Mr Gold has no idea how he ended up out here.

But he's a little afraid. Okay, more than a little bit: he's tied up, alone, in the woods, without his cane or, strangely enough, his shoes.

He hears a low, female chuckle, from a direction he cannot pinpoint.

He expects Regina to come sidling around the bend in the path, clutching a blood red apple or some other silly little weapon. She'll rip his heart out, add to her collection, and dance on the ashes like the fire-witch she is.

But the laughter has solidified, and the woman who melts out of the shadows is not his nemesis, diamond-dagger teeth and malice.

His Belle, his pretty, innocent little Belle stands before him, and her smile is full of needles and wickedness.

Her eyes are dark, though, and gleaming merry.

"Belle?" he asks, strangled: perhaps she's a golem, sent to taunt him. Perhaps his real wife is curled up at home, and this is a siren sent to kill him in her name.

"Yes?" she replies, and no one could fake her voice that well.

"Um, not to be rude, sweetheart, but why am I tied to a tree?" his anger has faded, because his wife is here and it's her fault, so he's in no real danger.

Actually, scratch that: she's twirling his cane in her red-tipped fingers, and she doesn't seem to be ready to untie him anytime soon, and he thinks that maybe the danger is actually closer to home than he thought.

He knew he shouldn't have let her spend so much time with Jefferson: one drugged cup of tea later, and here he is.

"You," she replies, placing the tip of the cane on his shoulder, "Forgot my birthday."

"Oh…" he scans through his mind: he'd been convinced that she was a May baby, but perhaps it was April after all. Oops. "But didn't you already have one of those last year?"

Humour was a bad idea at this juncture. Didn't stop him from trying.

She runs the cane down across his neck, presses ever-so-slightly on his windpipe so his breath catches, then across to the other shoulder, "Which means…" she leans up, slowly runs her tongue along the line the cane just followed, "That you owe me a present."

"Well, there must be something in the shop…" he murmurs, trying not to gasp as she bites down on his collarbone, "Something shiny, pretty and vintage? Or a book perhaps?"

"Hmmmm," she hums against his skin, burrowed into the side of his neck, "No…" the very tip of her clever little tongue works higher, up the side of his throat and to the shell of his ear, "What I want," she breathes, "Is something a little more… special."

"Oh," he breathes, "Well, that'll be a little difficult, love. What with me all tied up and everything."

"I wonder." She doesn't sound fazed at all, she just goes back to nibbling on his earlobe, and oh, he'll never tire of the effect she has on him.

He hadn't even noticed what her hands were doing until he feels one, cupping him through his pants, grinding with her palm against his growing hardness, making him gasp out into her ear, "Belle…"

"Yes?" she looks up at him through her eyelashes as she does this expert little twist of her wrist that… oh, Gods above, where did she learn to do that?

He lets out a sound that isn't even human, some half-groan, half-snarl that he buries in the side of her neck. She giggles, and does it again, and he feels his hips jerk forwards of their own accord.

"Now," she murmurs, "Not a word out of you, alright?"

"If you could just untie me…" he starts, but she pulls back sharply and gives his shoulder a hard, warning tap with the cane.

"That wasn't really a question." She replies, voice hard and unyielding, "You keep that mouth of yours shut, if you want more of this…" She shifts her hand just so, and rubs hard enough that he groans low in his throat, and oh, fuck, gods yes, he just needs to-

She stops, suddenly, and looks up at him under her eyelashes, "Okay?"

Shakily, he nods, and is rewarded with a throaty little laugh and a wide, wicked smile, "Good…"

She starts to unbutton his shirt, and places a hot, wet kiss to each new inch of skin she exposes. Her teeth bite at the flesh over his heart; a little tremor runs through him, straight to his groin. She soothes it with her tongue, and his hips buck again as she grins into his skin.

She drops lower as she keeps undressing him, practically on her knees, and he wants more than anything to break free and bury his hands in her hair.

He wants to grab her round, slim little hips and shove her against this very tree and take her, hard, silence that wicked mouth of hers with his tongue and make her scream his name.

He could give her a sodding birthday present if she just let him touch her.

But then she's on her knees in front of him, and she's somehow managed to get his trousers off, and she's grinning at him like the filthiest little demon he's ever laid eyes on.

He yelps, his eyes squeezed shut, as she runs the flat of her tongue over his cock through the silk of his boxers. She kneels before him on the forest floor, licking his dick with long, broad strokes, lapping him up like a cat… and oh, Gods, he needs his hands free so he can hold her still, so he can keep her there and yes, yes, just doing that, for as long as possible. Forever, preferably.

It's ridiculous that he's already so hard, and she hasn't even touched him skin-to-skin yet.

His Belle has special powers: this much is certain.

Then, all of a sudden, she's back on her feet, just smiling at him, and far too far away.

He wants to ask her what she's playing at, but that's against the rules, and he's afraid of what she'll do if he disobeys her. And that alone, this feeling of raw helplessness, of being so completely at her mercy, shouldn't be turning him on so much.

He trembles: he needs her hands on him, her mouth back where it was, more than he needs to breathe.

She pulls something almost out of thin air, something long and sharp.

She takes her gleaming scissors, and goes to work on his shirt, cutting it from his arms and throwing the ribbons to the floor.

She does his boxers next, although his legs aren't tied and she managed on the trousers just fine. He winces and shivers as the cold steel brushes his aching cock, and swallows a moan.

Then he's completely naked, shivering in the woods, and she's beaming at him like a fallen angel.

He doesn't want to tremble.

But he hasn't felt this exposed since before he became cursed, all those centuries ago, and she's looking at him like she's going to eat him alive.

Then her mouth is at his ear. She sucks and bites at his earlobe for a moment, before she leans up and murmurs, "What would you do, if I untied you right now?"

She hums into his ear, one hand slowly moving down across his chest, closer and closer to where he needs it most, snaking down across his stomach. "Would you want to punish me, hmm? Would you eat me all up?" she pops the last syllable against his ear as her hand finds his throbbing cock, and he tries not to whimper.

She starts to pump him, hard, knows exactly what he likes, twisting her wrist at the end of every third stroke, sometimes reaching down to cup and roll his balls between her clever little fingers.

Her mouth is hard at work on his neck, suckling on his Adam's apple, forming a little bruise on his pulse point, nibbling on the edge of his jaw. She knows every weakness, every sensitive little spot like an old friend, and she plays him like an instrument.

He's panting, groaning, desperate to be inside her right the hell now. He wonders exactly how this present is for her.

He's so close to coming he can taste it, seeing stars behind his eyes.

Then, abruptly, she stops.

Her hands are nowhere, and her mouth is gleaming at him in the dark from several yards away, and she's dropped the scissors just past his feet.

"This is my present to myself," she almost sings, "You, all tied up and naked and hard, and not a thing you can do about it!"

He growls low in his throat, all the many ways he could punish the wicked little thing playing through his mind. Unfortunately, that just makes the problem worse.

"Have fun!" she calls, and sprints back through the woods to their house, the lights of which peek out from behind the trees.

At least she left him his cane, and a pair of scissors.


Belle awakens to the feeling of something chafing around her wrists, and the sound of someone grunting.

She'd figured this would happen. Counted on it, in fact.

The question is: where did he get the rope?

"Rum?" she murmurs, turning her head to the side. She's on her front, apparently minus the oversized t-shirt she'd worn to bed, and she has a feeling that it's lying in two neat halves somewhere on the floor.

"Shhhh, dearie," he murmurs, and she feels one hand on her cheek, pushing her back to face the front, chin on her pillow, "No talking. Those were the rules, remember?"

She'd been right to wind him up so much outside: this was going to be an awesome birthday present.

She squirms into the bed, tries to keep in her little whimper of pleasure as she feels his mouth move up her spine, leaving hot, wet kisses, sometimes biting on the skin and sucking it into his mouth.

He reaches her shoulders, and she can feel the stubble on his chin rub against her collarbone as his lips meet her ear, "Did you think I'd stay out there all night, love?"

His erection presses against the side of her leg, and she tries not to shift, tries not to silently beg him to move closer to where she's aching for him.

She shakes her head, and his chuckle vibrates through her, breath hot against her skin, "The scissors were considerate. Perhaps I'll be lenient…"

She turns to look at him, eyes wide and pleading, and catches a glimpse of a beautifully wicked grin before he turns her head back, "Uh uh, no looking. You stay where I put you."

She glances at the rope around her wrists. She's not going anywhere anyway.

Hell, even if she wasn't tied down, there's no place else she'd rather be than in their bed, with her husband crooning dirty things in her ear, his Scottish burr so much stronger when he's breathless and desperate.

One of his hands runs down her spine, light enough to send shivers across her nerve-endings. He follows the curve of her ass, softly stroking the rounded flesh, and she closes her eyes shifting up into his touch. Then yelps, as his palm leaves her for just a second then smacks back down.

He smirks against her neck at the sound she made, and spanks her again. She moans, the pain more pleasurable than it has any right to be, and arches up into his touch.

"Hmm, interesting," he purrs into her ear, as his hand smacks her ass once more, and she moans into the pillow.

"I think you're enjoying this a little too much…" he murmurs, and she quickly shakes her head, desperate for him to just keep doing what he's doing, never stop, and… fuck.

His hand has slid lower, two fingers thrust up deep inside her without any warning, and she has to bite into the pillow to keep from screaming out.

He curves his fingers inside her, twists them in this way that hits every little secret spot she has, that has her groaning aloud and bucking her hips into him, needing him deeper and harder and just right there

Then the bastard pulls out of her, and snickers at her whimper of loss, and says, "Much better,". He shifts a little, so he's half on top of her, one hard thigh between hers, his hot, hard cock pressing into the curve of her ass.

She can hear him behind her, feel his arm come up, and as his lips release something with a pop she realises she must have been sucking his fingers clean.

Just the image is enough to make her legs tremble.

Then his index finger is in front of her, and his other hand has looped around to encourage her mouth open, and he's feeding his hand to her. She can taste herself on his skin.

Best birthday ever.

"Now, what shall we do with you?" he mutters, resting his chin in the curve of her shoulder, "You made a mistake, my Belle, leaving me alone and wanting you for so long. I have all these plans now…" he pauses to run the tip of his tongue around the shell of her ear, and she squirms against him, agitating her thigh against his cock, resting against her leg.

He takes a deep, ragged breath, and she smiles in triumph, "What should I do first? Hmm? Should I press my fingers back into you, see how long you can last, with just my hand, play you like an instrument?"

She moans, breathless, and struggles against her bonds. He just laughs at her, low and rumbling. It doesn't help the throbbing ache between her legs.

"Or I should go on tasting you? Lie between those gorgeous thighs of yours and eat you all up, fuck you with my tongue? I wonder how long you could go… how much I could make you scream before you came into my mouth…"

"Ahhh!" she can't help it, she cries out, thighs contracting, trying to grind her aching centre against his leg.

"Do you want that, Belle?"

She nods, vigorously, because God how she wants.

"How about I just fuck you so hard you can't see straight or walk for a month? How does that sound?" He pauses for a moment, lets it sink in, and then says, "You can answer, dearie."

"Perfect…" she whispers, and bites down hard on her lip, trying not to turn around, desperate to look at him.

"Good, because you wound me up something rotten out there, and I can't last much longer." He says, and she starts to giggle, his tone so rough and honest and him: everything she needs in the world. She can't help but feel completely, mushily, romantically in love with him even during this, even when she's tied to the bed and he's ordering her around, even after he forgot her birthday.

The giggling stops instantly when he lines himself up and thrusts hard inside her, no time for taking it slow or letting her get used to him. She yelps, and his chin is back near her ear, and he murmurs – so soft, she almost doesn't hear, "This okay, love?"

"What do you think?" she answers, smiling so wide she thinks her face might split in two.

"I think," he growls, as he starts to move, slow and hard and deep inside her, building both of them higher and higher, "I think this is what you wanted the whole time…"

"And why would you think that?" she breathes, knowing full well that he's right, but needing his voice to drive her over the edge.

"Because you're a dirty little girl and you like being fucked into the ground…" he growls, and he picks up his pace, pounding into her until she's screaming and bucking back into him, so close, just there, right there, yes yes yes

She comes around him, clenching her eyes shut against a shower of stars, pulling hard on the ropes around her wrists and hoping the bed doesn't come apart around them.

She feels him finish as she starts to come down, and her screams become breathy little whimpers as he rides out his orgasm, finally coming to rest on her back.

She feels him weakly reach up and start to untie the ropes around her wrists. It takes a few tries, and finally he gives up and clicks his fingers, undoing them with magic. Having a former sorcerer for a husband has some very useful perks.

He rolls them so she's spooned into his side, and presses a kiss to her shoulder, stubble scraping over-sensitised skin.

She turns in his arms, so she can see him properly for the first time since the forest, and beams up at him, "I should tie you up more often, if that's the result."

"Oh, no, dearie," his smile is languid, lazy, as he pulls her up for a slow, deep kiss that still curls her toes, no matter how long they're married, "I only let you enjoy yourself because it's your birthday. Try something like this again, and I'll pay you back in kind."

She shivers at the little threat in his tone, and can't help but challenge him, "You wouldn't make it…" she whispers against his lips, "You can't resist me, and you know it."

He makes an odd little growling sound, which she takes as assent, and kisses her again, silencing all further conversation.