The girl doesn't descend for breakfast which comes as no surprise to Rumpelstiltskin. For all he knows, she may have darted out of the castle last evening and could be hundreds of miles away now - her bloody kelpie is bloody fast. Or, perhaps, she's seeking help of some obeah man to remove the hand that touched him. Well, that's a bit dramatic but not entirely impossible.
He has almost convinced himself nothing happened but the memory is too vivid. There is no way in hell he could have imagined that, so he brooded overnight, coming up with two reasonable explanations. Rumpelstiltskin dismisses the first guess - if she was cursed with a lascivious hex, he would have known. She would be more pushy and single-minded, but she speaks clearly and behaves more or less ordinary, except for yesterday.
The second idea is that the girl is insane. In a way, she developed some strange fixation on him, imagining he was her True Love or some prince charming. She is completely delusional and refuses to perceive him for what he is. Well, he could certainly take advantage of that but when she comes to consciousness, the effect of her previous actions will be disastrous.
"Sorry, I overslept."
She flits into the room in her turquoise dress carefree and animated, without any signs of embarrassment or regret. She takes a chair to his right and Rumpelstiltskin clenches his jaw and gives a piercing glance. Her eyes are indeed slightly puffy but not as much as they would be in case she cried herself to sleep or wept this morning.
"You slept well then?" he asks, even though it sounds quite silly.
"Oh yes. Didn't you?" There is a smile lurking in the corner of her mouth but she suppresses the grin.
"Don't you know, dearie? Evil never sleeps," he replies. Suddenly, she blushes as if he implied something indecent and reaches out for him.
"You have… um…" she utters and the girl's fingers stroke the side of his neck, making him wince as the overly tender skin gives an unpleasant throb. "Yeah. I should have been more careful. Sorry."
Rumpelstiltskin grabs a spoon, turning it over to glance at his reflection in the curved polished silver. Although the metal distorts his features, he can see a set of dark circular shapes along the column of his throat, almost as if they were love bites. No, not almost, that's exactly what they are. His stomach flutters as he puts the spoon down on the table carefully.
"No matter, dearie."
Rumpelstiltskin could erase the marks in a heartbeat, of course. The reason he doesn't is strictly because he despises wasting magic. Yes, that's right, no other reason at all.
"You called me Belle yesterday," the girl remarks casually, looking down at her hands.
"I apologize."
"Why?" she raises her eyes and he penetrates them with his gaze, feeling as if he were being pulled in. Another moment and she will reveal her secrets and he'll understand what's going on in that pretty head of hers. "I liked it."
He narrows his eyes, moving in closer but she doesn't flinch and they are practically nose to nose now.
"Why are you doing this?" he snarls through gritted teeth, his hushed voice enunciating the consonants. The words falling from his lips are crude and heavy, aimed precisely at breaking through her imperturbability. "What is in this for you?"
Belle doesn't divert her eyes, but the corners of her mouth droop a little and something in her shifts, bringing forth the sadness and the fatigue that hasn't been there before.
"Do you honestly think like that?" she asks quietly, her voice trembling in a way that sends a pang to his heart. "There is no need to question my every move."
"It all makes no sense," Rumpelstiltskin grumbles, "There must be a reason for everything. You cannot just…"
He trails off and the girl doesn't add anything else. They eat in deafening silence, which makes him feel guilty although he said nothing wrong. She dabs her lips with a napkin when she's finished and thanks him for his company nevertheless. Rumpelstiltskin stands up to escort her to the doors but magics them shut right before she steps over the threshold. She swings around, shooting a quizzical look at the sorcerer but he plants his stretched arms against the wood, pinning her in-between. He looms over her and although their bodies don't touch, her breathing quickens and she makes a small noise of distress. Belle wets her lips and looks at him expectantly. The girl is neither disgusted nor scared; her arms are limp at her sides and she doesn't attempt to struggle or duck to get away. She simply waits for what will come next.
"Nobody makes a fool out of me, dearie," the man drawls menacingly and watches her swallow nervously. "I do hope you know that much."
Isabelle nods and the fingers of his right hand cradle her chin. There is that noise again, as if she choked on her words or tried to suppress a whimper. Maybe she is afraid; perhaps she merely hides it better than others.
"I don't know what game you are playing," Rumpelstiltskin continues, pressing closer until he can feel her rapid breaths on his face. Unable to resist touching her, he moves his hand to her neck, stroking the exposed skin with his fingertips and following the curve of her shoulder with his claws. Belle's eyes flutter closed and he takes advantage of that, hungrily taking in her smooth pale skin and full parted lips. She is beautiful, but more importantly, there is some unruliness about her – the girl stands up to him against all common sense and he's drawn to that strength. Dresses do become her, but while they obscure her legs, they reveal other… temptations in the form of her elegant neck and fragilely bared décolletage. His fingers keep up their languid exploration and when he gets bold enough to slide them over her protruding collarbones, the sound she makes is definitely a sigh - dreamy and far from displeasure.
"But if it is a game, I'd like to get even."
Kissing her is the easiest decision he's made; her soft lips willingly surrender under his insistent mouth. She moans – really moans this time as he nearly knocks the wind out of her, pushing his lean hard body against hers. Belle's arms lock around his back, pulling him closer and gripping the fabric of his vest for support. She is wondrously responsive – hot, inviting and needy, letting him take the lead even when her hands hold him in place quite forcefully.
They break apart and Rumpelstiltskin pushes his knee between her legs, cursing as her skirts get in the way. He fumbles with them, grasping and wrinkling the fabric as he pulls them up, catching a glimpse of her naked thigh before her hips close around his leg and the skirts fall back down.
She stands on her toes and her lips capture his in another kiss, her tongue seeking entry and brushing against his own in a way that makes heat coil in his lower abdomen. The man groans as she begins to rock on his thigh, the pressure and the friction of the leather against her underwear making the girl writhe and gasp with pleasure. He drinks those moans and whimpers, dropping his hand to her side and feeling her heart beating madly against her ribs.
The sorcerer lets his hands stroke her dress, wishing that the damned thing wasn't in his way. Rumpelstiltskin follows the curve of her right breast before cupping it in his large palm, raising and squeezing it. She mewls and jerks her hips forward, grinding against him harder. He opens his eyes and the sight of her, flushed, excited and plastered against him fills him with a mixture of pride and dark possessiveness. His cock is bent downwards, restrained by his tight breeches most uncomfortably and he quickly re-adjusts himself, giving it a firm squeeze to take some of the pressure off but otherwise not paying any mind to it; after all, he desired to get even.
He lets her ride his hip, smirking at her impatience. Rumpelstiltskin follows the contour of her moist bottom lip with his thumb, groaning as her tongue flicks at it. She looks positively sinful and he kisses her again, hard and not a bit gentle, nibbling on her lips and snarling when her teeth tease his. He idly thinks how quickly he adjusted to the change and how natural it feels to be with her. His castle has always been so quiet, but now it's filled with his own panting breaths, mixed with her moans, the rustle of her gown as she moves against him and the occasional creak of his boots when he shifts his weight to the other foot.
Her fingers sneak under his shirt, sliding up his naked back and scratching at the skin. She groans in frustration as his vest prevents her from going any further and he quickly unclasps it. Suddenly, Rumpelstiltskin wants to touch her too, to feel her bare heated flesh against his hand. He doesn't waste time on taking it slow or teasing her; his fingers slide straight to her crotch, pressing his palm flat against her center. She is wetter than he anticipated, her slick moisture seeps through the fabric and coats his fingers. The girl grips his shoulders, her nails digging into him, as Rumpelstiltskin's hand traces the outline of her labia with just the thin underwear between his fingers and her flesh.
He strokes her slowly, gradually working towards the side where her underclothes meet her thigh. The contrast between the slightly rough cotton and her smooth skin is quite mesmerizing but she squirms impatiently and he shows some mercy. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, yanking it as far down as it can go before returning his hand to her core.
She is exquisitely soft and delicate as he parts her folds carefully, pressing the tip of his middle finger against her opening. Belle bites her lip and he hesitates, wondering if she could be a maiden; she doesn't encourage him nor does she protest. He moves his fingers higher, finding the swollen nub of her clit and circling it with his thumb. He loves how vocal she is about her enjoyment and does it again, altering between firmer and lighter strokes, increasing the pace or slowing down, until he can see a film of sweat breaking on her brow and her hips begin to move of their own accord.
He spreads his fingers, catching her clit between the index and the middle finger and Belle's hand grips his wrist, holding him in place. He sets a steady rhythm, gliding his hand up and down, pinching the sensitive bead purposefully until he can feel that she's getting close. She tenses up and cries out, shaking as the orgasm rocks through her body and Rumpelstiltskin's hand stops moving only when she grows limp against him. Belle gives him a kiss, light and tender and almost… loving, except that he knows it's gratitude for the release. He straightens them up, catching her hand before the girl manages to touch him in return.
"Not now," he whispers, placing a soft kiss to her inner wrist and releasing it from the circle of his fingers.
Belle frowns but doesn't argue and they fall silent. Now he understands why she ran off last night; what do you say to someone you have just touched so intimately but who still is a stranger to you?
"Can I go into your library again? I want to return the book."
Rumpelstiltskin blinks at her, raising his eyebrows in half-doubt.
"There is no way you have finished the last book."
"It's barely over 300 pages, of course I have read it."
"Fine. Whatever it takes to prevent you from getting into trouble someplace else around here."
"Now that you mention it… I wanted to ask if I was permitted to visit the greenhouse."
"No," his answer is quick and harsh, which takes her by surprise.
"But I thought…"
"I said no and this is final. Don't make me ward it against you," Rumpelstiltskin scowls and she gives up.
"See you later then," she offers and he steps back, letting her out of the room.
He does see her at lunch and during dinner, but she's engrossed in her thoughts and pays little attention to him. Belle doesn't stay in the great room after she finishes eating and retires to bed early, bidding him good night absent-mindedly.
She forgets about the kiss or avoids it and Rumpelstiltskin doesn't bother to remind her; after all, the deal was for her to kiss him. Still, it was a nice evening ritual, he muses, and the one he was suddenly looking forward to. Perhaps, she's just upset because he didn't allow her to the greenhouse.
He sits back in a large chair in front of the fireplace, summoning a random book from the library, which remains in his lap unopened accompanied by cup of tea. It's funny how he's both alone and not; simply knowing that someone else is in the castle makes temporary solitude comfortable and silence pleasant. He spends several hours just… relaxing. There is no urgent business or deals that require immediate interference.
The corner of his mouth tugs up when he hears a knock and the sound of her slippers on the floor, muffled by the thick carpet. Belle stops behind his chair and he has to crane his neck to see her; the light from the fireplace casts a warm glow on her face that makes her appear almost otherworldly. Rumpelstiltskin frowns at her choice of attire– although the creamy nightgown covers her down to the girl's ankles, it's quite thin and almost transparent. Almost, because he quickly diverts his eyes before he actually makes out the curves of her body.
"I cannot sleep," Isabelle complains, shifting from foot to foot. "May I sit here with you?"
The man nods and she takes the other chair, tucking her legs beneath herself. She is strangely comfortable in his presence in that state of undress, and rather than glancing at her bodice and getting caught, he transfixes his eyes on the lacy trim of the sleeve that covers her wrist and watches her fondle the material with the fingers of her other hand.
"I suppose I could offer you something. Sleeping draught? A glass of warm milk with honey?"
"Or a conversation," Belle prompts and he chuckles.
"You think I could bore you to sleep, dearie? Fair enough," the girl sniggers in return but doesn't try to prove him wrong. "So, what is it that keeps you up so late? Lovesickness, is it?"
It was a simple joke, of course, but she takes a sharp breath and he knows he's right. It feels like someone dealt a blow to his stomach, the impact bursting something very important and vital inside.
"Ah," he drawls insinuatingly, "do go on. Who is he?"
"It's… it's a long story," she protests weakly, but he holds his hands up, gesturing to the space around them.
"We've got all night and the whole day, dearie. No story can take longer to be told," he pauses; of course, the girl doesn't speak and he continues deceptively softly. "Unless the long story implied it was none of my business, is that right?"
"It is," she replies quietly just to twist the knife in the wound.
"Oh I underestimated you, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin cannot help the rage burning his insides like acid but instead of shouting his voice is low and honeyed, tinted with dark amusement. "You are just rotten to the core. Is that your idea of sick revenge?"
"No, it's…"
"You have picked the worst accomplice imaginable. Truly, who could be more despicable to give yourself to, than the Dark One?"
"Please…"
"Please what, dearie?" he snaps, watching her slide from the chair and crouch at his feet.
"Please don't turn it into something as… abominable as that," he jerks his hand away before she can touch him.
"What's the matter? You don't like to hear the truth?" he snarls and she winces. "Did you think I would be delighted to learn that I was merely a string puppet in this scheme? Should I drop on my knees and laud that you bestowed me your affections?" Rumpelstiltskin digs his claws into the armrests, bending over, so he can look directly at her. "Who do you see when you look at me? What am I in all of this?"
He closes his eyes, slumping against the back of the chair. If history does indeed repeat itself; he's known it for years but no matter how many times he has been used and betrayed, he still… what? Hopes and dreams? He doesn't, but he's tired, so tired of this world's filth.
"Come here."
The girl pulls him down onto the floor and he lets her. He feels numb and hardly cares for what kind of excuse she will come up with. Belle pulls him into a hug, cradling his head against her chest and gently petting his hair as she slowly rocks back and forth, soothing him. She runs her fingers through his curls, separating and untangling them as he listens to her heartbeat, his head rising and falling with each intake and exhale she makes.
"I…" her voice is thick and she clears her throat nervously, before she attempts to speak again. "Despite what you may believe, there is no deception scheme or ingenious plan to trick you. It must look so bad to you now, but… I wish I were better with words, I wish I could just explain it all," she groans with frustration, cupping his face and bringing it to her eye-level. He can see nothing but her dilated pupils, the all-consuming darkness that yet is different from his own.
"What do I see when I look at you? The world. You are my world, everything I ever wanted and cared about. And if you believed it too, we could be so happy together."
Belle's lips brush his carefully and she sighs when he doesn't indicate any interest in kissing her.
"I will not betray you. I will always be there, you are not alone."
Rumpelstiltskin offers no reply but she didn't expect one.
"Do you want to come to bed?"
He shakes his head and they sit on the floor, curled around each other. The man is still unsure what to think about it; he knows she's not lying but it doesn't make her beliefs true. He cannot trace it to the exact moment where it becomes more than a comforting touch. He reaches out to her because he doesn't want to ponder on what she said and one lazy kiss leads to another, more insistent, where it's her turn to melt against him. Rumpelstiltskin's hands wrap around her, she's so small he could cover both of her shoulder blades if he spread his fingers wide enough.
She leans back, pulling him on top of her, until he's wrapped in her arms and legs and her scent engulfs him. It's a bad idea, and probably a worse place for its realization, but he doesn't find the power to withdraw. He can feel her deliciously soft and supple skin even through the nightgown and he would be content just with that, but the girl tugs on his clothing and he snaps his fingers, vanishing them.
Belle sighs when his naked body, covered in rough scales, grazes against her sensitive nipples, but she pulls him closer, guiding him to her neck. He grinds against her, the moisture of her excitement easing the friction, as he kisses her neck, drawing unspoken words of devotion and gratitude on her skin with his hot tongue. He tries to move lower, but she tugs on his hair, bringing him back up.
Rumpelstiltskin looks at her, opening his mouth to say something but she silences him, putting a finger to his parted lips. Whatever he wanted to ask – whether she was sure, if he was her first or convince her they shouldn't do it – is irrelevant; Belle doesn't want him to break the spell of this understanding, where the only sound they need is the hushed whisper of breaths they share.
She reaches down, guiding him to her opening, pushing her hips upwards and he presses forward. They do not break eye contact as he slides in; Rumpelstiltskin's features are contorted with something akin to pain as he sheathes himself in her tight silky heat. He moves very slowly and she moans at the seemingly endless feeling of being stretched, being gradually filled. The sensation is so sweet that it's almost too much, but she doesn't divert her eyes even as the pleasure makes her toes curl. He takes her unhurriedly, bending to give her a kiss every now and then, moving his hips in even, languid strokes, even when her back arches and her hips thrust upwards, demanding to increase the pace.
Belle's hands stroke his upper arms, tracing the shape of wiry muscles, sliding down his slick back – she wants to touch him everywhere at the same time, to be even closer. He grits his teeth as she tightens around him, her pleasure approaching slowly but inevitably and jabs his pelvis forward with more force, increasing the pressure on her clitoris. She can feel it – the low pulsing in her belly and clings to him harder, moaning as the heat coils and tightens around her until it engulfs her, swiping through her body in a whirl of white dizzy stars, all of which practically turns every bone in her body to rubber.
Rumpelstiltskin holds back until it subsidies and then he's slamming his hips against her, driving himself deep once, twice until he groans and shakes, lowering himself into her embrace when it's over. She runs her hands through his damp hair as the aftershocks pass through his body. She's sweaty and her back is achy from being on the hard floor, but she absolutely has no desire to move.
"Rumpelstiltskin," she whispers, uncertain if the man fell asleep after they spent so much time in peaceful silence. "Why did you forbid me to go inside the greenhouse? What's there?"
He stirs, rolling to the side and putting his head on her shoulder.
"Nothing spectacular, just flowers," he mumbles but it's only a half-answer.
"Then why?"
"Because, I think, it belonged to someone dear to me. And because I've preserved it in the exact state as I found it."
"What do you mean, you think it belonged to someone?"
"I cannot recall who it was," he sighs, propping himself on his elbow. "Every time I try to remember, it escapes me. But it feels important, so I keep it intact."
Rumpelstiltskin doesn't understand why she begins crying as she crushed him in a hug, squeezing him so hard he has to pry her hands off him gently lest she hurts herself. She quickly wipes her cheeks and he pretends not to notice, and when she suggests going to bed, it sounds like a sensible thing to do, despite the fact that the first light of dawn begins creeping into the room.
Having someone in bed is strange. Having that someone clinging to you for dear life is even more so. Despite his bed being large enough to accommodate at least four people without them having to touch each other, the girl prefers his shoulder to the pillow and tangles her legs around his thigh, holding onto his side with her left arm. He should have thought it through and clothed them both. Sure, she makes an adorable limpet but her small body is unexpectedly hot and her short hair manages to miraculously get all over the place, especially where it concerns his mouth and eyes. Rumpelstiltskin tries to inch away several times but she makes a sleepy groan of protest and assumes the previous position. After several futile attempts and moderately strong pokes in the ribs he sighs and just lets her sleep as she wants, not attempting another escape even as his shoulder gets numb under the weight of her head.
Despite the inconvenience he doesn't feel as irritated as he expected; in fact, it's something he could quickly get used to. This thought worries him, because there will be no such thing. He won't get used to anything, it's a temporary… lapse of his routine and the shift back to his previous existence is imminent.