![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
all was golden when the day met the night ; once upon a time ; belle/rumple ; g.
title. "all was golden when the day met the night"
fandom. once upon a time.
characters/pairing. belle/rumplestiltskin.
rating. g.
warnings. none.
There’s just her and him and her enchanting smiles and the hem of her dress dusting his shins as they spin and the mirrors. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He keeps the mirrors covered for a reason. Belle knows this, and yet, she uncovers them anyway. It isn’t as though they need cleaning; with the coverings, they’re as untouched as the very day that he acquired the place. And as long as those are replaced, he doesn’t have a problem. He goes about his business and pays it no mind. She can do what she wants - regardless of whether or not the reasons are completely beyond him.
And then, one day, he finds her dancing in the ballroom. A feather-duster is still gripped in her hand as she goes through a series of spins and steps and twirls - all without a discernible form but nonetheless mesmerizing. The covers are off the mirrors - of course they are - and regardless of where he looks, all Rumplestiltskin can see is Belle - so many of her that it’s difficult to actually spot her. But she’s there, near the center, moving even more gracefully than her reflections.
He knows that, should he interrupt or interfere, he could run the risk of ruining the several beautiful pictures he has before him, but it doesn’t stop him. As if of their own accord, his feet guide him into the ballroom. He feels nothing from the mirrors, keeping his eyes focused on the real Belle, the one facing away from him and unaware of his presence until he begins to circle around her. He watches her face as her eyes widen - she’s caught. She fumbles mid-step and tries to mutter an apology, she’s sorry, she’ll get back to work immediately, but Rumplestiltskin wags his finger at her. No, no, my dear. Time to finish what you’ve started. He plucks the feather-duster from her, tossing it to the floor, and he takes her hand and they dance.
It’s strange at first - him not quite used to the proximity and her trying to pick up where she left off and continue to lead, but eventually the two of them fall perfectly into step - whatever that step may be, he isn’t sure. It isn’t right for him to call it a waltz, though it’s the most appropriate name he can think of, needless as it is. He forgets about the mirrors for a split second as she smiles - she genuinely smiles at him - and suddenly she’s closer and there’s no need to think. There’s just her and him and her enchanting smiles and the hem of her dress dusting his shins as they spin and the mirrors. And he doesn’t mind them. He looks into them and there are more there than just them: there is an entire ball full of couples, but it’s only them. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Eventually, regretfully, the silent song comes to an end and they part. She blushes and looks to the floor to hide it, then kneels to pick up the discarded feather-duster to hide it even more. He only observes her.
“I’m sorry, I got distracted,” she says. And finally, her blue eyes raise to meet his and he notices the smirk pulling at her lips. There’s a pause that’s too long by a hair, and the eye-contact is gone again. “I’ll put the covers back on the mirrors.”
Rumplestiltskin doesn’t respond right away. He turns and faces his own reflection in the mirrors adorning the walls. The couples have all stopped dancing, a momentary lull in the music. He turns back to Belle, holding his hand up to stop her. “They can stay down in here.”
She says nothing in return, but the look, that sparkle in her eyes, whether or admiration or curiosity or joy, is all he needs.
fandom. once upon a time.
characters/pairing. belle/rumplestiltskin.
rating. g.
warnings. none.
There’s just her and him and her enchanting smiles and the hem of her dress dusting his shins as they spin and the mirrors. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He keeps the mirrors covered for a reason. Belle knows this, and yet, she uncovers them anyway. It isn’t as though they need cleaning; with the coverings, they’re as untouched as the very day that he acquired the place. And as long as those are replaced, he doesn’t have a problem. He goes about his business and pays it no mind. She can do what she wants - regardless of whether or not the reasons are completely beyond him.
And then, one day, he finds her dancing in the ballroom. A feather-duster is still gripped in her hand as she goes through a series of spins and steps and twirls - all without a discernible form but nonetheless mesmerizing. The covers are off the mirrors - of course they are - and regardless of where he looks, all Rumplestiltskin can see is Belle - so many of her that it’s difficult to actually spot her. But she’s there, near the center, moving even more gracefully than her reflections.
He knows that, should he interrupt or interfere, he could run the risk of ruining the several beautiful pictures he has before him, but it doesn’t stop him. As if of their own accord, his feet guide him into the ballroom. He feels nothing from the mirrors, keeping his eyes focused on the real Belle, the one facing away from him and unaware of his presence until he begins to circle around her. He watches her face as her eyes widen - she’s caught. She fumbles mid-step and tries to mutter an apology, she’s sorry, she’ll get back to work immediately, but Rumplestiltskin wags his finger at her. No, no, my dear. Time to finish what you’ve started. He plucks the feather-duster from her, tossing it to the floor, and he takes her hand and they dance.
It’s strange at first - him not quite used to the proximity and her trying to pick up where she left off and continue to lead, but eventually the two of them fall perfectly into step - whatever that step may be, he isn’t sure. It isn’t right for him to call it a waltz, though it’s the most appropriate name he can think of, needless as it is. He forgets about the mirrors for a split second as she smiles - she genuinely smiles at him - and suddenly she’s closer and there’s no need to think. There’s just her and him and her enchanting smiles and the hem of her dress dusting his shins as they spin and the mirrors. And he doesn’t mind them. He looks into them and there are more there than just them: there is an entire ball full of couples, but it’s only them. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Eventually, regretfully, the silent song comes to an end and they part. She blushes and looks to the floor to hide it, then kneels to pick up the discarded feather-duster to hide it even more. He only observes her.
“I’m sorry, I got distracted,” she says. And finally, her blue eyes raise to meet his and he notices the smirk pulling at her lips. There’s a pause that’s too long by a hair, and the eye-contact is gone again. “I’ll put the covers back on the mirrors.”
Rumplestiltskin doesn’t respond right away. He turns and faces his own reflection in the mirrors adorning the walls. The couples have all stopped dancing, a momentary lull in the music. He turns back to Belle, holding his hand up to stop her. “They can stay down in here.”
She says nothing in return, but the look, that sparkle in her eyes, whether or admiration or curiosity or joy, is all he needs.