something. And well, why should he? She asked him to grant her a wish and he did. They made no arrangements for further development. Bitterness rises in her throat and disappointment slowly spreads through her.
She stands up, holding the wrinkled sheet to her chest and tiptoes on the cold floor to the mirror. It reflects a pale, sad girl, wild hair sticking up on the right side and completely flat on the left, with large eyes, red and puffy from sleep. No wonder he doesn't want her. Not only has she failed to please him in bed - well, he did seem pleased but only due to his own ministrations than thanks to anything she did - but had he stayed, he would have had to face her looking like this. Debauched, fallen and dishonoured.
Her eyes sting traitorously and her face contorts with an effort to hold back her tears. She shuts them tight and turns away from the looking glass. If she is nothing more than a stupid girl with unrealistic dreams, it's nobody's fault but her own. Isabelle dips her hands into the cool water of the washing bowl and presses them to her face, willing herself to calm down and rubbing away the remains of sleep. She tries to busy herself with small mundane things, to escape the hurt, to stop the inevitable and painful "what now?" from swirling in her mind. She wets a cloth and carefully runs it between her legs. There still is no blood, not even after the second time. The memory of the pleasure is vivid but it only fuels the feeling of emptiness inside her.
Isabelle sobs and bites onto her lip, feeling the single tear slide from the outer corner of her eye and burn down the side of her face. She blinks rapidly and her eyes shift across the room. She spots something on the chair and where a second ago there were tears, now there is a shy smile and a delicate hope blooming in her chest.
On the back of the chair, in all its deep red and brown scaly glory, is Rumpelstiltskin's coat. The girl runs her hand over the coarse leather, following the pattern of ridges. Such a small thing, but it floods her with relief and a promise of more. More meetings, more glances and more touches. She picks the coat up, idly noting that the sheet lands in a bundle on the dirty floor and inhales the scent of dragon hide and smoke that clings to it. Something clinks inside it softly and she tries to reach inside the pocket to see what it was but her fingers meet only thick resisting air. Fine then, she thinks, perhaps not immediately, but one day she will uncover all of its secrets and mysteries. And Rumpelstiltskin's as well.
Her stomach flitters at the familiarity of the mixture of odours and she brings the coat to bed. The girl cannot help stroking her hand over it again, pretending that it is the man she desires lying next to her. She closes her eyes and her worried brain accepts the fantasy (the lie) all too easily as Isabelle drifts back to light sleep.