Chapter Text
BANG BANG BANG
The delicate stained glass rattled in the door. If the silhouette darkening his doorstep knew what was good for it, it’d turn around and leave him in peace.
“Mr. Gold!
Mr. Gooooold!”
BANG
BANG
BANG
The owner of said name wrenched open the door saving it from further abuse. Standing before Mr. Gold was a perspiring brunette, letting out great puffs of air and smiling as if she wasn’t a wilted mess.
“Miss French. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need you,” she gasped.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean,” she gulped, “I need your library.”
“Don’t you work at a library?”
“Yes, but the power is out on that side of town and the humidity is going to kill my books.”
He looked down at the hefty sized box by her feet filled with neatly stacked tomes. “Surely that’s not the entire contents of the town library? You should request a bigger budget.”
Belle gave him a withering look, “Of course it’s not. It’s the rare editions. I need a temperature controlled space. Your library has a temperature controlled unit…”she nodded towards him, "see where I’m going with this?”
He blinked back at her refusing to cater to the absurd situation she’d brought to his doorstep.
With a huff she pushed her wilting curls from her face and placed her hands on her hips, “Mr. Gold, may I please use the temperature controlled bookcase in your library to store these rare editions so they don’t get ruined by the humidity.”
Gold casually crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway pretending to take his time considering her request. Looking over her appearance and the box, he said, “This conversation is letting said humidity into my house. So - ” he stepped aside gesturing for her to enter his home.
She smiled brightly ignoring his rudeness, “How kind of you to invite me in!” Without a moments hesitation, she hoisted the box and shimmied past him, her skirt swishing against his pantsuit leg. A light fragrance of roses accompanied her and a shiver ran down his spine. He breathed deeply and turned to close the door giving himself a brief moment to shake the sudden pull of attraction.
“The library is down the hall. Last door on your left,” he turned towards her having collected himself. “I need to turn off the stove in the kitchen. Go on ahead, I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner,” she turned her head and sniffed the air, “It smells delicious. You’re a good cook.”
He smiled wryly, “How can you be so sure?”
She adjusted the grip on the box, “Well, when I try to cook, you can tell just by the smell of the food that I should stick to ordering out.”
He let out a low chuckle that made her eyes go wide. Ducking her head she murmured, “I better take this to the library before I drop it.” She trotted down the hall, the *click clack* of her heels echoing through the house.
It was a wonder she could keep her balance in the stilettos she wore let alone cart anything heavier than a teacup in them. He had to admit, the heels made her legs look glorious even with the heavy box threatening to topple her at any moment. He cast an aggravated glance down at his old ankle injury which forced him to use the cane by his side. He’d had the cane for almost two decades, but it was times like these that made him hate it anew. He couldn’t even carry a heavy box for a beautiful woman. But he thought, I can offer her a glass of wine.
—————
By the time he joined her, Belle was perusing the Russian literature section of his library, looking cool and comfortable, her fingers gliding over the spines of his books. Her heels had been discarded and she’d piled her chestnut curls atop her head.This was her natural environment, he mused, and was secretly pleased he’d provided it for her. She turned to him holding a copy of Omon Ra, and beaming so bright she could have turned the town’s power back on.
“Interesting choice, Miss French, I would’ve thought you more of the War and Peace type. Sticking to the classics.”
Once again she deflected his jibes with her sunny disposition. “Your collection is incredible! I mean, I knew it was extensive but this,” she waved the book towards the room, “is beyond even my wildest dreams.”
“How exactly do you know anything about my library?” He offered her a glass of wine and she gingerly placed the short novel back to its rightful place before accepting.
“Well, um, Leroy installed the temperature controlled bookcase right?”
“That’s correct.”
“- and Leroy has a habit of occasionally imbibing a bit too much - ”
Gold seated himself beside her on the couch noticing she didn’t seem uncomfortable by the close proximity. “That’s a very diplomatic way of saying he gets drunk off his arse most nights.”
A laugh bubbled forth from her and popped in the air between them. He stared at her admiring the blush on her cheeks. He’d never been so delighted to make someone laugh. He never made anyone laugh. Her blue eyes glimmered and he realized she’d gently placed her hand on his knee.
“Anyway,” she said pointedly, “Leroy stayed the night in the jail cell at the sheriff’s station. He told Sheriff Nolan all about your fancy library with its thousands of books and the window seat overlooking the garden; the antique phonograph and tufted leather chairs - which you wouldn’t let him sit on,” she chuckled, “and Sheriff Nolan told his wife Mary Margaret and she told the whole town.”
She sat back clearly amused by her own anecdote. She sipped at her wine waiting patiently for him to reply. Gold cleared his throat, “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised by Mary Margaret gossiping, but I never thought my library would be considered juicy gossip.”
“It’s been a slow month for the rumor mill,” she quipped.
“Well, I’m glad it has exceeded your expectations. A librarian’s stamp of approval is high praise indeed.”
“I love it. I’d live in this library if I could.”
Gold looked at the lovely creature lounging on his sofa completely at ease in the company of “the town monster” - one of his nicer monikers - and realized he’d be an idiot if he didn’t seize the opportunity to keep her company as long as he could. Releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, he asked, “Miss French, would you like to stay for dinner?”
Without missing a beat she said, “I thought you’d never ask.”
Standing he held out his hand and helped her up from her seat.
“But I have two conditions, Mr. Gold.”
He raised an eyebrow even more intrigued by her. No one in Storybrooke, other than the Mayor, was so forthright with him. It was one of the perks of owning most of the town, and here she was making herself at home after practically barging inside and giving conditions after receiving a dinner invitation. She was incredible.
“You need to call me Belle.”
“And the other?”
“You tell me your first name.”
He took a moment to ponder the request and truly look at her. He’d admired her from afar for months. The few times they’d spent in each other’s company had been shrouded by his anxiety. His focus split between her lovely face and his increasingly sweaty palms. He didn’t want anything getting in the way this time. But he never gave his first name to anyone if he could help it. A first name allowed a certain level of familiarity he’d never been comfortable with. He took in her messy curls, her porcelain face still pink from the heat and free of makeup (most likely also from the heat). Without her stilettos he had to look down to see her sparkling eyes. He realized that while there were many people he enjoyed looking down on -figuratively speaking given his own short stature - she was not one of them. She could never be one of them. But since she was even smaller than him, if he had to look down on her physically, he would give her whatever she asked to put them on level footing in every other way.
“It’s Arthur,” he murmured.
“It suits you…may I use it?”
“For as long as you like.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and allowed himself to inhale her scent of roses. There was freedom in openly enjoying her.
Belle took his wine glass, placing it with hers on the coffee table. Turning back she looked up at him with a question in her eyes, and he answered with his fingertips gently tracing the edge of her jaw. Leaning ever so slowly towards her he could feel a thrumming between them; they were encased in a sudden heaviness slowing down time and space. He grazed his lips over her luscious mouth and, with a sigh, she released her lower lip from the clutches of her teeth. Their lips melded perfectly together and Gold let out a groan which would have been embarrassing if he couldn’t already feel her vibrating with want. Want for him.
He slanted his head to kiss her even deeper and she opened to him allowing his tongue to tangle with her own. His hands stroked her sides releasing the rush of adrenaline that came with this sudden vulnerability. Her fingers buried in his hair massaging the base of his neck and pulling on the strands that hung over his collar. She pushed her body into him giving him the courage to run his hands down her back and over her bum squeezing the firm globes. Now she was the one groaning with need. Together they generated a heat he’d never known before. Not with his ex-wife and the few ex-lovers he’d accumulated throughout the years.
Their movements were clearly heading in the direction of his bed instead of his dining table. That thought had the logical part of his brain whispering this was insane. We haven’t even had dinner yet. But then Belle’s thigh rubbed into him, and he wasn’t sure if the whimper he heard was his or her’s. Gold pried his lips away and rested his forehead against her own trying to catch his breath. He was still holding her tightly against him, and was pleased to realize Belle wasn’t making any attempt to move away. She slowly opened her eyes and smiled sheepishly at him.
He grinned, “We should probably have dinner first.”
She bit her lip and chuckled, “What about my books?” They both glanced over at the box by the door.
“I have a confession to make,” he said.
She peered up at him, and he cleared his throat. “The temperature controlled bookcase you heard about? It’s broken.”
Belle bit down on a smile and ducked her head. “I know. Leroy was in the drunk tank last night. He told Nolan he was fixing it next week. He has big plans to sit in your leather chair when you aren’t looking.” She chuckled and glanced up at him “….and the town’s library has a backup generator.”
“Is that so?” He smirked at the little schemer before him and slowly peppered kisses on her nose and cheeks. “Miss French, what about your rare editions? They’ll surely perish here.”
“It’s Belle.” She tugged on his tie for emphasis, “and those aren’t the rare editions. If you look closely you’ll find a copy of Sock Knitting Masterclass and Best American Sports Writing amongst other literary gems,” she gave him a cheeky wink for emphasis.
He laughed then - giving her another piece of himself he never shared with others. He proceeded to kiss her slow and deep until he had just enough breath to murmur her name over and over and over again. Determined to never call her Miss French again.