The Sweetest Peach
Aug. 15th, 2014 11:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptWorking Title: The Sweetest Peach
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Once Upon A Time/Labyrinth
Character/Pairing: RumBelle (Rumplestiltskin/Belle), unseen force
Rating: Soft R/M
Challenge: This was written for the monthly theme over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
storybrooke_me, a subcomm of the lands_of_magic OUAT land comm. If you join, be sure to tell them Kat Lee of Team Neverland sent you!
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 2,757
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She's been awaiting his return for over four weeks now. Every day, she looks for him to appear out of every shadow and from around every corner, but every night, she goes to bed alone again, not that he would accompany her if he was there. There must be something wrong with her, she thinks, to consider ever wanting such an Imp to fill her bed, but the thoughts have been there many a night. They come to her unwanted and unwarranted, but they still feel her head with more passionate ideas than anything she's ever read in any book. In her dreams, Rumplestiltskin could certainly show any hero a thing or a dozen, but in reality, she knows he's a murderer with whom she should want nothing to do.
Such thoughts do little to help Belle, however, through her lonely hours in the castle. She thinks of him as she dusts his walls, windows, and shelves, and as she climbs the high ladder and dusts the chandeliers, she always wonders, at least once, if they've ever actually been used. Has the Dark One ever celebrated anything? He seems such a lonely, forlorn man, but surely there must have been something in his life at some point that he wanted to celebrate.
Did he, she wonders once, celebrate the last time he skinned children or had unicorn meat upon which to dine? The unbidden thoughts send a icy cold shiver sliding down her spine, but Belle quickly finds something to clean in the one area of the room lit by the sun coming in pass the thick curtains he always insists on leaving drawn. In these last few months, she's come to know the Dark One more, she likes to think, than any one else ever has. She knows he isn't that much of a cretin. He's never slain any children, and although he might have done some horrible things to some unicorns to retrieve parts needed for some of his magic spells, she doubts he's ever eaten such an innocent being.
She can hear him now on the unicorn subject, in fact. He would tell her they were noble, magical beasts and would probably try to frighten her with a tale or two of how he's taken their horns before. Yet even he would admit that they were for much more important things than merely eating. Then he'd order her to do something he thought she didn't want to do, Belle thinks with a wry grin and goes to set about making dinner, just in case he shows in time for the meal.
But he doesn't show that evening, or that night, or long into the next day. By this time, she's beginning to worry about him, although at the same time she reminds herself constantly she shouldn't. After all, whereas the Dark One may have many hundreds of enemies, none of them can touch him. It is well known that none can wield power over the Dark One. He will best any one who tries to come up against him, and few people are still valiant enough, although he calls it stupid, to try.
Belle sighs, the bright smile she always tries to keep wearing despite the dreariness of the castle falling into a frown. She hates to admit it, and she'll never do so aloud, but she misses him. There are only so many days of cleaning a castle in which she lived alone that a girl can take before she starts fantasizing about even the most horrible of guys.
But then, Rumple is hardly horrible, despite what every one else thinks. There's something about the way he smiles that makes her want to see him do so more often. The few times he's touched her skin have also been far from horrible. His flesh isn't cold or slimy like the tales profess it to be. Instead, his touch makes her shiver somewhere deep inside in an altogether different way than the cold. He almost reminds her of a reluctant hero about whom she once read, but she knows life is no fairy tale.
No, life is no fairy tale, she is no heroine, the objects in the castle are far from being alive, and she is quite, quite lonely. She sighs, her shoulders slumping, and then pauses even her very breathing as she hears a scampering sound passing over the floor behind her. She still herself for a moment, then reaches out, grabs the nearby broom, and whirls around to face the intruder. She finds no mouse, however, or anything else amiss and frowns.
It is then that her bright, blue eyes fall upon the peach sitting on the counter behind her. She looks at it curiously and approaches slowly, relinquishing the broom and letting it fall back against the wall. There's no other sound that she can hear in the castle now except for her shallow breathing and her footsteps as she walks toward the counter. She stares at the peach, knowing it wasn't there a moment ago.
"Hello? Rumplestiltskin? Are you home?" Her heartbeat quickens, but no answer comes. She frowns, reaches out, and hesitantly pokes at the peach. The fruit rolls across the counter, but there's no sign of who, or what, left it there. Belle's stomach growls, reminding her that she has been so worried about Rumplestiltskin that she has been lax in her duties. She should have started cooking lunch two hours ago.
Her stomach growls again, and she picks up the peach. "Rumplestiltskin? Are you here?" She hears scurrying again and turns once more only to still see nothing. A moment later, she hears a whispered laugh and frowns. "Rumplestiltskin? This isn't funny, you know."
But he never tries to make her laugh. Belle stills again. He wouldn't play this kind of a joke on her. It is the kind that friends might play, and he still considers himself to not have a friend in the world. It wasn't he who left the peach for her. "Hello?" Belle calls again. "Is any one there?"
Still holding the peach, she crosses back over the floor and picks up the broom she had relinquished. "Is any one here? I won't hurt you, I promise." But everything is quiet. Her own breathing seems almost to echo in the kitchen.
There's no one there, no one hiding in the shadows or around the wall waiting to attack her. There's no one in the castle. There's been no one here except for herself for days on end. She frowns as she looks at the peach. If that is true, where did the fruit come from?
But it is warm in her hand. Warm and plump and fresh, and she is suddenly so hungry . . . She feels as though she has not eaten in days. Surely one bite can not hurt? The fruit is perfectly in tact. No part is missing or open. No one could have slipped poison into it, and she is so hungry.
She lifts the fruit to her mouth and inhales its scent. It is fresh, surely having been picked not too long ago. Rumple must have left it for her. Perhaps he wants her to make something for him, but from one fruit? Maybe that's where he's gone, then, to fetch the others. Either way, there's little she can do with this fruit, little save eat it.
She nibbles its flesh. Her teeth pierce its skin, and succulent juice runs into her mouth. Belle's eyes drift shut. She moans. It's the most delicious thing she's had to eat the entire time she's been here! One more bite, and she's on the floor . . .
The lights are spinning, and she's no longer alone. Merry chatter buzzes through the thick air. The air is sweet -- it smells of peaches --, but she's not concerned with food at this time. There's one person for whom she's looking, one person who she hopes is looking for her.
She pushes the crowd. Laughter circles her head, but she doesn't let it deter her. She is a Princess and dressed every bit as finely as any of those gathered here this night. This party is for her, after all. It's to celebrate her coming into her own. She is free now, free to make her own decisions without a father, a King, a master, or a fiance to make them for her. She is free to do as she pleases, and she knows what, or rather who, her pleasure is.
She glimpses him first smiling behind another lady's fan, but when she reaches that damsel, he is gone again. She spies him next laughing between two more women who are talking and trying their best to flirt with him. He has little attention for them, but again when Belle arrives at the spot where he was, he is no longer there. She drifts through the crowd next, frowning as she searches for him. She can feel his eyes on her. He knows where she is, but she can not find him.
The other dancers laugh at her, but still she pushes on until, at last, the sea of people laughing and talking loudly behind their fans and masks part. She sees him, and her breath catches in her throat for he is even more beautiful than she recalls. "Rumple?" she calls, forgetting the propriety of calling him by his full name.
He smiles, and it is the most devastatingly handsome thing to which she has ever borne witness. "Belle," he replies, his voice as smooth as honey and seeming somehow to slide over her skin. He reaches out for her, and she does not hesitate as she takes his hands.
They dance, gliding round and round on the magical floor, and the people who once laughed and gawked at them now stand back out of their way and watch with envy. He is no longer the talk of the kingdom alone; now their tongues buzz about her, as well, for she has captured his attention. He spins her around and around. She loses sight of the others, loses sight of the crystal walls and swinging chandelier, loses sight of everything, and one, but him.
He is all that still matters to her. They are all that matters, and they are all alone now, alone and dancing on a blanket of stars. Only his magic could make such happen. She should be afraid of him, but she isn't. He makes her tingle from the top of her brunette head all the way through the ends of her toes, and she has never wanted anything in all her life like she wants more of him and this wonderful, dazzling way he makes her feel.
He spins her around again, but then when he catches her, he pulls her up against him. She can feel every inch of him through the thin fabric of her golden dress, and suddenly, she wishes there were no more clothes between them. She can feel him, all of him, and she tingles uncontrollably with the desire with which he fills her. He is no Demon, no enemy, no horrible Imp. He is a man, flesh and blood, and she is ready to know every inch of him unlike she's ever known another man.
"Rumple," her voice catches in her throat. His name on her lips is a cry, almost a plea. She needs him so badly that she is burning inside, and only he can give her what she needs. She turns to face him; he cups her face with his hands.
"Are you sure, Belle?"
In answer, she presses her lips to his, and her tongue thrusts down his mouth. The stars are singing now, a love song just for them. The whole world is spinning, and she is spinning with it. He tastes like nothing else she has ever experienced. There's the sweetness of pure sugar from the fields, the smoothness of cream, the headiness of rum, and a darkness she can not explain all there in his scorching, sensational kiss.
She melts into him, but she can not stay still for she needs him so badly. It is a burning, driving need yearning within her. Her hands fumble, her heartbeat filling her own ears, as she tries desperately to push his clothes off of his willing body.
"Belle? Belle?"
She wants to scream at him to hush, to simply take her here and now, but she can not for she is too busy kissing him, her mouth too full of his lips and tongue, for her to be able to say anything. Yet, somehow, he is still calling her name. She chalks up to his magic and continues to kiss him and try, in a frenzied rush, to disrobe him.
"Belle? Belle?"
The world is still spinning, but now it's shaking harder than before. She needs him, needs him so badly, craves his touch deep within her . . . She gasps and sits up.
"Belle. There you are, dearie."
She blinks, her face flushed and her heart still beating wild. "R-Rumple?"
"Yes, it's me, the Dark One in the flesh."
"But . . . But we were . . . " She frowns.
"I imagine you were about to get lunch ready, girl, but I just arrived home to find you on the floor and this . . . " He spins the bitten peach around in his right hand. " . . . inches from your outstretched fingertips. Didn't you hear the tale of how the Evil Queen poisoned Snow White with a single bite of an apple?"
"Yes, but . . . But . . . "
"No buts, girl. You must not be eating strange foods you find simply laying around. This was undoubtedly intended for me, but you intercepted it. I suppose I should thank you for that."
"Rumple . . . "
"It's Rumplestiltskin, girl. You know that." He helps her to her feet, ignoring the dazed look still plastering her face and the heat flushing his own insides. "Now go clean up. You look a mess. You can skip lunch, but I expect a fine dinner tonight. My appetite should have returned by then."
"Rumple . . . " she tries again.
"Go, girl."
She goes, but not without a limp to her step or a smile on her face. Her skin is still flushed from the most realistic and sensual fantasy she has ever experienced. Plus, she heard the concern in his voice when she first woke. He called her "dearie" not once but twice. She almost skips before she's out of his view, but a part of her is still reeling, and still desperately aching, for that which she has just dreamed to have been far more than a dream.
Reaching the confines of her room, Belle sighs and lets herself fall against the door. Her heart is still pounding, her flesh still flushed. She touches her lips where his taste still lingers. She never wants to wash them again, though she knows she must. She sighs, accepting the fact, in amongst all her dreams, which she's learned this day. She is deeply, madly, completely infatuated with Rumplestiltskin. Regardless of whether he is the Dark One or a man trying to be much more and less than what he is, she is falling in love with her captor.
She sighs, spins across the room, and falls onto her bed. He won't be expecting her for some time yet, and in that time, she shall try her best to remember every vivid detail of that wonderful dream!
It is much, much later that evening, long after he has sent Belle to retire for the night, that Rumplestiltskin, sitting alone as usual, dips his quill into his ink well and then begins to write:
Dear Jareth,
I must thank you, my old friend, for your timely visit today. Your peach was the perfect present. You know I always do enjoy the fruits of your servants' labor. No fruit tastes more succulent than that which your fields beyond the Goblin City wield, but your deliverance of said fruit was truly a plan of perfection.
In turn, might I suggest granting your lady a library?
Smiling impishly, Rumplestiltskin continues to scribble long into the night, unaware, or so he seems, of the lady who has caught and holds riveted his attention and the dreams to which she clings of him and his fiery, bewitching touch.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Once Upon A Time/Labyrinth
Character/Pairing: RumBelle (Rumplestiltskin/Belle), unseen force
Rating: Soft R/M
Challenge: This was written for the monthly theme over at
storybrooke_me, a subcomm of the lands_of_magic OUAT land comm. If you join, be sure to tell them Kat Lee of Team Neverland sent you!Warning(s): None
Word Count: 2,757
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She's been awaiting his return for over four weeks now. Every day, she looks for him to appear out of every shadow and from around every corner, but every night, she goes to bed alone again, not that he would accompany her if he was there. There must be something wrong with her, she thinks, to consider ever wanting such an Imp to fill her bed, but the thoughts have been there many a night. They come to her unwanted and unwarranted, but they still feel her head with more passionate ideas than anything she's ever read in any book. In her dreams, Rumplestiltskin could certainly show any hero a thing or a dozen, but in reality, she knows he's a murderer with whom she should want nothing to do.
Such thoughts do little to help Belle, however, through her lonely hours in the castle. She thinks of him as she dusts his walls, windows, and shelves, and as she climbs the high ladder and dusts the chandeliers, she always wonders, at least once, if they've ever actually been used. Has the Dark One ever celebrated anything? He seems such a lonely, forlorn man, but surely there must have been something in his life at some point that he wanted to celebrate.
Did he, she wonders once, celebrate the last time he skinned children or had unicorn meat upon which to dine? The unbidden thoughts send a icy cold shiver sliding down her spine, but Belle quickly finds something to clean in the one area of the room lit by the sun coming in pass the thick curtains he always insists on leaving drawn. In these last few months, she's come to know the Dark One more, she likes to think, than any one else ever has. She knows he isn't that much of a cretin. He's never slain any children, and although he might have done some horrible things to some unicorns to retrieve parts needed for some of his magic spells, she doubts he's ever eaten such an innocent being.
She can hear him now on the unicorn subject, in fact. He would tell her they were noble, magical beasts and would probably try to frighten her with a tale or two of how he's taken their horns before. Yet even he would admit that they were for much more important things than merely eating. Then he'd order her to do something he thought she didn't want to do, Belle thinks with a wry grin and goes to set about making dinner, just in case he shows in time for the meal.
But he doesn't show that evening, or that night, or long into the next day. By this time, she's beginning to worry about him, although at the same time she reminds herself constantly she shouldn't. After all, whereas the Dark One may have many hundreds of enemies, none of them can touch him. It is well known that none can wield power over the Dark One. He will best any one who tries to come up against him, and few people are still valiant enough, although he calls it stupid, to try.
Belle sighs, the bright smile she always tries to keep wearing despite the dreariness of the castle falling into a frown. She hates to admit it, and she'll never do so aloud, but she misses him. There are only so many days of cleaning a castle in which she lived alone that a girl can take before she starts fantasizing about even the most horrible of guys.
But then, Rumple is hardly horrible, despite what every one else thinks. There's something about the way he smiles that makes her want to see him do so more often. The few times he's touched her skin have also been far from horrible. His flesh isn't cold or slimy like the tales profess it to be. Instead, his touch makes her shiver somewhere deep inside in an altogether different way than the cold. He almost reminds her of a reluctant hero about whom she once read, but she knows life is no fairy tale.
No, life is no fairy tale, she is no heroine, the objects in the castle are far from being alive, and she is quite, quite lonely. She sighs, her shoulders slumping, and then pauses even her very breathing as she hears a scampering sound passing over the floor behind her. She still herself for a moment, then reaches out, grabs the nearby broom, and whirls around to face the intruder. She finds no mouse, however, or anything else amiss and frowns.
It is then that her bright, blue eyes fall upon the peach sitting on the counter behind her. She looks at it curiously and approaches slowly, relinquishing the broom and letting it fall back against the wall. There's no other sound that she can hear in the castle now except for her shallow breathing and her footsteps as she walks toward the counter. She stares at the peach, knowing it wasn't there a moment ago.
"Hello? Rumplestiltskin? Are you home?" Her heartbeat quickens, but no answer comes. She frowns, reaches out, and hesitantly pokes at the peach. The fruit rolls across the counter, but there's no sign of who, or what, left it there. Belle's stomach growls, reminding her that she has been so worried about Rumplestiltskin that she has been lax in her duties. She should have started cooking lunch two hours ago.
Her stomach growls again, and she picks up the peach. "Rumplestiltskin? Are you here?" She hears scurrying again and turns once more only to still see nothing. A moment later, she hears a whispered laugh and frowns. "Rumplestiltskin? This isn't funny, you know."
But he never tries to make her laugh. Belle stills again. He wouldn't play this kind of a joke on her. It is the kind that friends might play, and he still considers himself to not have a friend in the world. It wasn't he who left the peach for her. "Hello?" Belle calls again. "Is any one there?"
Still holding the peach, she crosses back over the floor and picks up the broom she had relinquished. "Is any one here? I won't hurt you, I promise." But everything is quiet. Her own breathing seems almost to echo in the kitchen.
There's no one there, no one hiding in the shadows or around the wall waiting to attack her. There's no one in the castle. There's been no one here except for herself for days on end. She frowns as she looks at the peach. If that is true, where did the fruit come from?
But it is warm in her hand. Warm and plump and fresh, and she is suddenly so hungry . . . She feels as though she has not eaten in days. Surely one bite can not hurt? The fruit is perfectly in tact. No part is missing or open. No one could have slipped poison into it, and she is so hungry.
She lifts the fruit to her mouth and inhales its scent. It is fresh, surely having been picked not too long ago. Rumple must have left it for her. Perhaps he wants her to make something for him, but from one fruit? Maybe that's where he's gone, then, to fetch the others. Either way, there's little she can do with this fruit, little save eat it.
She nibbles its flesh. Her teeth pierce its skin, and succulent juice runs into her mouth. Belle's eyes drift shut. She moans. It's the most delicious thing she's had to eat the entire time she's been here! One more bite, and she's on the floor . . .
The lights are spinning, and she's no longer alone. Merry chatter buzzes through the thick air. The air is sweet -- it smells of peaches --, but she's not concerned with food at this time. There's one person for whom she's looking, one person who she hopes is looking for her.
She pushes the crowd. Laughter circles her head, but she doesn't let it deter her. She is a Princess and dressed every bit as finely as any of those gathered here this night. This party is for her, after all. It's to celebrate her coming into her own. She is free now, free to make her own decisions without a father, a King, a master, or a fiance to make them for her. She is free to do as she pleases, and she knows what, or rather who, her pleasure is.
She glimpses him first smiling behind another lady's fan, but when she reaches that damsel, he is gone again. She spies him next laughing between two more women who are talking and trying their best to flirt with him. He has little attention for them, but again when Belle arrives at the spot where he was, he is no longer there. She drifts through the crowd next, frowning as she searches for him. She can feel his eyes on her. He knows where she is, but she can not find him.
The other dancers laugh at her, but still she pushes on until, at last, the sea of people laughing and talking loudly behind their fans and masks part. She sees him, and her breath catches in her throat for he is even more beautiful than she recalls. "Rumple?" she calls, forgetting the propriety of calling him by his full name.
He smiles, and it is the most devastatingly handsome thing to which she has ever borne witness. "Belle," he replies, his voice as smooth as honey and seeming somehow to slide over her skin. He reaches out for her, and she does not hesitate as she takes his hands.
They dance, gliding round and round on the magical floor, and the people who once laughed and gawked at them now stand back out of their way and watch with envy. He is no longer the talk of the kingdom alone; now their tongues buzz about her, as well, for she has captured his attention. He spins her around and around. She loses sight of the others, loses sight of the crystal walls and swinging chandelier, loses sight of everything, and one, but him.
He is all that still matters to her. They are all that matters, and they are all alone now, alone and dancing on a blanket of stars. Only his magic could make such happen. She should be afraid of him, but she isn't. He makes her tingle from the top of her brunette head all the way through the ends of her toes, and she has never wanted anything in all her life like she wants more of him and this wonderful, dazzling way he makes her feel.
He spins her around again, but then when he catches her, he pulls her up against him. She can feel every inch of him through the thin fabric of her golden dress, and suddenly, she wishes there were no more clothes between them. She can feel him, all of him, and she tingles uncontrollably with the desire with which he fills her. He is no Demon, no enemy, no horrible Imp. He is a man, flesh and blood, and she is ready to know every inch of him unlike she's ever known another man.
"Rumple," her voice catches in her throat. His name on her lips is a cry, almost a plea. She needs him so badly that she is burning inside, and only he can give her what she needs. She turns to face him; he cups her face with his hands.
"Are you sure, Belle?"
In answer, she presses her lips to his, and her tongue thrusts down his mouth. The stars are singing now, a love song just for them. The whole world is spinning, and she is spinning with it. He tastes like nothing else she has ever experienced. There's the sweetness of pure sugar from the fields, the smoothness of cream, the headiness of rum, and a darkness she can not explain all there in his scorching, sensational kiss.
She melts into him, but she can not stay still for she needs him so badly. It is a burning, driving need yearning within her. Her hands fumble, her heartbeat filling her own ears, as she tries desperately to push his clothes off of his willing body.
"Belle? Belle?"
She wants to scream at him to hush, to simply take her here and now, but she can not for she is too busy kissing him, her mouth too full of his lips and tongue, for her to be able to say anything. Yet, somehow, he is still calling her name. She chalks up to his magic and continues to kiss him and try, in a frenzied rush, to disrobe him.
"Belle? Belle?"
The world is still spinning, but now it's shaking harder than before. She needs him, needs him so badly, craves his touch deep within her . . . She gasps and sits up.
"Belle. There you are, dearie."
She blinks, her face flushed and her heart still beating wild. "R-Rumple?"
"Yes, it's me, the Dark One in the flesh."
"But . . . But we were . . . " She frowns.
"I imagine you were about to get lunch ready, girl, but I just arrived home to find you on the floor and this . . . " He spins the bitten peach around in his right hand. " . . . inches from your outstretched fingertips. Didn't you hear the tale of how the Evil Queen poisoned Snow White with a single bite of an apple?"
"Yes, but . . . But . . . "
"No buts, girl. You must not be eating strange foods you find simply laying around. This was undoubtedly intended for me, but you intercepted it. I suppose I should thank you for that."
"Rumple . . . "
"It's Rumplestiltskin, girl. You know that." He helps her to her feet, ignoring the dazed look still plastering her face and the heat flushing his own insides. "Now go clean up. You look a mess. You can skip lunch, but I expect a fine dinner tonight. My appetite should have returned by then."
"Rumple . . . " she tries again.
"Go, girl."
She goes, but not without a limp to her step or a smile on her face. Her skin is still flushed from the most realistic and sensual fantasy she has ever experienced. Plus, she heard the concern in his voice when she first woke. He called her "dearie" not once but twice. She almost skips before she's out of his view, but a part of her is still reeling, and still desperately aching, for that which she has just dreamed to have been far more than a dream.
Reaching the confines of her room, Belle sighs and lets herself fall against the door. Her heart is still pounding, her flesh still flushed. She touches her lips where his taste still lingers. She never wants to wash them again, though she knows she must. She sighs, accepting the fact, in amongst all her dreams, which she's learned this day. She is deeply, madly, completely infatuated with Rumplestiltskin. Regardless of whether he is the Dark One or a man trying to be much more and less than what he is, she is falling in love with her captor.
She sighs, spins across the room, and falls onto her bed. He won't be expecting her for some time yet, and in that time, she shall try her best to remember every vivid detail of that wonderful dream!
It is much, much later that evening, long after he has sent Belle to retire for the night, that Rumplestiltskin, sitting alone as usual, dips his quill into his ink well and then begins to write:
Dear Jareth,
I must thank you, my old friend, for your timely visit today. Your peach was the perfect present. You know I always do enjoy the fruits of your servants' labor. No fruit tastes more succulent than that which your fields beyond the Goblin City wield, but your deliverance of said fruit was truly a plan of perfection.
In turn, might I suggest granting your lady a library?
Smiling impishly, Rumplestiltskin continues to scribble long into the night, unaware, or so he seems, of the lady who has caught and holds riveted his attention and the dreams to which she clings of him and his fiery, bewitching touch.
The End
