#anyway I’ve met 1 mean pit in my life and the owner was a real piece of work | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

francoeurs · 7 years ago

Text

Travelling Light

AO3 link · . · . ·

Rating: M | Explicit.

Words: 12,700.

Status: Complete.

Warnings/Content: Explicit sex. Sexual harassment from random jerkass #7. One slur. Canon-typical violence. Angst. Fluff. Enchanted forest. Imp Rumple. Rumbelle on an adventure. (More info in AO3 tags)

Summary: After her adventure with the Yaoguai, Belle finds her way to an inn for a well-earned pint and a good night of sleep, only to come face to face with the person she’s trying to forget.

{Canon up to the FTL flashbacks in 2x11, except Regina doesn’t kidnap Belle and Belle doesn’t decide to go back to the Dark Castle. She’s still incredibly hurt and angry.}

— • —

Thirty-four.

That's how many seconds tick by before one of them cracks and says something. Belle knows; she’s the one who counts and cracks.

Rumplestiltskin sits opposite her, hands folded on the table. He hasn’t met her eyes yet, instead keeping his gaze firmly between her nose and her left ear.

He didn’t appear in a showy puff of smoke; he merely emerged from the small crowd gathered in the inn, with tight shoulders and a lowered head, and sat at her table without waiting for an invitation. One moment she was sitting alone, half dozing in her chair and nursing a pint of mead, and the next instant she was staring at the source of her heartache right in the face.

Belle feels like fists have closed around her heart and throat, but she fights hard to keep her expression deceptively composed. With slow and deliberate movements, she lowers her tankard to the table and wipes her mouth with her thumb, studying Rumplestiltskin’s appearance. He’s wearing one of his plainer cloaks, its hood drawn over his head, but she can still make out his shadowed features and the limp, greasy hair that frames his face. It’s hard to tell in the warm lighting of the tavern, but his skin seems to have more grey undertones than it normally does. The ashen pallor underlying his skin gives him a sickly look.

He looks unkempt and absolutely miserable.

“You look terrible,” Belle blurts out.

A humourless smile twists his lips as his attention turns to a small beetle that is slowly crawling its way towards his forearm. “Don’t I always?”

Belle fights back a sigh of frustration, determined to keep her cool mask of indifference intact. “You know that’s not what I meant.” She pauses. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

So much for indifference, she thinks without any real heat.

Silence stretches around them, and then her eyes fall to the beetle. “Someone you know?” she asks, unable to stop herself.

Rumplestiltskin flicks the insect off the table and finally meets her eyes. It hits her like a kick in the stomach. “Perhaps. It’s hard to keep track.” His voice is low, unusually so. Subdued.

It’s also streaked with fatigue, Belle notes. She can relate. With a huff, she sags into her seat and takes two long sips of mead, fighting the urge to drain the whole jug.

One of Rumplestiltskin’s hands twitches, his dark fingernails scraping against the table as his gaze focuses on her... hair? Forehead?

“You’re hurt.”

Belle brings a hand to her face. Ah. A tender bruise has bloomed on her right temple. She hasn’t seen it yet, but she can definitely feel it now that she’s poked at it.

“I fought a Yaoguai tonight.” A barely-there smile quirks her lips at the memory.

Rumplestiltskin’s reaction is instantaneous. His body jerks straight up as if lighting has struck it. He gapes at her, a scowl etched on his too-thin face. “You… Belle, what—”

“It was technically a prince.” Belle shrugs, unperturbed.

His hood has fallen back slightly, revealing more of his face to her and those around them. Belle hears a strangled cry and a dull thump from somewhere to their right, but she pays it no mind.

“It all worked out in the end,” Belle continues with a note of finality, not in the mood to go into details or explain her actions to him. “Why are you here, Rumplestiltskin?”

The abrupt question knocks the wind out of his sails. His body seems to shrink right in front of her and his intent stare wavers. His tongue darts out quickly, wetting his bottom lip.

“I... may have overreacted when—” He grimaces, looks down. “The last time we saw each other.”

Belle’s temper flares. “You think?”

He raises his head, a little bit of fire back in his eyes. “But you... you don’t know, you don’t understand what y— what you almost cos—”

“Don’t give me your speech about power again. We both know that’s not the real issue.”

He looks at her with a blank stare, his throat working. “Quite right,” he says, the words stilted and bitter.

Rumplestiltskin is silent for a moment, his large, unworldly eyes assessing Belle like he’s trying to see inside what’s left of her heart. “What do you want, Belle? Do you want me to leave? I will, if that is what you wish. Just say the words, and I’ll never bother you again.” His voice is sad and quiet, but firm, and Belle knows he means every word.

She swallows against the lump in her throat, and suddenly, all she wants is to run to her rented room, burrow into bed, and stay there for a whole month. She’s bone-tired and tipsy and heart-sore, and she can’t handle any of this right now.

“I want to go to sleep, that’s what I want.” She says with a traitorous catch in her voice. The mead has made her careless. “You... you can do whatever you want, as always.” There is no denying the hurt that flashes in his eyes, but Belle pretends not to see it and pushes herself out of her chair, swiftly walking away before she can break down in front of him.

Halfway up the stairs that lead to her room, Belle shrinks against the wall, arms wrapped around her chest protectively as a sob rips from her throat. She covers her mouth with one hand and clenches her eyes shut, hurt, anger, and confusion roiling inside her. Hot tears squeeze through her eyelids and roll down her cheeks and neck as she weeps quietly.

She doesn't sleep that night.

—

Day 1

He’s still slouching at the table when she drags herself downstairs the following morning. Belle wonders if he ever left at all. She can’t imagine there is an inn owner alive who would have the courage to kick the Dark One out of their establishment, paying customer or not.

Their eyes meet across the room and Rumplestiltskin immediately straightens up, watching her with an expression both wary and hopeful. She sees her own exhaustion reflected on his face.

With a small sigh, Belle gives an almost imperceptible nod and slings her bag over her shoulder. She walks right out the door and into the cool morning air without a backward glance.

Rumplestiltskin meekly follows her out.

— • —

“No.” Belle repeats for the third time from her position on the forest floor, her voice shaking from the cold seeping into her body. A faint drizzle came and went all afternoon, and now the frigid night air is heavy with humidity that clings to her skin, making it unpleasantly sticky and clammy under her clothes. She’s freezing and dead tired and all she wants is to lose consciousness for at least ten hours.

Cold-stiff leather creaks as she extends her arms and strikes flint and steel again, harder than necessary, her aggravation getting the better of her.

Rumplestiltskin paces agitatedly around her like a nervous dog. His hair is even wilder than usual; more frizz than curl and wave. It makes him look all the more agitated.

“You’re being stubborn. You’ve been doing this for at least a half hour, Belle. You’re freezing. Let me light the fire, it will only take a second.” This is the most he’s said all day.

Belle glares up at him, properly annoyed now.

Correction: she attempts to glare at him. The hood of her linen shirt droops down in front of her eyes, and she pushes it back a bit with a quiet growl. “No. I told you, I won’t let you ruin this with magic. You wanted to come along, fine, but we’re doing this my way. If you’re not satisfied with that, you can leave.”

He stops his pacing and stares blandly at the sad-looking fire pit she hurriedly dug with a branch and circled with stones. “How did you defeat that Yaoguai?” He asks, almost too low for her to hear.

Belle narrows her eyes and sits back on her heels, letting the flint and steel fall to the ground. “I didn’t tell you.” She snaps. “That was different, anyway. It was a life or death situation.” He flinches visibly at that, but she goes on without missing a beat, “this is for myself. I’ve never been on an adventure without having a clear and urgent goal in mind. I want to experience this the right way. You can do what you want for yourself, but no magic to make things easier or more comfortable for me. It would feel like cheating.”

Rumplestiltskin huffs a breath but gives her a reluctant nod. Not two seconds later, he moves closer to her and deftly unclasps his cloak. Belle watches him through her lashes and can’t help but notice that he’s wearing the same clothes he had on the night he threw her out of his home.

He bends down and drapes his cloak around her shoulders, glaring half-heartedly down at her. Daring her to protest. He offered her his cloak numerous times that evening, but she stubbornly declined every offer, angry at herself for forgetting to pack hers.

In her defence, she was in a bit of a hurry when she left her last residence.

Belle wraps his cloak tighter around herself and mutters her thanks.

Rumplestiltskin crouches down and grabs a handful of the tinder she’s gathered over the course of the day. His brow wrinkles in thought. “This tinder is slightly damp.” He looks up at the night sky. “It might rain again tonight. This won’t work, Belle.”

Belle blows on her hands to warm them and glares at the ground.

Rumplestiltskin glances dubiously at the trees surrounding them. “I could go look for some dry tinder or twigs...?” he offers.

Belle deflates, overcome by a numb sense of failure. “No, don’t bother. We’re practically breathing water at this point, and I’m exhausted. These trees aren’t large enough to protect a fire from the rain, anyway.” She wipes her damp forehead with the back of her hand. What she'd give for a warm bath right now. Sweaty and cold is not a pleasant combination.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to light—”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She knows she’s being stubborn, but she’s committed to this. She won’t give up after one night. She refuses to be that pathetic.

Belle gives Rumplestiltskin a side glance and bites her inner cheek, a very, very bad idea forming in her half-frozen head.

She stands up and brushes bits of grass and dirt from her leggings before putting her gloves back on and pointing behind him. “We can settle under that tree over there. It’s somewhat larger than the others.”

He helps her gather her things and get comfortable at the bottom of the tree. Belle sits against it, pulling her light blanket out of her bag and wrapping it around herself, making sure her legs are covered.

Rumplestiltskin shifts on his feet next to her, his gaze sweeping across the shadows of the forest undergrowth, as if inventorying their surroundings.

“I’m still cold,” Belle grumbles. Bad, bad idea. She extends a hand towards him. “Come here.”

When he’s close enough, she clutches the sleeve of his shirt in her fist and pulls him down to her slowly, giving him time to protest. He doesn’t.

She lifts the blanket and he joins her under it, his body stiff and unwieldly. He lifts his arm hesitantly. Belle slides under it and rests her head on him, her arms folded over her chest and her hands stuck under her armpits.

“Thank you,” she says, a little grudgingly.

There’s a long beat of silence.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she adds through a yawn, two days of running around, fighting magical beasts, and sleep deprivation finally catching up with her. “I’m still angry. I just don’t want to freeze in my sleep. Your body temperature has always been on the warm side.” She allows herself to relax slightly against him. Already, she can feel his heat seeping through his brocade vest, warming her ribs and cheek.

She still feels cold.

“Of course.” He adjusts both the blanket and his cloak around her. “Whatever you need.” His fingers brush her hair from her temple, and she supresses a shiver. "You won't let me heal you either, I presume?”

“I’m fine,” she says, and it feels like a lie.

He falls silent again. Belle lets her eyes slip close. She breathes deeply, trying to relax her muscles and let the sounds of the forest drown out her thoughts.

She’s just on the verge of sleep when she hears it:

“I’m sorry, Belle.” His voice is thin, his words muffled by her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Her troubled eyes slide open and stare out into the dark.

Later, when she finally succumbs to sleep, she dreams of rose thorns and shattered teacups.

—

Day 10

Spring has officially arrived, and the nights are already a fair bit warmer, which is a welcome relief.

It’s been over a week since Rumplestiltskin found her and joined her on her travels. Things have been... awkward. They don’t talk much.

She always asks him a question or two about the villages or whatever other places they visit, and he always answers dutifully. He points out souvenirs and trinkets to her at marketplaces, and she occasionally buys one of them with the coins she, suspiciously, never seems to run out of.

Every so often, he briefly but intensely fusses over her, making sure she’s feeling well and is comfortable.

(Sometimes, he touches her shoulder or elbow, unprompted, as if to reassure himself that she's real. Belle never comments on it.)

The long silences in-between are excruciatingly uncomfortable. It didn’t used to be like this. They used to be able to stay in the same room for hours, her reading, him spinning, and feel perfectly at ease. Those days are long gone.

The deep barking of a dog cuts through Belle’s thoughts, jolting her attention back to the present. A headshake later, her eyes refocus on the mismatched items of clothing that are spread out on the rickety table in front of her.

The warmer weather means she’ll need lighter clothes in a few weeks, if not sooner. So far she’s only managed to find a couple of ruffled shirts that look both pretty and practical, thin leggings, and a matching, caramel-coloured jacket and vest for chillier days.

Rumplestiltskin is waiting patiently for her to finish. He’s within shouting distance, leaning on a wooden railing and glaring at any unfortunate soul who dares make eye contact with him as they walk by.

He looks healthier now. His hair is fluffier, cleaner, and his skin is not as ashy as it was a week ago.

Belle turns her attention back to the clothes, and something catches her eye straight away.

Short — short — trousers are half lying under a plain brown tunic and a pair of red bedlah pants. Belle pulls them out and holds them up in front of her, her brow creased thoughtfully. They’re made of soft, dark brown leather. They seem to be of good quality.

And yes, they are very, very short. Belle has worn a few knee-length skirts before, but never anything like this. She... likes them. She likes them a lot.

Still considering them, she turns and bumps into a man standing directly behind her.

She lets out a little cry and stumbles back a bit, heat flaring in her cheeks. “Oh! I’m sorry,” she says with a short, embarrassed laugh.

The man grins and shrugs, unruffled. “No harm done, my lady.”

He’s not very tall. Fair skinned. No more than ten years her senior. He’s dressed in fine, black and indigo clothing and clearly isn't from this small village in the middle of nowhere. Dark brown hair curls around his ears and frames his delicate, chiselled features and clean shaven jaw.

He’s undeniably handsome, but there’s something unsettling in the way his intent, pale grey eyes probe hers, and Belle has to look away.

“I’m Geoffrey.”

She hesitates. “Belle.”

“What an appropriate name.”

She offers him a tight smile, despite her growing discomfort. “Thank you,” she says, out of politeness rather than sincerity. She throws a quick glance in Rumplestiltskin’s direction. He’s staring up at the sky, surreptitiously scratching the chin of an enormous beast of a dog that has trotted up to him and sat down, tongue lolling. Its fluffy tail wags furiously on the ground.

Belle clears her throat and casually turns her back to Geoffrey. Her gaze sweeps across the displays of clothes as she tries her best to look busy, hoping he’ll take the hint and bid her a good day.

No such luck.

He points at the eccentric trousers in her hand. “Are you going to wear those?” he asks. He whistles low and long and leans his hip against the table. “Bit small, aren’t they?”

She bristles at that. “And this concerns you because...?”

He raises his hands in a placating gesture. “It was not a complaint. You certainly have the body to wear those wicked little things.” With distressing thoroughness, he makes a point of obviously looking her up and down, his languid gaze moving from the brown curls atop her head all the way down to her boots. He lingers on her cleavage on the way back up. “Sweet little bodies like yours are made for sinning,” he says to her breasts.

Belle looks at him with a blend of anger and disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

He turns his eyes up to hers, lazily. “It’s a compliment.”

“Keep it,” she snaps.

His expression freezes, and she glimpses a flash of anger in his eyes before he seems to take control of himself. He leans forward, his face inches away from hers. “Feisty little whore, aren’t you?” He croons and traces a finger down her neck, down, down...

Belle recoils and slaps his hand away, shaking with barely contained fury. Her tone turns glacial. “I need you to back away from me. Now.”

“And I need a little more than that from you,” he says, flashing an oily grin he probably thinks is charming.

And then he’s choking on air, grasping his throat and stumbling back from her.

“I doubt you’ll be needing much of anything,” comes Rumplestiltskin’s high-pitched, nasally voice from behind Belle. He appears at her side with his hand held out in front of him and lets out a nasty giggle. “Not after I’m done with you,” he promises, his accent curling around each threatening word. His cold, quiet anger is an almost tangible aura around him.

He closes his fist and Geoffrey falls to his knees, red-faced, his face contorted into a tight grimace of pain and panic.

Belle looks nervously around the marketplace. The crowd has fallen silent and people seem to be frozen in time, horror all over their faces. The clothes merchant is still as a statue. His knife is hanging in the air halfway to his mouth, a slice of apple balanced precariously on its blade.

The first sound that breaks the tense silence comes from a small child. His weak whimper quickly turns to sobs and cries as he clings to a man’s — his father’s? — leg. The man tries in vain to quiet him, looking rather alarmed himself.

Belle puts a hand on Rumplestiltskin’s arm.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she whispers urgently. “Stop. Please.”

He keeps his sharp reptilian eyes fixed on Geoffrey, but his features twist with conflict. Belle hears Geoffrey gulp down air, wheezing, as if the invisible restraints around his throat have loosened the tiniest bit.

“Please,” she repeats. “Let him go.”

The crying child lets out a piercing wail, and Rumplestiltskin’s torn eyes flick in the toddler’s direction.

He releases his magical grip on Geoffrey’s throat, and Geoffrey crumples face first to the ground, coughing and gulping in greedy lungfuls of air, dusty dirt flying around his face with each puff of breath that escapes his lips. Rumplestiltskin doesn’t let him recuperate before he grabs his arm and forces him to his feet.

“Leave,” he snarls right in his face, invading his space the same way Geoffrey had invaded Belle’s.

Geoffrey doesn’t need to be told twice. He clumsily but hurriedly stumbles away and disappears into the crowd that has timidly started moving again, though Rumplestiltskin is still receiving wary looks.

He pays them no mind. He turns to regard Belle, and the glint of rage in his eyes is snuffed out, just like that. “Are you all right?”

Belle takes a slow breath to calm herself before answering. “Fine.”

“I know you said no magic to help you on this trip,” he pauses, and his face goes grim, his tone firmer, “but I won’t apologise. Not for this.”

“Right,” Belle forces out.

He gives a stiff nod and visibly relaxes, and then his gaze slides to her hands. He inhales sharply and quickly looks away.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” He asks, voice breaking on the last word.

Belle looks at the piece of clothing she’s still clutching in her white-knuckled fist. She thinks for a moment, and then resolve fills her belly and straightens her spine.

“Yes, I did,” she says before walking over to the shaken-looking merchant with a steady, unfaltering stride.

Hold your chin up and walk tall, the memory of her mother's voice echoes through her mind. To hells with that disgusting pig of a man. To hells with all of them. She’s buying the short, short trousers, and she’ll wear them with confidence and pride because she wants to.

—

Day 17

“Do you love me, Rumplestiltskin?”

Belle wakes him up in the middle of the night to ask him the question. She’s sitting with her knees to her chest, studying him. The light from the fire dances across his face, accentuating the unearthly shimmer of his skin.

“Whu...?” Rumplestiltskin rubs his knuckles into his eyes, still groggy from one of his rare naps. His gaze flies up to hers when he’s alert enough to process her question.

“You— you already know the answer,” he answers hesitantly, voice husky from sleep. He’s fidgeting, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together in a steady, familiar motion. Spin spin spin...

Belle closes her eyes briefly and stretches out a hand to lay it flat on the middle of his chest. “I need to hear you say it.”

He takes a deep breath and lets his gaze drift to the night sky. He blinks a few times, gathering his thoughts while Belle watches him.

“Yes, I...” He begins, but the words die on his lips as he swallows thickly. He pushes up to his elbows and cautiously covers her hand with his. He looks at her with anxious, dilated eyes. “I do love you. I’ve never loved a woman as fiercely as I love you.”

Belle stares back, tears pooling in her eyes. Her heart clenches painfully tight as she lets his words wash over her, then repeats them in her mind like a mantra, over and over. She feels lighter than she has in weeks, but the hurt lingering under her ribs reminds her to keep her walls up; to protect herself.

She takes a shuddering breath and bows her head. One tear falls from her eyelashes and onto the blanket.

“You broke my heart, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. There is no denying his sincerity. His guilt is etched all over his face.

Belle nods. After a moment of hesitance, she pulls her hand from under his and lies down, facing the fire. She scoots back until she can feel his shoulder pressing into her back. No more words are exchanged that night, but for the first time in a while, Belle doesn’t mind the quiet.

—

Day 28

Rumplestiltskin thrusts a bottle at her. “Here.”

Belle rolls up the map she was studying and accepts the bottle. It’s already open. She turns it in her hand and raises an eyebrow at Rumplestiltskin. “Wine?”

“White wine.” He sits down next to her, observing the villagers bustling about the narrow, cobbled street.

“Oh? You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had white wine before.” She sniffs the content of the bottle with interest and finds the aroma quite sweet and pleasant.

“I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s milder than red wine, which I know you’re not too fond of.” He tips his chin in the direction of her bag. “It should go well with those little honey cakes you bought from that perverted baker yesterday.”

That startles a short laugh out of Belle. She covers her mouth with her fingers. “He was not a pervert!” she protests, the words slightly muffled.

Rumplestiltskin scoffs.

“He was at least seventy-five years old!” she rationalises, digging blindly through her bag with one hand.

He gives her an impish smile. “Still a man.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re far too trusting.”

She throws a wrapped cake at his chest and he catches it smoothly before it can hit its mark. Belle huffs and unwraps her own cake. She goes to take a bite, but then stops and goes for the wine instead.

It has a crisp and clean flavour, fruity and sweet, but not overwhelmingly so. She’s never been one for wine, but this could change that.

“Mmm. This is lovely.” She hands Rumplestiltskin the bottle, and he takes a long sip without looking away from her. Belle pulls her legs up on the bench and crosses them. “So, that’s where you disappeared to. I was wondering if you’d finally tired of me.”

He gives her back the bottle. “Unlikely.”

“I thought you might miss that dark, gloomy castle of yours. The constant sunlight and fresh air must make your eyes water after a while.”

“I’ll live,” Rumplestiltskin says dryly.

“Well, good. A few days ago you promised you’d teach me how to sword fight, and you still haven't made good on that,” she says lightly.

He shakes his head with a ghost of a smile, but says nothing. He starts unwrapping his cake with slow, careful movements while Belle takes a bite of hers, savouring the sweet flavour as the sticky honey at the centre coats her tongue. She licks her lips and takes several sips of wine. Her chest and limbs feel delightfully warm and tingly.

“My son used to love these,” Rumplestiltskin says suddenly, low and soft, like he’s talking to himself.

Belle eyes him curiously. He’s cradling the small round dessert in his lap as if he were holding a priceless treasure instead of a ‘ten for one silver’ cake.

“Honey was a luxury, and I could only afford cakes like these once or twice a year during his childhood,” he continues. There is a dreamy quality in his voice that Belle has not heard there before. “He would always react as if I had gifted him the moon. He would run up to me to give me a hug and a kiss, and his tiny face would light up with such joy, love and gratitude... all because of something so plain and small.” He holds the cake up in front of his face, turning it over in his hands contemplatively. “It shattered my heart every time.”

Belle sits there quietly, at a loss for what to say. Rumplestiltskin holds his past close to his heart, his memories tucked possessively under his ribs, where no one can get them. She’s only heard him talk about his previous life once or twice, and he made sure to stay vague, to keep her at a safe distance.

“I’m sorry you lost him,” she says after a time, feeling asinine.

Rumplestiltskin stares directly at her and blinks twice, unseeing, then seems to shake himself. He scratches his neck before clearing his throat and tapping a dark nail to the rolled up map on the bench between them.

“Do you have an idea of where you want to go next? The Hill of Stones? Dwarf mines? Or we could go somewhere more exotic. How do you feel about sand?”

Belle accepts the change of subject with grace. Her smile is small, but genuine. “Sand is fine. Although, I did meet a dwarf recently...”

—

Day 35

Belle takes a deep breath and lets the smells of grass, sun-warmed earth and apples fill her with contentment.

The sun is shining high and hot in the sky. Rumplestiltskin easily agreed to stop for a rest when the heat forced Belle to excuse herself so she could change out of her stifling clothes behind the bushes that border the meadow.

She wets a cloth with water from her gourd and gives herself a quick improvised bath, then slips into her thin leggings before pulling on her tiny, unworn leather trousers with a little wiggle of her hips. She pulls her cream-coloured shirt over her head, careful not to ruin her loosely braided hair.

She indulges in a moment to admire her new clothes. The ruffled shirt is light and airy, and the fabric is pleasantly soft against her skin. The black leggings are so thin they’re almost see-through.

The short trousers don’t fully cover her rump, she realises with somewhat of a shock. Belle feels heat creeping up her neck, but then she smiles.

She feels... good. Comfortable. Pretty.

Strangely powerful.

She puts her boots back on, grabs her things, and runs back to Rumplestiltskin, who is leaning against an apple tree with his hands behind his back.

“I could really go for some apples right now. What about you?” she asks, out of breath. She gives him a small lopsided smile and hangs her washcloth to dry on one of the lowest branches before bending down to stuff her dirty clothes into her bag.

Rumplestiltskin still hasn’t said anything. Belle stands up, a frown tightening her brow when she notices how dazed he looks. “Rumplestiltskin? All you all right? Are you feeling ill?”

He blinks owlishly. “What?”

"I asked if you were all right, and if you want apples?"

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Apples. Yes. Good.” He shakes his head, then squints up at the branches and fruits dangling above their heads. He clears his throat. "You look lovely, by the way."

A blush of pleasure warms her cheeks. She smooths down her shirt and smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The large apple tree they’re standing under is abundant with fruit, but the apples on the sagging, low branches are long gone. Unfortunately, Belle and Rumplestiltskin are well on the short side and the lowest branch that still carries fruit is still many feet above their heads. Belle has a quick look around, but the other trees present the same problem.

Rumplestiltskin’s hand twitches, then curls into a fist. Belle wonders if he just stopped himself from using magic.

“I’ll go get them.”

Belle stops him with a hand on his arm. “No, let me. I think I can do it.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he swallows whatever protest is on the tip of his tongue and goes down on one knee. He holds his hands out in front of him and laces his fingers, wordlessly offering to boost her up. Belle eagerly accepts and wraps her arm around a thick branch when she’s high enough, lifting herself up the rest of the way. She climbs slowly and carefully until she reaches the elusive apples.

She sits in the crook of a branch and looks down at Rumplestiltskin, grinning. He frowns up at her.

“How many do you want?” She calls down.

“...Two?”

“Catch!” She lets two apples fall, one after the other. She drops eight more apples — she wants to save some for the next few days — and Rumplestiltskin catches them all and puts them down next to her bag.

“All right, I’m coming down!”

She’s smoothly making her way down when a smaller branch cracks loudly and breaks under the burden of her weight.

The shock of it makes her lose her grip on the trunk. A strangled cry rips from her throat as she feels herself falling backwards. All she can do is screw her eyes shut and flail her arms as she plummets towards the ground

Her breath rushes out of her in a whoosh when a pair of arms catch her right before her vulnerable back can connect to the ground. She opens her eyes and sees Rumplestiltskin looking down at her with an odd, pinched expression.

Belle unconsciously clutches the high collar of his vest in her trembling hand, wide-eyed

“One of these days, you won’t be there to catch me and I’ll break into a thousand pieces.” she says, forcing the words out past the dryness in her throat.

His eyes search her face for what seems like forever before he averts them, his throat working convulsively. “I surely hope not,” he says. He sets her down and holds on to her until she’s sure on her feet, then takes a step back and clasps his hands behind his back.

Belle blows a piece of hair out of her face and touches her braid, her fingers sliding down the dishevelled plait. She groans. “Now my hair’s a mess.”

Rumplestiltskin shifts his weight to one leg. “I can fix it for you. If you want.”

She gives him a small smile. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

He sits down and Belle settles between his legs and props her elbows on her knees. He immediately starts undoing her braid. Belle reaches for an apple and rubs it on her shirt to make it shine. She closes her eyes when she takes her first bite, humming as she chews.

“These are heavenly, Rumple.” She turns to him, holding the apple close to his face and dabbing the juice from her lips with her thumb. “Here, try it.”

His eyes widen when the old, affectionate nickname easily passes her lips. Belle freezes for a second before schooling her expression and trying to look like she meant to say it. Not a big deal. His full name is a mouthful.

Rumplestiltskin leans forward and bites into the apple.

“Delicious,” he confirms hoarsely, before turning his full attention back to her hair.

Belle feels herself grow almost drowsy under his ministrations. She breathes the clean air deep into her lungs, letting it spread through her entire body, and closes her eyes.

When he eventually pulls his hands away, she comes dangerously close to crying out an incoherent protest.

“All done,” he announces, and Belle tries to convince herself that she doesn’t miss his gentle touch

She puts her hand to her hair, feeling it. He’s done it up in an intricate crown braid, leaving tendrils loose around her face and at the nape of her neck.

“This is much better than what I did with it this morning. Thank you.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugs humbly, but he looks pleased.

Belle could move now. She could go sit next to him, or facing him, or on the other side of the vast meadow. She’s obviously not cold. Now that he’s done helping her with her hair, she has no excuse to stay this close to him. She should move.

But she doesn’t want to.

Acting more brazen than she feels, she leans back against his back and forces her attention back to her apple, biting into it loudly.

Rumplestiltskin stiffens, then gradually relaxes under her and stretches his arm to grab an apple of his own. They eat in silence, admiring the lush, colourful meadow in front of them. This continues long after they’re done eating. They just let themselves exist. They rest, knowing they’ll be moving on soon.

When the sun is close to disappearing behind the distant tree line, Rumplestiltskin shifts behind her.

"I missed you when you were gone," he tells her, and rests his chin on her head. He draws in a slow breath and lets it out.

After a few hours of near trance-like silence, it takes Belle a moment to understand what he’s talking about.

“I was only gone for a week.” Belle says faintly, trying and failing to ignore the all-too-familiar fluttering in her belly. “We’ve been travelling for much longer than that.”

“It felt longer than a week.” He replies with a hint of childish petulance.

She turns in his arms and tugs gently on one of his unruly curls. She watches it bounce back when she releases it. “Hm, you did look a little... rumpled when you found me in that inn.”

Rumplestiltskin stares at her in disbelief. Belle shamelessly flutters her lashes, all innocence. He huffs and drags his gaze away, staring out at the horizon, his mouth curved into a subtle smile.

“I’m completely lost when I don’t have a little bell to remind me to take care of my basic needs.” He says, using his exaggerated high-pitched, sing-song tone of voice.

A delighted laugh bubbles out of Belle. “That sounds dreadful.”

“I've been spoiled, and now I’m useless.” He heaves a mournful sigh.

Her heart swells at the return of his playful side. “I have trouble believing that. You’re the most resourceful man I know. Almost frighteningly so.”

“I’m only human.” He pauses then, his face growing sombre. “Or I was, at least. Once a man...?” he trails off, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Belle frowns. “Yes, you still are. The perpetually chaotic hair, glittering skin and singular eyes don’t fool me. I can see right through them.”

In the pinkish light of the setting sun, Rumplestiltskin's eyes are huge and soft and staggeringly vulnerable. After a few heartbeats, his gaze drifts down to her lips, then back to her eyes, almost too fast for her to see.

Belle stills as she suddenly realises just how close their faces are. All thoughts fly out of her head as she becomes keenly aware of his subtle, masculine scent, the heat he exudes, the length of his body pressed against hers.

She leans in slightly, as if pulled by an invisible force.

Their lips are a breath apart when Belle comes back to her senses and sees Rumplestiltskin’s shocked eyes staring into hers. She almost swallows her tongue as the reality of the situation hits her. She inhales sharply and jumps up like something bit her in the arse.

Rumplestiltskin freezes like a petrified rabbit, watching her every move, as if afraid she’s gonna lash out and attack. Belle squirms under his worried gaze.

“I, ah, I think we can reach the next village before dark, if we hurry.” She stutters out, pointing in a random direction. “We need to get some food, and maybe we could sleep in a real bed for once— beds. Beds. We could sleep in real beds for once. If you’re planning on sleeping at all tonight, of course. D’you reckon we’ll find some of those raspberry pastries you’re so fond of? At the marketplace, I mean? Well, we’ll see, won’t we? We should get going.” She claps her hands together and forces a smile, trying to act like she isn't out of breath and practically vibrating with nervous energy. Everything is fine. Just fine.

Rumplestiltskin is still on the ground, looking up at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. After a beat, he shakes himself out of his stupor and gives a jerky nod, rising to his feet. He brushes grass from his leather breeches and grabs her heavy bag off the ground before she can do it.

The short walk to the village is uncomfortable and tense, with neither saying a word. Belle sneaks glances at him, occasionally catching him doing the same with her.

Her thoughts are a whirlwind of conflicted feelings and self-reflection. She felt so happy today, happier than she has felt in a while, and yet now she feels more unsettled than ever. She feels like she’s missing something, or has forgotten something. Minutes tick by before realisation slithers into her consciousness.

No matter how she tries to call it forth, the quiet, simmering anger she has been carrying with her for over a month is no longer to be found.

—

Day 44

The wind is howling and the rain is hammering down so heavily, you can barely see six feet in front of you.

After running for at least a quarter of an hour, they take shelter in a small, dilapidated barn they come upon. It’s missing large chunks of wall and the roof is full of holes, so it doesn’t protect them fully, but it’s better than any of the small, pitiful trees that can be found around here.

At least the weather is warm. This is their only comfort as they stand there, thoroughly soaked and dripping water onto the dirt and scattered hay at their feet.

“Well,” Belle says, hugging her bag to her chest. “I guess Lake Onondaga will have to wait a little longer.”

His wet hair clinging to the sides of his face, Rumplestiltskin gives her a wry look and drops her second, heavier leather bag to the floor. Because she has two bags now. Stopping by a bookshop while they are travelling on foot may not have been her wisest idea, but her willpower is nowhere near strong enough to resist such a temptation.

Exhausted, they sit down in the driest spot they can find and watch the grey sky and falling rain through the many, many holes in the roof.

“Why did you do it?” Belle asks out of nowhere, when they’ve been sitting there for a while.

Rumplestiltskin tilts his head in silent question

“Throw me out,” she clarifies. The words taste bitter on her tongue.

“I thought you already knew,” he answers flatly.

“I told you why I think you did it, but I want...” she trails off with a thoughtful look at him.

He stares back steadily. “What do you want, Belle?” He asks for the second time in less than two full moons. He suddenly looks ancient.

“I want you to tell me everything.” She doesn't sound as confident as she might have a few weeks earlier.

“A broad topic,” he murmurs.

She sets her jaw. “I just want the truth. I want to understand exactly what happened, what went through your head that night.”

“I was afraid,” he says.

Belle nods. She knows that.

Rumplestiltskin sighs, looking frustrated. At what, Belle can’t say.

“Part of me, an admittedly large part, is afraid of being powerless again. Helpless. Weak.” He spits out the words as though they are anathemas to his very existence. “And you were also right. Part of me was afraid of letting you in and believing that you could lo— that you could care for me. But I also have other, much more important reasons to want to keep this curse. Reasons I couldn’t apologise for without lying through my teeth. Things are more complicated than you know.”

That piques Belle’s interest. She leans forwards without quite realising it. “Tell me?” she breathes.

So he does.

He shares his tale, just as he promised the day he let her go. His life as an ordinary man, his son, his curse, the other curse he’s been working on for years. He tells her everything, or close to it, just as she asked.

The sun has set and the rain has nearly ceased by the time he’s done, and Belle’s heart is heavy and aching behind her breast.

“This curse... I need it. I need it to get to my son. My powers are the only chance I have at finding my boy. My Baelfire. He thinks I let him go, Belle,” he says, anguish in every syllable. His eyes plead with her. “But I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t.”

Belle's stomach drops when she realises what this all means, what she almost cost him the day she decided she would be the one save him from the darkness that had infected him like a disease. She feels deflated and foolish, and horribly guilty.

“Gods,” she whispers, chest heaving with remorse. “I... I’m so, so sorry, Rumple. I, gods, if I had known—”

His face crumples when he sees her stricken expression. “Don’t apologise. Please. You couldn’t have known. You thought you were saving me.” Bitterness creeps into his voice. “You were tricked into it, and I acted unforgivably, and I lost you.”

Belle doesn’t trust her voice not to shake or break, so she simply places a hand on his thigh and squeezes. She still feels awful.

(A niggling voice in the back of her head tries to bring her focus to the new curse, the one he’s been planning for longer than she has been alive, but she tamps it down for now, too overwhelmed to deal with everything at once.)

“I do, you know.” Her quiet admission breaks the silence.

He blinks. “You do what?”

“Forgive you. I have for a while, I think. And you didn't lose me. I’m right here, aren’t I?” She lifts his hand to her cheek, letting him trace the soft outlines of her face.

Tears well up in his eyes, but he doesn’t lower them. They shine wonder and gratefulness even as tears leak from the corners, running unchecked down his face. He smooths his thumb under her eye, and Belle realises she’s crying too.

A little clumsily, she crosses the space between them on her knees and nestles close to him. She tucks her head under his chin and hugs his chest, eyes drifting closed. She can hear his heart thudding beneath her ear.

“Are you cold?” he asks, his arms wrapping around her. He rests his cheek against her hair, rubbing a hand on her back.

Belle melts into him and smiles to herself. “No.”

—

Day 49

It takes them five days to reach Lake Onondaga.

“It’s beautiful,” Belle says in a hushed voice once they are close enough to fully appreciate the dream-like, sparkling shimmer of the water.

Rumplestiltskin’s gaze slides to her. The crow’s feet around his eyes deepen with his smile. “Isn’t it?”

The lake is awe-inspiring in its size and surrounded by hundreds of fragrant pine trees. The moon and stars’ reflections dance prettily on the surface of its dark, calm surface. If she squints, Belle can just make out the outlines of what looks like a bridge and old ruins in the distance.

Everything is still and quiet; no crickets, no owls, no frogs. It’s like this lake exists in its own little bubble, closed off from the rest of the world.

“Are we alone?” Belle asks suddenly.

Rumplestiltskin tilts his head slightly to one side like a bird, as if listening for something. His eyes are a little unfocused.

“Yes?” he offers after a long pause.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He repeats, his eyes narrowed in wary speculation. “Why?”

Belle drops her bag and grins. “I’m going in.”

He goes very still. “Didn’t you bathe only a few hours ago?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“I don’t want to take a bath. I want to swim.” Without warning, she goes to grab the hem of her shirt, and Rumplestiltskin spins on his heels before she can even close her fingers around it. She eyes his back with an amused smile and pulls her shirt over her head.

She quickly takes the rest of her clothes off, letting them crumple around her ankles. With a flick of her wrist, she releases her hair, and it tumbles down her bare back.

Standing completely nude and exposed under the night sky, Belle throws another glance in Rumplestiltskin’s direction. He’s still facing away from her, his back straight as a poker. Belle sucks in her bottom lip and wades slowly into the water.

It’s still pleasantly warm, the sun having set barely a half hour ago.

“Well?” Belle shouts, once she’s submerged to her collarbone.

Rumplestiltskin gives her an apprehensive look over his shoulder. “Well, what?”

She grins widely. “Come swim with me!”

He turns to face her fully, panic written all over his face. “Belle...”

“Please?”

He hesitates, obvious conflict clouding his expression, but then bends down and starts unlacing his boots. He pulls them off and straightens up, then unfastens his vest and lets it fall carelessly to the ground before going to work on his shirt. He’s just about to shrug it off when he abruptly stops and looks at Belle. She can see the nervousness in his eyes.

Trying to appear nonchalant, Belle starts swimming lazily, staying close to the shore and conveniently keeping her back to him. A few moments pass, and then she hears a quiet splash.

Belle turns around and has to bite the inside of her cheeks to contain her laughter when she sees him.

He’s floating in front of her with only his large, doleful ochre eyes peeking out of the water.

“Are you quite all right?” she asks, her voice laced with humour.

He blinks, and then his head emerges fully from the water. “I’m wet,” he complains.

Belle gives him a mock pout and pats his mop of drenched curls. “Poor Rumple,” she coos, watching the rivulets of water run slowly down his face and neck. His wet skin glistens and glitters beautifully in the moonlight, and Belle feels the sudden urge to trail her fingers over his shoulders and collarbone, just to see how it would feel.

Rumplestiltskin makes a harsh sound, sucking in one long, shuddering breath, and she realises with a start that she actually is touching him, her fingers gliding over the lightly pebbled skin of his shoulder, tracing random patterns.

Her gaze flies up to meet his and she snatches her hand back guiltily. He looks back with naked longing, his lips parted.

Belle doesn’t feel like laughing anymore.

Tension fills the air around them. All Belle can hear is their harsh breathing and the sound of their arms slicing through the water. Acutely aware of his scrutiny, every second feels like an eternity to her as she debates with herself over what she should do, what she wants to do.

In the end, there is only one possible answer.

She licks her lips. “Can I kiss you?”

Rumplestiltskin swims closer, a faraway look in his eyes. A slight frown creases his brow as his gaze drops to her lips.

He somehow appears wonderfully eager and completely terrified at the same time. But, at last, he nods his consent.

Belle leans forward, but stops before their lips touch. “Is this safe?”

She knows he understands what she’s asking.

“I believe so,” he murmurs, and that’s enough for her.

Her lips are soft and gentle on his, just as they were the first time. It’s hesitant and chaste, but it’s a kiss, a real one, and it feels like coming home

After a few seconds, she pulls back. They both hold their breath as they wait to see if his curse has been affected.

“Should I be insulted?” Belle asks lightly, trying for levity when his skin remains the same shade of golden-green.

He shakes his head, his mouth curved into a relieved smile, and some of the tension seems to leave his shoulders. “I can’t speak for you, but I can promise you that my own feelings haven't dimmed in the past weeks. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

She smiles back. “Good. I’m glad.”

Hesitantly, Rumplestiltskin reaches out a hand towards her, but lets it fall away just before his fingers can make contact with the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder meet.

“Can I touch you?” His words are breathless and soft.

Belle nods. “Please.”

He runs his fingers over her shoulder, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. His eyes closely follow the path his fingers trace on her skin, a mixture of awe, fascination, and hunger gleaming in their depths.

His hand leisurely continues its journey underwater, his knuckles skimming the sides of her breasts and her ribcage. Belle leans into his touch, wordlessly asking for more.

“What do you want, Belle?” He asks.

There's that question again.

Third time’s the charm.

“You, all of it, I don’t... just don’t stop touching me.” Her fingers delve into his hair and tug, drawing a groan from him. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him, entwining their legs together in the water.

“I love you.” Belle gasps against his cheek when she feels him hard and hot against her lower belly. “I love you. I love you so much.” She half-sobs and tightens her arm around his neck, peppering his face with kisses.

His response comes out as a soft, quiet sound at the back of his throat. He curls one hand around the back of her neck and brings her mouth to his for a heated kiss. Almost immediately, his tongue starts tracing her lips, begging for entrance. It only takes a few licks and nips to convince her to part them and slide her tongue against his.

Rumplestiltskin lets out a long moan and kisses her like a dam has broken inside him. His kiss turns fierce and wanting; months’ worth of repressed desire comes flooding out at once, leaving Belle dizzy and wanting more.

She's imagined kissing him like this before. Of course she has, over and over and over... until she felt like she couldn’t, like she wasn’t allowed anymore. But even then, those traitorous fantasies never stopped lurking in the back of her mind, hazy and unwelcome, taunting her with what she thought she could never have.

Those fantasies, good or bad, all pale in comparison to the real taste and feel of his mouth moving against hers.

Belle whines when Rumplestiltskin breaks the kiss, but then he’s covering her neck and shoulders in quick sucking kisses, his breathing harsh and shallow. One of his hands cups her bottom, feeling her soft curves and pulling her hips closer to his.

Lifting her slightly out of the water, forcing her to loosen her tight hold on his neck, he nuzzles the valley between her breasts and places a chaste kiss there. Belle barely holds back a yelp when his fingers find one of her nipples. He rolls it between his fingertips before bending down and teasing it with a quick flick of his tongue. Belle cries out and arches into his touch, her body pulsing with need and aching for... more.

"Rumple." His name comes out as a quiet gasp when he licks her again. Tingles ripple across her scalp and travel all the way down her spine and between her legs, where they pool like liquid fire.

Rumplestiltskin pulls back and she’s unable to stifle a frustrated noise of protest.

He studies her face, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. She can feel him trembling under her hands.

He leans in and kisses her again, soft and infinitely tender, then slides both hands under her bum and pulls her up in the water. She instinctively wraps her legs around his waist, and they both close their eyes briefly, relishing the new sensation.

“Tell me if anything hurts or feels wrong,” he says firmly, although there is a definite tremor in his voice. “And if you want to stop at any point, we will. You just say the word.”

All Belle can manage is a low hum of acknowledgement, clenching her legs tighter around him.

He carries her out of the water, then carefully kneels down and lays Belle on the soft ground; half on the grass, half on his discarded clothes, and dripping water everywhere. Belle can’t hold back a shiver when a small breeze chills her wet skin.

Suddenly, a warm, tingling sensation washes over her, and then they are both dry. Belle can feel her blanket under her.

She easily recognises the familiar ripple of Rumplestiltskin’s magic, but she’s happy to let him have this one victory.

Rumplestiltskin doesn’t waste any time. He covers her body with his, and Belle sighs and writhes under him as he nibbles his way down her neck, places warm, open-mouthed kisses over the curves of her breasts, licks circles around her nipples. When he sucks one into his mouth, Belle arches her back off the ground, her fingers tightening in his hair.

She feels his pleased groan all the way down to her toes.

He releases her breast and moves further down her body. Belle struggles not to squirm too much under his touch as he presses lingering kisses on the slight curve of her belly, then her inner thighs. His hands slide up her hips, her waist, her ribcage. His thumbs absentmindedly brush the underside of her breasts while his tongue slowly — slowly — traces the soft crease between her thigh and groin. Belle bucks, breath hitching.

Needing an anchor she can’t accidentally hurt, she lets go of his hair and clutches the blanket in both fists. An involuntarily sob escapes her when Rumplestiltskin nips at the skin he just tasted.

His head shoots up. “Should I slow down?”

Belle shakes her head violently. “No. Keep going. Please.” Desperate for his touch and hoping to tempt him, she lets her legs fall open wide, no trace of shyness in her — only need.

He looks down at her, splayed shamelessly before him, and moans brokenly. Before Belle can even register his intent, he buries his face between her legs and licks her open with one smooth, bold sweep of his tongue, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips and holding her still under his demanding mouth.

Belle cries out and lets her head drop on the blanket, her blue eyes wide in astonishment. Oh. Oh.

Rumplestiltskin alternates between dragging his flattened tongue through her folds and circling her swollen bud with the point of his tongue. She tries to squirm, but he holds her still, pressing his face more firmly into her and moving his tongue faster, harder. Just when Belle half-deliriously thinks that she’ll never feel anything better than this, he latches onto her most sensitive place and starts to suck.

Belle squeezes her eyes shut, throws her head back and shrieks. Rumplestiltskin loosens his grip on her hips and she immediately starts grinding against his mouth, her hands covering her face. He sucks in time with her thrusts, and Belle damn near loses her mind. She feels like something inside her is going to snap and break her. Like something hot and tight deep in her belly is about to burst.

“Wait! Stop!”

He immediately pulls back, and Belle pants, struggling to catch her breath. Rumplestiltskin looks as surprised as she feels, stunned by her own outburst.

He searches her expression with anxious eyes, brow knitted and pupils blown.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, his voice is thin and raspy.

His lips and chin glisten in the moonlight.

Belle stares for a moment, her lips parted. “N-no. It was just too much. Too good.” she stutters out, a little embarrassed. “I got overwhelmed. I’m sorry.”

Rumplestiltskin wipes his face with the back of his hand and climbs over her. He bends down and nudges her face upwards with his nose before claiming her mouth in a tender kiss. Belle deepens it without hesitation.

A rush of heat flows through her when she tastes herself on his tongue.

“Don’t apologize. Do you still want this?” He asks after pulling back. He presses a hand over her ribs, his thumb stroking her skin soothingly.

“Definitely.” Her fingers move down his chest and through the sparse trail of hair on his lower abdomen. She pauses, gathering her courage, then wraps her hand around the base of his penis. His... cock.

Rumplestiltskin shudders out a breath, eyes falling closed. He rocks into her fist.

Belle is inexperienced, but she’s not completely naive; she has read all kinds of books in her life, so she has a fairly good idea of what to expect and what to do. Sort of.

She can’t see much in her current position, but she can feel him harden and swell even more in her grip. His skin feels the same down there; lightly pebbled, but still smooth. Belle catches her bottom lip between her teeth and gives him a few experimental strokes. Drops of liquid bead at the tip and drip onto her finger, slicking his skin as she moves her hand.

Rumplestiltskin moans long and low, bucking his hips. She watches his face in fascination as she touches him, and his moans of pleasure suddenly stutter to a stop. He presses his lips tight together, holding back the sounds that are struggling up his throat.

Frowning, Belle stills her hands and lifts her head off the ground. She aims for his lips, but ends up kissing his chin. “No, don’t hold back. I want all of you.”

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flutter open. A strange, unreadable look passes over his face.

He swallows hard, then kisses her, just a soft brush of lips. “I love you.”

Belle smiles and brushes her free hand over his chest. She feels his heart thumping hard against her palm.

"I know,” she says, her throat tight with emotion. “I love you too." The words feel irrationally inadequate.

He smiles back, small but sweet. Happy.

One of his hands makes its way down her body and settles between her legs. His fingers brush over her damp curls, slide over her swollen flesh, every movement deliberate and unhurried. One finger circles her slick entrance.

“All right?” he asks, studying her face.

“Yes,” she breathes.

His finger finds no resistance and slips in easily. Belle rocks gently against his palm, showing him that she’s all right. He presses the heel of his hand harder against her flesh and starts moving his finger, sliding in and out of her to the beat of her body.

Belle feels his shaft twitch in her hand, and she shifts her gaze to look down at what she can see of his neglected cock. She feels a twinge of guilt for being so focused on her own pleasure, and promptly starts stroking him again. Rumplestiltskin moans his appreciation, and Belle shivers as the sound licks its way up her spine.

He carefully adds a second finger, stretching her until she’s writhing under him, her breasts pressed against his chest. Belle moves her hand a little faster, short tight strokes, squeezing on the way down. He makes a noise of approval, and curls his fingers inside her, teasing her nub with his thumb until she cries out.

It’s a little coarse and clumsy. Their arms keep bumping, trapped between their bodies as they rut artlessly and shamelessly against each other, chasing their pleasure, wanting more.

But it’s good. It’s so, so good.

Belle moans as the pressure in her belly starts to build again, but this time she doesn’t shy away from it. She bucks and rolls her hips wildly as something lingers just outside her reach — so close so close so close — and Rumplestiltskin matches her pace until her vision blurs and she finally, finally reaches her release, leaving her clinging to him and convulsing. Her screams echo over the lake and through the trees as waves of pleasure crash over her, one after the other, until she can no longer distinguish where one stops and the other begins.

She gradually comes back down to earth, her body a quivering, sensitive mess. Both of her hands are tangled in her hair. She doesn’t remember putting them there.

Rumplestiltskin is looking at her intently, hovering above her. Belle immediately reaches between his legs, but he stops her hand with a chuff of breath that almost sounds like a chuckle. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” She repeats uncertainly. She thought she was doing well, for her first time.

He bumps his forehead gently against hers. “I’ve been alone for a long time. This will be over very soon if you keep touching me like this.”

Understanding dawns on her. Belle pouts and reluctantly grips his waist instead. Then she grins wickedly.

She moves both of her hands to his bum and squeezes hard.

Rumplestiltskin gives a surprised yelp and raises both of his eyebrows at her, huge round eyes taking up half his face.

Without letting go of him — there’s no way she’s giving this up so soon — Belle throws her head back and laughs loudly and without restraint. “Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

He blinks at her, then seems to get distracted by the way her breasts shake with her mirth. Lips quirking up, he lowers himself onto his elbows and cups her small breasts in both hands. He pushes them together, feels their weight, brushes his thumbs over her nipples, which are still sensitive from his earlier ministrations. He lets her breasts go and watches them bounce slightly, then places a quick, firm kiss on her breastbone, his hair tickling her skin.

He lifts his head and smirks down at her, eyes twinkling.

“What a perverted mind you have, my lady, objectifying a poor unsuspecting sorcerer as he innocently goes about his business in his own castle.” He raises a hand to his chest in mock outrage.

Belle arches a brow and snorts at his gall. Not to be outdone, she draws her legs up to cradle his hips between her thighs and pulls him to her. Rumplestiltskin hums in the back of his throat as he presses against her, warm and heavy against her core. His eyes grow dark.

“I’m ready,” Belle says on a soft sigh, bracing herself for what is ahead.

Rumplestiltskin nods shakily and reaches between them. He slides his cock through her slick folds a few times, then positions himself and nudges her opening.

He screws his eyes shut as he pushes into her, slow and careful. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.” The uncharacteristic curse breaks on a moan.

At first, all Belle feels is uncomfortable pressure as he eases into her. She squirms as the pressure grows and grows until Rumplestiltskin takes her maidenhead with one quick thrust, filling her completely. Belle’s whole body tenses, her breath coming in deep gasps.

She’s not in agony, as she has been taught to expect for most of her life, but there is some pain. She feels tight and tender and stretched to her limit. She curls her arms around Rumplestiltskin’s waist in a tight hold, suddenly struck with the irrational fear that he might actually tear her open if he starts moving now. She inhales deeply and mentally counts to ten to calm herself down.

Rumplestiltskin brushes sweat-damp strands of hair off her face and cups her cheek, breathing hard.

“Still good?” he asks.

Her eyes flit up to meet his, and that’s when it hits her.

He’s inside her. Someone — her True Love — is inside her body, closer to her than anyone has ever been, touching places she’s never even touched herself. A pleasant warmth spreads through Belle at the thought, loosening her muscles and coiling in her chest.

She smiles. She doesn’t hurt so much anymore.

She rocks her hips gingerly against Rumplestiltskin’s, then does it again, harder, burying him deeper inside her.

“Still good,” she breathes. She arches her hips again, urging him to move.

A low sound escapes him. Rumplestiltskin pulls nearly all the way out, then plunges back in, slick and smooth. He cages her shoulders with his hands as he begins to thrust in earnest, starting a steady rhythm. He lets his head fall to her shoulder, and Belle drags her fingers through his unruly hair, her short nails catching on his scalp. His warm breath puffs against her skin.

Belle’s pain has diminished to a dull, throbbing ache, and the friction feels... nice, but the feel of him losing himself in her body is even better. Belle doesn’t think she’ll reach her climax again. The sensations are too new, too foreign, and she still feels tight, no matter how well he prepared her. But she hardly minds — he already took care of her. Now she wants to see him come undone under her hands and between her thighs.

She buries her nose in his neck and inhales the faint scent of the aromatic herbs from his soap, and that musky blend of spices and leather and magic that always seems to cling to his skin. Her body unabashedly responds to it. She nips at his jaw and arches her back, running her nails over his shoulders and down his arms.

He shakes under her touch.

She starts lifting her hips to meet his with each thrust, savouring every single sound of pleasure she pulls from him. Rumplestiltskin raises his head, his hair a wild, tangled halo around his face. Belle meets his dark eyes as he gazes down at her in wonder, and momentarily loses herself there.

She’s so focused on his face that she doesn’t notice when his hand slips down between their bodies and finds the sensitive nub just above where they join. He swirls his finger around it, shocking a cry out of her.

Then he shifts his hips just so, and oh, oh, the new angle changes everything.

Belle’s gasps and whimpers fill the air as he repeatedly hits a sweet, magic spot inside her that makes her see stars with her eyes closed. Her discomfort is forgotten for now, lost in the midst of her building pleasure.

A breath shudders out of Rumplestiltskin as he pulls his fingers away from her. He braces his weight on both hands and picks up speed until he’s setting a fast, pounding rhythm, grinding his pelvis against hers until she’s screaming out his name, fingers clawing into his back, inner muscles clenching around his cock.

“Kiss me,” he begs hoarsely once she’s come back to herself. He lets his eyes drift closed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he chases his own release.

Belle grips his shoulders, draws him down, licks his lips open, kisses him deep and thorough. Rumplestiltskin whimpers into her mouth, his thrusts quickening and then stuttering to a halt as a breathless whine escapes him.

He breaks the kiss and hurriedly buries his face in her neck, spilling into her, his groans muffled against her skin as his body quakes with the force of his climax.

He collapses on top of her, panting. Belle wraps her arms around him and locks her ankles at the small of his back to keep him there.

The only sounds are their harsh breathing and the water lapping gently against the shore. Time passes languidly, and Belle’s eyes flutter closed as she is lulled into a warm, hazy stupor.

Her breathing slows, deep and heavy, until reality fades and the world slides neatly out of her consciousness.

— • —

She wakes to feather-light touches tracing patterns on her forearm.

Belle grumbles. She stirs and yawns, stretching her limbs before even thinking about opening her eyes. When she does, she looks up.

Rumplestiltskin is smiling down at her, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Hi.”

Belle blinks rapidly and lifts her head, realising she’s half lying on his chest and her spare, slightly scratchy blanket is out of her bag and covering them to the waist.

“Um. How long was I asleep?” she asks, sheepishly.

“Not very long. Less than an hour.”

She groans and drops her head back down. “I’m sorry.”

He waves his hand with a flourish, dismissing her apology. “After careful deliberation, I decided to take it as a compliment.”

Belle snickers and stretches her back before letting out another yawn. She hears Rumplestiltskin yawn quietly in response.

With no warning, she pushes herself up and straddles his waist. He looks surprised, but he recovers quickly and places his hands on her waist, eyeing her chest with interest

Belle bends down and drops soft kisses everywhere her mouth can reach — except for the lips that keep trying to capture hers — then licks a path across his collarbone all the way up to his neck... and ends up with half a mouthful of hair.

“Your hair is in the way,” she complains, spitting it out.

His mouth curves into a lazy smile. “Is this your charming way of telling me I should cut it?”

“Don’t you dare.”

He chuckles almost silently and hugs her to his chest. Belle sighs and goes lax against him, giving up her attempts to play the vixen.

“What now?” she asks.

He takes a moment to mull the question over. “I will need to go back to the castle eventually, sooner rather than later. I still have... things to plan. But it can wait a little longer.” He plays with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his fingers. “We can go anywhere you want, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment makes the tips of her ears grow warm. She smiles into his skin and tilts her head back to look at his face. “Really? Anywhere? What if I want to go rock-climbing?”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “Then we’ll go rock-climbing.”

She trails a finger down his chest and across the taut stretch of his stomach, then circles his navel lightly. She feels a small, almost undetectable quiver. Is her love ticklish?

“How do you feel about sailing?” she smiles sweetly, her eyes playful.

Rumplestiltskin catches her finger and wrinkles his nose in distaste at her suggestion. “I’m not fond of ships, but I suppose it could be arranged, if you’re attached to the idea.” He heaves a long-suffering sigh, then brings her finger to his lips and gives an impish smile before closing his teeth around the tip. Belle laughs and pulls it away.

“Too many mice in a small enclosed space?”

He gives her a sidelong look, the hint of a smirk playing over his lips. “Too many rats.”

“Hmph.” She flops onto her back next to him, pulling the blanket over her chest.

They fall into a comfortable silence and admire the stars. Belle drums contemplative fingers on her stomach, lost in thought.

“I know where I want to go,” she announces at last, her voice quiet. She turns her head towards him.

Rumplestiltskin eyes her curiously. “And where is that?”

Belle smiles but says nothing. He’ll know soon enough.

—

Day 56

Rumplestiltskin doesn’t look surprised when they eventually end up in the dense forest surrounding the Dark Castle grounds. He has to have seen this coming

“Belle?”

She reluctantly stops walking and turns to face him fully. It’s early, but the sun is just high enough to tinge the trees — and Rumple — with a warm golden hue. Belle is momentarily distracted by the flecks of amber and honey in his eyes.

Reluctantly, she snaps back into focus and searches his face. No, he doesn’t look surprised, but he does appear vaguely mystified.

Belle takes a breath and chooses her next words carefully, knowing that this is a sensitive topic.

“I know you're eager to find your son, and you lost almost two months while we were travelling. That’s time you could have spent working. Preparing,” Belle explains, stepping closer and eliminating the space between them. “That’s why I brought us back here so soon. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what you plan to do to get to him, and...” She paused, swallowed. “Please, let me try to find another way to get there. There has to be another way.”

His wrinkled brow smooths out, but he still seems troubled. His face betrays a hint of pity, but mostly, he looks sad and tired. “I’ve looked for centuries, Belle. I’ve tried many things, and nothing has worked. This is the only way. I can’t — I won’t give it up.”

Belle nods. “I understand that. Just... give me some time. That’s all I ask. Let me try,” she pleads, taking his hand in one of hers and using her other hand to stroke his hair. “Two heads is better than one, Rumple. I’m only asking for a few months. Whatever happens, I promise I’ll help you find Baelfire.” She rises up on her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then leans her forehead against his. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore.” She gives him her best encouraging smile and hopes it’s enough. “What do you say?”

He ponders this for several long minutes. Belle doesn’t move away, happy to stay close as she patiently waits for his answer.

Finally, Rumplestiltskin’s lips press together and twitch, one corner curling up. He raises their hands and kisses the tangle of their fingers, soft and quick, keeping his eyes on hers. “I say you have yourself a deal.”

Belle flushes pink and pulls away, beaming at him. She tugs on his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

The End

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle french #rumplestiltskin #belle x rumplestiltskin #my writing

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