A/N: Shakespeare, sonnet39
The sun peeked over the horizon, bathing the Prince's chambers in hues of pink and yellow. Adam opened his eyes slowly, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in his arms. Belle. He remembered slowly. Belle had come to him last night, trembling with the cold of some nightmare, though she would not tell him what it was.
He did not blame her. He, too, had dreams. He, too, did not wish to speak of them. What comfort there was here, he mused silently. What warmth and sweet delight.
As Belle began to stir in his arms, he whispered softly in her ear.
O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee?
Belle turned to face him, her eyes blinking open softly.
"Hmm?" she whispered. Adam kissed her lips gently and watched her cheeks blush the delicate pink he loved so much.
"You stayed," he observed.
"I shouldn't have," she answered. "Very improper." She smiled impishly at him, knowing no one would really care. There would be no virginal blood on the sheets. They had not engaged in sex, but merely slept in each other's arms, each taking comfort from the warmth of the other. Adam smoothed her hair from her face and leaned over her, taking care to protect her from feeling his arousal at the nearness of her slender form. There were lines he would not cross with her. Not yet. Their wedding loomed ever nearer and he would cherish her as one ought to cherish a born princess. She might not have wealth or title, but she had all the manner and sweetness of a princess. She had all the goodness of one.
He stroked his fingers through her hair, enraptured by the softness of it. It had always felt soft to him, even when he had been a beast. But now that he was human again, it felt a hundred times softer. On an impulse, he lifted it to his nose and breathed in the honey and jasmine scent of it.
Belle wrinkled her nose and quirked one corner of her lips in a teasing smile.
"Are you smelling me?" She asked incredulously. Adam would have been embarrassed, if he wasn't too busy being enchanted by her beauty.
"Mmmmm," he responded. "You have always smelled so sweet. Like jasmine and honey, sunshine and soap, and something that is just precious and uniquely you." He felt her hands on his chest and all the muscles in his body hardened at the sensation. Her delicate fingers began tracing circles over the muscles of his arms. Adam swallowed the groan that threatened to burst out of him. She felt so good, so right in his arms. He would lay here with her forever if he could.
"Dear Belle," he said softly, unable to keep the desire out of his voice. "I think…" he paused. "The comfort of nighttime is one thing, but mornings I fear could be trouble."
"Trouble," she questioned, her voice full of false innocence, even as she let her fingers trail up his shoulders to his long hair that fell around his face. "Do you want me to leave?"
God no!
"That might be for the best," he agreed. "For now," he quickly added. Belle smiled at him, stroking her fingers through his hair one more time.
"Thank you," she whispered softly, kissing his lips. "For last night, I mean."
"Take my robe," Adam suggested. "The halls are cold in the morning." He held her hand and kissed her fingertips as she left his bed. "I'll see you at breakfast."
Belle smiled gently as she threw on Adam's robe and went to the door. She was almost there when she turned suddenly and without warning ran back to him. Throwing her arms fiercely around his neck, she whispered in his ear.
"I love you!"