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~*~
They aren't coming back.
Neither of them say it, but it doesn't need to be said.
He knows, intellectually, that this hurts him far less than it does the other man. And so he does his best to be kind. To be gentle and polite and helpful. He teaches him how to raise a child, and in turn, becomes a part of their lives.
He opens his home, his shop, his time, to them. He opens his heart.
When Henry succeeds in disarming his grandfather in combat for the first time, he is there, applauding and cheering. The smiles on both their faces are luminous and his heart hurts with the power of it. The most powerful magic of all.
When Henry is able to light the candle with just a flick of his wrist, the pride he feels goes beyond what is his right. He feels ashamed, though he has not yet given up hope. The world is there, outside their door. It may yet come to pass that he could learn a way to cross the threshold. Or that he may yet somehow cross it himself.
But he is conflicted as he sits with them by the light of his own fireplace. Henry sits in the floor, carefully paging through the heavy tome he has loaned him, while his grandfather dozes beside him on the sofa, one leg stretched out to rest against the table (by the ankle - never the boot - they've had this discussion before).
He sits there, thoughts wandering over the particular intricacies of a spell he has been asked to perform, his fingers working mindlessly over the needles and yarn. Only when David clears his throat politely does he realize that his scarf has begun shifting into gold. Embarrassed, he repairs it, restoring it to wool, trying to keep the heat out of his face.
He is aware of David watching him now, and he tries not to react. It is painfully domestic, this scene, embarrassingly so. The Dark One, the Prince, and his boy. Ridiculous and he feels ridiculous and when David shifts, his arm sliding, and fingers tease at the hair at the nape of his neck, he forgets exactly what it was he minded.
Henry continues reading his book, but they both know he has noticed. Gold's not sure what he is noticing - what there is here to notice - but it is happening. He returns to his knitting. David's fingers remain in his hair.
~*~
David's hands skim his stomach, making him curl away, in embarrassment for the bit of flesh there, for the way his nerves shudder in something that is not ticklishness by any means at all whatsoever, but the fingers pet across his bare flesh, followed by the warm, wide expanse of his palm.
With a huff of air that is meant to sound insulted, sulky, which instead comes out warm and needy, he curls back against him, shifting his thighs to spread them slightly, so that his right hip is up over the other man's leg. Lips tease his throat, nibbling and suckling and a palm skims his thigh, gripping his leg gently. It is something like a ballet, these nights in his bed, and he is never quite sure of the steps, but David is an excellent lead.
It only takes a moment of magic and a few more seconds shifting before David is sliding against him, into him, and he stutters out a moan, bucking his hips back. The sensation on his neck is firmer now, teeth and tongue and sucking kisses that leave him feeling heated and raw, even as the stretch of the man inside him is gentle and slow, leisurely.
"You're beautiful," David whispers and he shakes his head at that, but the man continues his litany of praise, whispered husky and sincere in the darkness.
He is whimpering then, the soft high sounds he knows the other man likes, but it's less about pleasing him and more about not waking the boy sleeping down the hall with what want to turn into full-blown cries. He has never felt like this before, never felt wanted, or needed, or treasured.
"Rumpelstiltskin," He whispers, his own voice choked with an emotion that makes Gold close his eyes. "I lo..."
"David!" He interrupts, bucking his hips back hard as his own pleasure overtakes him. He does not want to hear those words. Not now, maybe not ever. They hurt too much in how they make him feel so whole.
~*~
They were wrong.
Years have passed.
Henry is learning to drive. He can already ride a horse, can already cast a spell, weild a blade. Time has passed and things have grown and True Love finds a way.
She throws her arms around him, then her legs. He crashes to the ground with the weight of it - not her body but his own emotions. Emma is sobbing as she wraps her arms around the stranger that is her son for the second time in her life. Charming is holding Snow White's face in both hands.
Unwilling to watch anymore, Rumpelstiltskin turns and makes his way back towards his home. It's time to grow accustomned to the emptiness again.
~*~
It's late. It's raining. His leg hurts and he has a thousand other reasons not to open the door.
He is terrible at making good life decisions - always has been.
David has his hands in his pockets, soaked to the bone.
"I've gathered your things..." He begins, trying to sound clipped, trying to sound professional.
There are lips on his mouth, not a kiss because he has forgotten how to make one of those, and there are hands in his hair. The frame of the door hits his back in what should have been painful if he could remember what exactly feeling meant. His face is wet and at first he thinks it is the rain but they are tears and not his for a change and this only makes his follow suit. He has always thought he cried too easily, even after all that's happened in his life.
David's breath is hot against his throat and his words begin to make sense at last, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... Please... I'm sorry..."
~*~
This is the most awkward moment in his entire long life.
His sofa seems an alien world that he has never seen before, if the way he feels the need to study it is any indication. Anything to avoid looking at the man in the chair or the woman beside him.
"We've discussed it," Charming is saying.
"And I agree," Snow White is also saying.
He wonders if the floor can swallow him whole if he considers it hard enough.
"We'd be willing to try," Charming continues.
He freezes when her hand flies up, arcing, white and slim, in his peripheral vision, before coming down to land on his leg, fingers curled around his thigh.
~*~
She is so soft beneath him that he nearly cries out from the shock of it. Her arms are strong, muscled for all their slimness, and he cannot bite back a moan when her mouth finds his throat. She pulls him down to her, tasting him, holding him, rocking against him, even as the hands on his hips are spreading him, opening him. No magic this time, just fingers and something that smells sweet and his mouth meets hers and she lets him in. She tastes of summer and rain and all the things he has never known he loved until he found them in this place.
Charming is over him, is behind him, and he sobs at last, unable to stop himself, as he is guided forward, to a place he never knew he could want to go. She moans, her legs strong and firm around his waist, and he is being filled so slowly he wonders if this is a dream. They are around him then and she holds him tenderly, brushing his hair from his throat as she mouths kisses against his fevered brow.
It must be a dream, he thinks, again and again and she is kissing him and there are teeth on his throat at the same time and David's voice is warm and fond in his ear promising that this is real and they are here, will stay here, will always be here, and it is only then that he realizes he is speaking aloud.
He pushes down into her, the wet and warmth and joy of her a delicious mate to the way David cradles him from behind and this is perfect and this is right and for the first time in his life, he realizes it is truly possible to turn base material into gold.
~*~