Archive of Our Own

It began as a lark. A quirk of dark humor within the context of revenge. The bloody heart of the bloody pirate was tucked away, secreted with Rumpelstiltskin's other, precious possessions. Precious.

 
Rumpelstiltskin tormented Hook with the word, a fair step beyond "dearie". Fingers encased in black, leather gloves touched a chiseled face, darkened with stubble, and lips drew back from teeth in a snarl. "Precious," he hissed.

It pleased him to draw it out. Gods... it pleased him.

To be visited by visions of his own weakness was torture; worse, really, than the actual loss of Milah. With so much time passed, so much plot and agenda; and the startling, mutable quality of changing identity; Rumpelstiltskin knew, with certainty, that she had been lost to him long before the pirate came along. He questioned whether his feeling of loss came from lost love or simply need.

And. He also knew that he was her killer. No matter the face he wore for Belle.... a face he'd begun to believe, himself. It was he who'd taken her heart from her body, just as he'd taken Hook's. His anger at her, his mortification over his own cowardice, his public status as a cuckold... it was all part of what fueled the demon that rode his blood. That resided in neurons and synapses. For her own sake and for his... and to spite the bloody pirate... he'd crushed her heart to dust.

Her eyes had filled him with gratification. Her realization, horror and pain. Her deep understanding. It had been a glory, but then it was over. Even Hook's shock, even the sacrificial hand wasn't as screamingly validating as Milah's death-face, and it caused a strange lust in Rumpelstiltskin... a need for more vengeance, more blood. More stunned, almost worshipful realization.

It was a madness and a weakness. He saw the same weakness as it ruled and instructed Regina's every thought, every action. He tried to master it; to be its master.

The reappearance of the pirate, hell-bent on his own revenge, somewhat lessened his mastery. It wasn't Milah he avenged; it was himself. He was lust-driven by the memory of her eyes, whites all around dark irises as he held her heart before her... he saw in her eyes that she knew her error. She'd misjudged him. He was not a small, frightened man... a little man on whom she could vent her impatience and disgust. A hapless man at whom she could laugh as she fucked other men.

His vengeance was for the fact that the world had ever seen that little man. That Hook had seen him grovel, and had heard him whimper the word, "Please." On his knees, a supplicant, a penitent man.

Such memories, such visions made him bodily flinch. It wouldn't stand.

Bloody pirate. Pretty, but sadly stupid. It was he, guided -of course - by Cora, who helped to cause change, ripples in Regina's little world of make-believe. The pirate understood full well that Rumpelstiltskin had magic... power he could wield in the this world... and he launched his attack, anyway. Even in the awareness of Cora's power; Rumpelstiltskin's pupil, after all.

Headstrong, blood-driven, ill-advised; head flooded with testosterone and arrogance. Idiot. It was nothing at all to reach in, magic - the power of the Dark One - making skin and bone, muscle and viscera... all layers of illusion. For a moment he'd kept his hand inside. It was so intimate, in so bizarre a manner. He'd stood close to Hook, heat radiating up his arm, into his own chest. Hook's gasp of pain, his heart enclosed in a wicked hand, had been rather sexual. It surprised Rumpelstiltskin to feel it, and so; for a few, dreamlike, hot moments, he'd been very still. He'd held the heart of the pirate, feeling it's thrumming, pulsing beat accelerate and then slow. He'd moved his thumb over the squeezing muscle, a caress, and watched Hook's eyelashes flutter. Color in his cheeks, ruddy over the ever-dark jaw.... parted lips, halting, hitching breath. The very taking of Hook's heart, it's feel in Rumpelstiltskin's articulate, sensitive hand, had made a twist, a seed in his demon blood. It ran amok, making ever darker vines and tendrils. The heart belonged to him, to crush or enslave.

Hook's eyes had been quite different from Milah's. His expression, in fact, reminded Rumpelstiltskin of Belle, of her girlhood in the Dark Castle. There had been something tell-tale in her eyes; something he hadn't known how to read. He understood it better, now... and here it was in Hook's eyes, the blue as intense and startling as Belle's.

A fatality of curiosity; a strange relief. Submission.

It was powerful and unexpected. Perhaps the pirate had a death wish. A courtship of death, as Belle once courted spirits.

Rumpelstiltskin, under the heady spell of it, let the moment linger and play out. he let Hook feel it... the pain of his body, the quickening of his breath. The feel of his enemy's hand in an intimate caress.

Then, uncertain as to his own desires, he ripped the organ from Hook's chest. That, too, was surprisingly sexual. Hook's fall to the floor was a swoon. The heart was the color of a dark garnet... blackened in places; the pirate was not a stranger to misdeeds. To evil. In places it glowed, ruby red, a pretty yet gruesome Valentine. It throbbed in his hand, so very hot, and gave off a strong scent of red musk, rosewood and black current. The scent mingled with a scent of iron ore, oxidation... a disturbance of raw blood. Rumpelstiltskin found himself staring down at the fallen pirate; he towered over him, now. heart in hand. A fisted vessel of purple and glittery light, not unlike his own magic. A dark plum with silvery insides, black serpent coiled about. Strange fruit.

He felt an urge to kiss the heart, to lick it as Hook watched. He refrained. His senses were confused, as were his thoughts... they wove around notions of Hook as a sluttish boy-man, probably naked beneath his worn leather; raw, cocky and used to women indulging his lust and whimsy. The thoughts irritated him and yet were mildly arousing. The ridiculous show of swarthy hair swirled over Hook's chest, visible from the deep V of his playboy shirt was irritating as well. Designer chest hair on a lithe, hard body. There was a conflict of messages coming from the pirate... signals of masculinity and signals of something else... a shift in the air; a willingness.

Rumpelstiltskin left him where he lay, bereft of heart and now in the service of a demon. His errand boy, his lap dog. These thoughts gave Rumpelstiltskin pleasure.
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Then it began; the lark. The small moment of black comedy that put a twist in Rumpelstiltskin's gut and a kink in his mind. He was drunk with the power he held over Hook. He was drunk with Hook's heart, which he liked to hold and caress when he was alone, wondering if Hook felt it as pain or pleasure. He brooded over it, gloated over it, and - once - he brought himself off, holding it to his face as he stroked. That weird dalliance brought shame; his own impulses were foreign. He was a stranger to himself, and caught in a lush delirium. He said, "Come to me," to Hook's heart, and then felt a thrill uncoil in his hollowed insides when the pirate arrived.

He might tell him to run a henchman's errand, or simply to go fetch lunch from Granny's. Go fetch his suits from the dry cleaner.

Go. Fetch. The pretty, boy-man was fetching. Heartless, he was a fetch... a ghost of himself, walking the streets and passing as the living. He was owned. His pretty eyes were haunted. Hunted.

The darkness within Rumpelstiltskin curdled and coagulated, heavy in his lower belly and singing in his limbs. Looking at the scruff and leather, the bulk and shine of jewelry and the crow-black hair of the pirate, he said, "Give us a kiss, precious."

He smiled, huffed a little laugh. It was meant to show Hook that he was the butt of the joke. He was in the power and control of his enemy, and could be made to humiliate himself. Easily; on a lark. Rumpelstiltskin was still wearing a sardonic smile as Hook leaned in, his body close. The shop was shadowy and close.... all of the surroundings seemed to draw in, and then Rumpelstiltskin's smile faded as he felt the soft brush of Hook's lips against his.

Blood surged. Skin erupted to gooseflesh, too sensitive. Too much.

Hook's eyes had flashed and then were shielded, the usual guardedness. His body had shifted in an uncomfortable way; shoulders tensed, then rolled. And yet. Without a word of protest, he'd leaned in. Close, the scent of ocean and cold air that seemed always to follow him from the harbor, the Jolly Roger. The soft brush of lips, the scent and very nearly the taste of rum.

Rumpelstiltskin was rather shocked that it had happened, in spite of his ownership. He'd lost his way, and didn't know what to do with his face. He opted for a frown. Stern, brows drawn down; though he was certain he was meant to be laughing in Hook's face. Good dog, he should say. He should rough up his fur. Give him a collar to complete his magpie collection of jewels.

"You always smell of seaweed." he said as a complaint, a distraction.

Hook murmured, "You always smell of old things and overly sweet tobacco. Oh. And of evil."

Well, how adorable. It brought a smile to Rumpelstiltskin's face. The black humor bubbled up again, and with a twist of his hand, a flick of his wrist; the sign on his door flipped from "open" to "closed". The heavy, polished lock fell neatly into place. He began to unbuckle his belt.

"You're a good pup." he said, his manner soothing. "I'm going to give you a bone."

"The fuck you are."

Rumpelstiltskin flared with snark. Amused, dark eyes and twisted smirk. How did Hook think he could refuse this request when he could refuse no other? He slid out of his jacket, pulled his fine shirt out of the way and laid open the frightful teeth of his zipper.

"Get on your knees." he said. He still smiled, enjoying himself. Lording over Hook.

A shudder went visibly through Hook, and Rumpelstiltskin knew he fought the command. Well, he couldn't. The conclusion was foregone. The shudder passed and Hook dropped to his knees, staring down at the floor.

Rumpelstiltskin's smile again faded, and he felt some of his amusement fade as well.... The control was good, and Hook's humiliation, his dismay was.... good. But Rumpelstiltskin was caught in a desire that made him hot, that pumped his blood and hardened his cock. It made him uncertain of himself. It wasn't all posturing, he knew. It wasn't all to put Hook in his place; to keep him down.

He had needs of his own, surging to the forefront. He pulled his cock from an expense of silk and fine weave. The scent of wealth... it was cleaner and yet smokier than the ocean, alcohol and sugar-bordello scent of Hook. The bawdy, buttery-amaretto scent that seemed always caught up in his dark hair... stubble that made swirling patterns even on his neck... dark, soft hair that lay over his forearms.

Close to the kneeling pirate, he lifted Hook's chin, fingers light on the stubble-dark jaw. With his other hand, he stroked himself. He laid the hot length against Hook's cheek, where it throbbed; it left a shine of wetness as he stroked.

His own breath was ragged. He felt dirty. This is what he should have done on the ship, he thought. This was proper revenge on a man who'd seduced his wife. He should have gotten Hook on his knees and had him slobber all over the Dark One's cock, with his ship-mates and Milah in attendance. Witnesses. As his own mewling whimper had been witnessed. His begging whine.

Well. He'd have to settle for murder and mutilation, as he hadn't been as charmed by the pirate in the past as it seemed he was, now. Hook's eyes looked to be close to tears, and it filled Rumpelstiltskin's chest with an anxious pleasure-pain. Angry tears; eyes hard, cheeks and lips suffused with blood. Clenched jaw. His sugar-rum scent was hot, rising to Rumpelstiltskin's nostrils. They flared, taking in the musk of the heat... Was it arousal?

He shifted a bit, and rubbed the head of his cock over Hook's troubled lips. He heard and felt Hook's sharp intake of breath. Truly, there were tears forming, now. Water standing, a reddening of the eyes that did strange, unearthly things to the blue of the irises.... bursts of yellow around the pupil made an eerie, blue-green of his eyes. There was a deeply shadowed, bruised look around Hook's eyes; hurt, little boy, hiding beneath a wolfish exterior. Leather and fur, standing on hackled end.
Rumpelstiltskin could feel the heat coming off of the pirate, more and more aware that there was desire in it. Desire such as he felt within himself. Hook's tears were anger, and - yes - humiliation. But the humiliation was that he wanted it. He yearned. His lust was for that which was being forced upon him.

Thumb making a small caress over Hook's lips, Rumpelstiltskin said, "Open." His voice was a soft rasp, a whispered growl. He was overwhelmed. He hadn't thought to go so far, and now he couldn't stop. Now... now he needed the soft, wet heat of Hook's mouth, the slide and suckle of lips and tongue. His balls were drawn up tight and sending messages of urgency up his spine. Dark flowers bloomed in his head... dark, like Hook's heart.

Hook's mouth opened to him. When it did, his eyes closed and the tears held there slid out from beneath sooty lashes, tracing salt down his face. Over sculpted cheekbones and shadowed jaw. It affected Rumpelstiltskin so that the black, honey-roses in his mind became purple-black moths in his chest; swallows, sooty-dark like Hook's eyelashes, beating against ribs and sternum. It bloodied him.

His fingers moved to catch a tear, a sensual caress that ended with his fingers in his own mouth, transgressing his own hot, swollen lips. He sucked and tasted the saline of Hook's body; his conflict. At the same moment he pushed the head of his cock into Hook's mouth. The flare of the head parted Hook's lips even wider, stretching his jaw. Hook moaned, eyes still closed. That, alone, nearly made Rumpelstiltskin come.

No, he silently willed. He wouldn't make it so easy. Hook's tongue made a soft touch, a wet slide over the cleft, tasting what leaked from Rumpelstiltskin as he'd watched Hook's face, simmering with anticipation. It was another sharp wave, a clenching, low in his belly.... a feeling of an insinuating touch, sneaky and alarming beneath his balls, in a heated bloom at the small of his back. Need crept up the backs of his thighs and pooled in a hot coil at his belly. His body felt alive with crawling serpents. Hook made another soft moan, taking more of the cock, beginning a slow bobbing; eyes closed, cheeks hollowed and mouth so, so willing.

Rumpelstiltskin moaned with him, lost to sensation and the vision of Hook's face; tormented and yet sensual, hot with blood.... brow sometimes creased and sometimes blissful. The sight of his randy cock, gloved in Hook's lips and wet with Hook's saliva; the strangeness of a masculine face, pretty yet strong.... it was devilry. It was witchery. Hook, in his black and jewels and shadowed eyes... his whore's wardrobe and ocean scent... he was a witchy sort of man. His long-fingered hand had risen, not under any command, and gripped Rumpelstiltskin's hip. He held him, brow growing intense, and sucked. He was hungry. His head moved faster, lips sliding up and down, tongue so wet.

Mouth open, watching avidly, Rumpelstiltskin held the sides of Hook's head. He buried his hands in black, glossy, feathers of hair. The heels of his hands felt the working of Hook's jaw... his balls felt the purr of Hook's voice, the pirate's throat humming, "...mmmmm..." He thrust his hips, meeting Hook's rhythm, teeth on edge and uncaring of dignity as his trousers fell around his ankles.

Delirium hit again... the scent he knew as Hook's heart was also Hook's scent, and he was infected with it. So much venous purple, so much garnet... deepest violet and blackest plum. All was autumn and winter. Hook's moan became plaintive and loud, and Rumpelstiltskin saw the back and forth rocking of the pirate's leather clad hips. He was thrusting, grinding on thin air, slurping in as much of Rumpelstiltskin's cock as he could. He was desperate, wretched. His hand moved to Rumpelstiltskin's arse... kneading, gripping and holding Rumpelstiltskin flush to his working mouth. Feeling the head of his cock nudge the back of Hook's throat, causing a spasm, the beginning of a gag, Rumpelstiltskin made a helpless sound and burst into orgasm.

.... Fuck.... The shock of it. This act he'd done... done upon his enemy. Light exploded in his skull, bringing with it the loud rush of his own blood. He felt himself empty, his legs going weak and drained as he did so. He felt Hook struggle to swallow, and the spill of his seed from the corner of Hook's mouth. Lust and release were all too real, all too present in his body and all too physical between himself and Hook... he couldn't begin to ignore what had happened. Hands still buried in Hook's hair, Rumpelstiltskin breathed hard and felt his body contract and tremble, reacting to little shocks as Hook still nursed at his softening cock.

With reluctance, he pulled himself from the heat and wet suckle of Hook's mouth. He stared down at Hook's upturned face, knowing he could not master the expression on his own. He felt wild-eyed and slack-jawed.
Hook, too, looked wild. Wet faced, red-eyed. A hurtful desire was all over his face, lips parted, wet. Rumpelstiltskin wiped his seed from Hook's mouth and chin with his thumb. Hypnotized, he slid his thumb into Hook's mouth. His chest rose and fell as he watched Hook's lips close on his thumb. Blue-green eyes, bruised shadows. Hook watched him in return, his eyes pleading and greedy.

"Stand up." Rumpelstiltskin said.

Hook complied, and then was utterly passive, arms hanging loose at his sides as Rumpelstiltskin worked at the fastenings of his leather trousers. He freed a cock that was simillar in nature to the pirate's heart. A ruddy, pulsing thing that gave off heat; it sprang from a thicket of dark, wolfish hair. It was hard, leaking... as lush as some sort of peculiar, muscled variety of hothouse flower; offered as such. Hook's brothel scent was heavy with arousal... darkest wines and berries... rising sap that ran black, scorched sugar and spiced rum.

Rumpelstiltskin led Hook by the cock. Trousers still around his ankles, he made a backwards shuffle, leading his dog. Hook's eyes, under such intense brows... his body so covered in fur and scent... He should be the town werewolf, Rumpelstiltskin thought. He had Ruby out-paced by miles... his nose lifted to scent, his ears appeared to attune and focus. He was feral pack.

Further in shadow, away from the cut crystal that caught sunlight in the window, Rumpelstiltskin brought Hook's mouth to his. The kiss was a luxury of kissing. A voluptuousness of kissing. It was robbed of vengeance and knew only hunger, sensation and scent. Hook moaned into it, his body sagging to Rumpelstiltskin's, heavy against him, as he was the bigger man.

As Rumpelstiltskin wallowed in it, feeding on Hook's mouth and feeding his own tongue to Hook, his hand stroked. He felt as gluttonous of Hook's cock as he did his heart. Mine. He gloated.
Hook's hips thrust. His hand came to Rumpelstiltskin's hair, fingers coiled in too-long feathers at his nape. The steel hook at the end of his other arm pressed, cold against Rumpelstiltskin's hip.

"I want you." Hook murmured into Rumpelstiltskin's mouth.

"You had me," Rumpelstiltskin murmured back.

He stroked, his palm wet and slick with Hook's arousal. The red musk, red haze rose up in heatwaves. His thumb slid over the ripe head of Hook's cock, a warm fondle, and he felt Hook shudder with it.
A puppy-whine formed in Hook's throat, and Rumpelstiltskin felt his frustration. Hook wanted more... He wanted Rumpelstiltskin's mouth on his cock. Maybe he wanted to be fucked. The thought made Rumpelstiltskin shiver, and he felt his cock hardening again; lengthening. Seeking wolfish heat.

But he wasn't ready for any of it... He was still coping with the shock and thrill of what he'd done. He tasted himself in Hook's kiss, and it left him in a state of amazement. He felt a thrill of desire; also a thrill of disgust. Vengeance had taken a very different turn, and it was a lot to process.

"Come for me." he whispered. He moved even closer to Hook. His mouth kissed it's way to Hook's neck, the scent and heat there dizzying. He sucked and bit hot flesh, feeling the resistance of tendon and muscle. One hand slid beneath Hook's shirt, feeling the intensity of heat along his back.

With his other, he stroked faster. He slid Hook's cock against his own, and they both groaned, knees buckling a little. "Come for me," he said again, relishing his hold on the engorged cock. Then Hook obeyed, his hips bucking wildly. He cried out, pressing himself close. He spurted all over Rumpelstiltskin's hand, over his belly and fine shirt.

"That's it..." Rumpelstiltskin crooned. "Good boy."
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He returned the heart. It was a risk, but he didn't really fear Hook. If the pirate returned with thoughts of enacting revenge.... Well. They'd both seen the futility of it. Hook hadn't the weapon to make an end of Rumpelstiltskin. As long as that was true, the magic would always make Rumpelstiltskin the stronger of the two.

The return of the heart was as sexual as the taking. Rumpelstiltskin held Hook braced, and when he used magic to make the press, to be inside again, Hook's eyes fluttered closed. His mouth opened wide, but was silent. As before, he was flushed and.... submissive. He remained still, the bared skin of his torso tactile in a hyperactive way against Rumpelstiltskin's hands. For a time he stroked and soothed over Hook's chest, seeking to ease the pain of giving his heart back. Regaining a renewed ability to feel... to feel all that had passed between them. A lessening of the ability to repress.

Get a grip, Rumpelstiltskin told himself. The man is wearing a pelt. You're petting him.

Good dog.

He'd thought Hook would flee once he was whole again. Maybe try to land a punch, first.... Or something more wicked and painful with the sharp hook. He didn't. He breathed heavily through flared nostrils, the wolf. He kept his eyes closed as Rumpelstiltskin pet him, and when he finally opened his eyes, he said, "Well, then."

"Well, then." Rumpelstiltskin agreed.

"Aye." Hook said.

"Indeed." Rumpelstiltskin concurred.

Both were tucked away, neatly zipped or laced; belted. Rumpelstiltskin was dressed and composed, but for his jacket. Hook had only to button up his shirt and retrieve his top layer of leather.

"Why did you give it back?"

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged one shoulder.

"Things got... out of hand. It seemed only fitting."

Hook's frown was a pout; Rumpelstiltskin wanted to kiss it. Bite it. He was rather fascinated to watch the furrow of his brow and the one-handed buttoning of his shirt. The color of deep wine, like other parts of him. Hook dressed like heart and cock; blood and darkness, a wicked flowering of purple.

It was hard to meet one another's eyes, and - for the most part - they didn't. Then Hook, with hip and rounded, taut arse, pushed away from the counter on which he leaned.

"Goodbye, then." he said.

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, and stared at the door, the growing dusk beyond it, long after Hook was gone.
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Hook sat in a booth at Granny's. It was the dark of the moon. Were Cora still about, he might get up to undercover mischief. The woman loved a dark moon.

"New moon", his own people had called it. But Cora called it "dark". She'd learned from Rumpelstiltskin, and Hook thought she was more accurate in the naming. For, outside of the window, it was pitch black. And cold. Granny's was bright and warm, and smelled of comforting foods he was coming to love. Open-faced turkey sandwiches with Gravy. Gravy. Yes, and thick slabs of sourdough bread; aromatic, hot and crusty, browned with butter. Mashed potatoes... Meat-loaf, more mashed potatoes, more gravy. Emma had commented that he seemed to maintain a steady diet of meat, starch, gravy and rum. She wasn't wrong.

He was making a place for himself, here. What else could he do?

But his bed was a hammock in the Jolly Roger, and it was fucking cold. Snow fell... all the time, it seemed. He loitered at Granny's, drinking coffee into which he'd slipped rum. Disgusting; another Emma observation. She could do with whiskey and coffee, but not the rum.

It suited him. When not consuming meat and starch, he liked things with a little more heat than most in Storybrooke. Hot peppers, Hot spices. Spiced rum. Emma took her cocoa with cinnamon; he took his with chili pepper. She wrinkled her nose. He added rum.

Move forward with this woman, he often thought. She was a city of complexity and reluctance on the inside; not to mention the messiah complex; but she was fond of him. And he of her. When she let herself, she wanted him. She was pretty... very different from his usual tastes. She was an interesting mix of raw-boned and ethereal. She was strong. She could keep him in check.

But when he shivered in his bleeding hammock, his mind went to the Crocodile. It made him grit his teeth, grind them. His jaw hurt, as it had after sucking that demon's cock. He drank black coffee, he drank rum and he burned his lips and tongue with peppers and cloves, but he still tasted Rumpelstiltskin. He had a craving, and it made him angry. He spit into the ocean and onto the dirt, and was still taunted with an invasive, silk-velvet feeling on his tongue; the taste of saline and milkweed, nettlish. A scent of smoke, honey and rain.

Then... speak of the devil. Rumpelstiltskin came into Granny's. Hook's blood froze; his body froze. The bell on the door made him look up, and he was caught. His eyes locked on the black-clad scarecrow that was Rumpelstiltskin, and he couldn't seem to look away. He felt the dazed longing that poured from his eyes, and was desperate to hide it.

Rumpelstiltskin was so much more sedate in this little, fabricated world of Regina's. Or, if he understood properly, it was really of the Crocodile's making. Regina brought the details and the energy of a cheering section.

It had been a bit of a shock to understand that this sober, cynical man was his Crocodile. No longer the ghoulish, lank haired creature who killed Milah, appearing like an enlivened barnacle to take his hand. Creature of sackcloth and straw. Nor was he the leather and brocade clad lord of the Dark Castle and its lands. Now... he was evidently the wealthiest man in Storybrooke. That little quirk of the curse worked out well for him. He might be... attractive. In an odd way.

It must have been at least a month since Hook had laid eyes on him.... it figured. He appeared on the dark of the moon. It was the province of the Dark One, after all. He and his witchy apprentices and all other creepy, crawly things. Look away, Hook thought. Look anywhere but at the man at the counter. He couldn't. His eyes soaked in the cavalier, suppressed swagger. The buttoning down of the cavorting imp. The goblin's body beneath the well-cut cloth of black. He took in the feathers of chestnut hair, silvered, a little long. The length seemed rebellious in this town of men who all dressed the same, looked the same and who remained in a perpetual state of a Spring shearing. Over the expensive suit, Rumpelstiltskin's hair suggested something about his wild nature.

No one, here, seemed truly to grasp it.

Having placed his order, (hearts and liver with a side of bitter greens? arsenic and absinthe? desolate, withered roots and a vial of tears?), the Crocodile turned and locked his gaze to Hook's. Those hooded eyes, so deep. Hook shivered... he felt, suddenly, as if cold seeped in through the window with a shocking rush. Likely the Crocodile had been aware of him all along; a lesson hard-learned. His face was gaunt, his hair fell about his face like wings.

Hook's belly tensed and his heart stuttered; present, but perhaps not secured in his chest. In a way that was frightful in it's intensity, he wanted Rumpelstiltskin. He wanted to give himself.... to roll over like a bitch in heat and present his swollen, needy parts.

With a softly snarled word over his shoulder, a tired look of offense on Widow Lucas' face, Rumpelstiltskin left the counter and came to Hook's booth. He slid onto the facing seat without invitation, and stared at Hook with.... hunger?

"Pirate."

"Crocodile".

Perhaps comedic, Rumpelstiltskin bared his teeth. A gold tooth on his bottom row glinted, somehow dangerous looking. Hook was not a stranger to sparkle and flash. He felt pain in his heart, as well as a phantom pain at his missing hand.

"What a surprise, to see you with a book." Rumpelstiltskin said, still smiling.

Hook glanced at the book on the table. He hadn't really read it, but had meant to. Cora had wanted him to become familiar with this world's take on magic. Its history, or lack thereof. He'd skimmed.

"I can read." he said.

"Ah. You've made great strides, then."

"Fuck off."

"Oh, we've already visited there, dearie."

Hook looked down, feeling heat in his face. Fuck me, he should have said. Not that he was a mercenary of truth. Take me home to your warm house, your warm bed, and fuck me.

He burned quietly with the vision, and Rumpelstiltskin opened the book.

"Witches and midwives and papists, oh my."

"Cora's interests."

With something of a vicious snarl, Rumpelstiltskin said, "You were a good, little lap dog for her, too. Weren't you?"

Hook glared, but that was the best he had. He kind of had been her lap dog, and he found himself on the verge of a repeating pattern with Emma. He couldn't seem to stop doing it. Though Rumpelstiltskin, woefully unaware of his wife's true nature, had never known it; he'd also been Milah's bitch. Were the truth told. After kneeling at Rumpelstiltskin's feet, after hungering for him, Hook had become uncomfortably aware of a string of rather dominating women in his life. He'd become aware of his own pattern of flirtation. His body language was masculine, maybe even dominant. But his words were servile. I'll be your slave. I'll do this, that and the other for you. To you, if you wish it. He played a bad boy, so they would do hurtful things to him. He said he'd kneel at their feet.

But it was Rumpelstiltskin he'd knelt before.

Rumpelstiltskin read something from the book, using one of the old languages of this world. "Cunnus diaboli." he flashed a grin, causing wickedness in Hook. He wanted to grin back. " 'Devilish cunt' ." he translated. "It seems the church was rather colorful, in days of yore." Closing the book, he added, "Indeed, this does seem like Cora's brand of wronged and oppressed women."

"Aye."

Rumpelstiltskin's hand touched his, sliding the book back to Hook's side of the table. It was subtle, but Hook's insides jumped. His pulse leapt so that he blushed all over again, filled with nervous energy.

"Devilish cunt." Rumpelstiltskin said again, his smile rather more intimate. "It makes me think of you, dearie."

"I haven't got one of those, at last check." Hook noted. Ignoring his hot blush, holding Rumpelstiltskin's eyes, he said, "As you're aware. Dearie."

Rumpelstiltskin's brow did a quick raise, his lips a bit parted. Hook felt himself growing hard, painful in his leather.

"Indeed." Rumpelstiltskin acknowledged. "Yet... you are devilish."

"Devilishly handsome."

He was met with a smirk. "I imagine I could find unseemly ways to make use of you as a cunt. Killian."

Hook's blush deepened, both at the implication and at the use of his name. It was startling, his name on Rumpelstiltskin's lips. It felt like a touch.

Impulsive, he stroked his little finger against Rumpelstiltskin's hand, barely touching. They both inhaled sharply, and Hook murmured, "Take me home with you."

"Really, dearie?"

"Aye."

"And Miss Swan?"

Hook couldn't think about it. He gave a rapid shake of his head. Nor would he mention Belle.

"I see." Rumpelstiltskin said. Seeming to come back to himself, he said, "I can't bloody well parade about town with your glam-rock, sluttish, decidedly male person on my arm, Hook."

Killian, Hook thought. His hopes were starting to sink, but Rumpelstiltskin said, "I'll collect my supper and take it home. Wait here for a little while, then come 'round to my house."

Hook's blood surged again. His vascular workings were going to kill him. The blood rushed in a downward path, and his cock jumped. Looking up from the table to meet Rumpelstiltskin's eyes, a slow smile spread over his face. In return, Runpelstiltskin looked amused. Sarcastic. Maybe he only knew the one expression. "Wolf." he said, chiding.

Still smiling, Hook said, "Lap dog."

Well. That did it. Rumpelstiltskin looked mollified, and Hook was surprised to see a blush rise to his gaunt face, mottling over his cheekbones.

Rumpelstiltskin rose from the table and rapped it's surface with his knuckles... Waking spirits? Calling up magic? He paid the Widow and left, a last look over his shoulder to Hook. He felt it, the look. Dark eyes, looking into him. It moved in his body, travelled in his breath.

He poured more rum into his coffee, and a calculating part of himself emerged as an even wider smile. He would be in a bed tonight. In the warm and surely comfortable bed of the wealthiest, most powerful man in Storybrooke. The Jolly Roger would sleep alone, rocking on the freezing sea.

He would find out how it felt to submit to Rumpelstiltskin... of his own volition. He was all heart.

THE END