Work Text:
Being the Dark One’s lover had its perks.
For one thing, she was never cold anymore. Belle wasn’t sure if this was a deliberate expenditure of magic on Rumplestiltskin’s part or if the castle somehow understood his attachment to her and was doing its part to support the relationship, but the bed in their shared quarters was always cozily warm, her bath water always seemed to stay steaming hot no matter how long she soaked, and any fire she needed sprang to life with no more than a wish.
Her chores had diminished, too. The day after they’d first given in and slept together, Rumplestiltskin had quipped that she’d never been an impressive castle cleaner anyway, so they might as well let the castle take care of itself, as it had before she’d arrived.
Belle had chosen to say nothing of the thick layer of dust that had, in fact, blanketed most rooms when she had first taken up residence in the Dark Castle. Everything stayed neat, now, and she had more time for her books. She took this as Rumplestiltskin making an effort to keep spaces that he shared with her nicer than he would for just himself.
It was kind of sweet, really.
Then there were the gifts. Rumplestiltskin’s deals always came with a price, of course, and lately it appeared that he’d been using his powers in exchange for things less magical in nature and more to her use and fancy. Every now and again, he’d come home with an incredible delicacy for her enjoyment, or a luxurious garment, or a jewel finer than any she’d ever seen. On one memorable occasion, he’d come home with an assortment of books that he told her, with a gleam in his eye, might contain knowledge she’d never dreamt of.
Belle had blushed furiously when she first began reading them, but quickly got over her modesty and scoured the books for new ways to please her lover.
She was immensely gratified that a few of her attempts had left the man speechless, panting, and staring at her like she was the magical one.
By far, though, the greatest benefit of being the Dark One’s bedmate was her unfettered access to the Dark One himself.
Rumplestiltskin was still cagey and sly, still a showman as he went about his business. His jokes still had bite, and his walls would still slam up about him if she trod somewhere she was not welcome.
In their chambers, though, whether they were resting or actively enjoying each other’s company, he was freer and more unguarded than she had ever dared hope to see him.
Belle looked over at his sleeping form and smiled to herself. One thing she could never have predicted, given the layers of clothing and facade that he pulled about him even just around the castle, was that he’d be such an exhibitionist in private.
Apparently impervious to the heat and cold alike, he slept splayed on top of the bedsheets - entirely naked. When she couldn’t sleep or woke before him, Belle took great delight in watching, taking in the sight of him and committing each curve, each angle to memory.
She reached out a hand, now, and traced it along his back, revelling in the feel of his skin. The pebbled texture of his hands and face gave way to hard scales at the small of his back, his outer thighs, and the flats of his feet. In other places - the palms of his hands, his chest, and his inner thighs - it was impossibly smooth, though still flecked with gold.
Learning the feel of Rumplestiltskin’s body under her hands had been a shock and delight. It had been a long process, too. For all that he was evidently comfortable naked around her, it had taken quite a while before he stopped involuntarily flinching when she laid a hand on him when he wasn’t expecting it.
She’d been troubled to think of how long he’d gone without casual comfort, gentle touches, and somebody around whom he could relax. She’d put her patience into practice and moved only as quickly as he’d seemed comfortable with.
Once Rumplestiltskin had gotten used to being touched, he’d startled Belle by going beyond simply accepting it and seemed, in fact, to crave it. He had what appeared to be an infinite patience for back rubs and massages and would, despite the restless movement that seemed to define him, lay patiently for as long as she cared to keep touching him. When they sat together in the evenings, he’d often reach out and take her hand if one was free. When they lay in bed at night, he’d pull her hand to his chest so her arm was draped over him.
In many ways, the sex was easy. Rumplestiltskin was a man of tremendous appetite and endless energy, and Belle found herself unabashed in their adventures. Sharing her bed and her nights with him felt like the simplest and most natural thing in the world. But intimacy - sharing quiet moments, talking about things that mattered or didn’t matter at all - these they struggled with. They were always butting up against his boundaries and her own uncertainty.
She thought herself quite in love with him, but she had never dared to say it.
Rumplestiltskin hadn’t gone to any lengths to suggest that his interest in her was purely carnal, and indeed his gradual process of opening up seemed to indicate that he did genuinely care for her, but Belle was still wary of thinking that he might love her in return.
Belle didn’t fancy the notion of going out on a limb and declaring some sentiment that Rumplestiltskin was unable or unwilling to return. What ease they had achieved was precious to her, and she would far rather bide her time and enjoy what he would give her than find herself suddenly without this man who had so unintentionally and yet unerringly wound himself around her heart.
It wasn’t everything, but it was enough.