A/N: So, I wrote this story as part of a 30 day Halloween OTP prompt thing LAST year for Halloween and it wasn't ready. It obviously wasn't ready in time for this Halloween either, but I decided I'm not waiting until next Halloween to post it. I'm going to continue the Dark Halloween Challenge, but I won't be done within 30 days, and while a lot of the stories will be Golden Swan, not all of them will be. Who knows, I might actually be done before Next Halloween.

This story fills the "Anonymous" prompt.

I do not own any of these characters, nor do I profit; I am just having fun. I hope you enjoy it! :))

Emma slipped the clunky black heel on her foot, setting it against the toilet seat as she tied the ribbon around her ankle. Ever since their return from the Enchanted Forest, Mary talked nonstop about hosting a ball and melding the two worlds together, and a Halloween masquerade was the perfect way to start. The posters for the Ball had been posted all over town for weeks and Emma only intended to make a brief appearance. With the curse broken and newly reunited with her family, she wanted nothing more than to take Henry trick or treating for the first time ever. That was, of course, until Regina informed Emma she would be attending the ball as a chaperone while Henry enjoyed a Halloween party with the other town kids at Granny's.

Only Regina could be so spiteful that she would cancel trick or treating. There was no reason for Emma to attend this ball other than Regina didn't want her spending time with Henry and she was willing to punish every child to accomplish it. She couldn't even ignore Regina as most of the adults would be at the ball. Since her return from the Enchanted Forest and the subsequent death of Cora, Regina had renewed her life's mission to make Emma miserable.

Emma snugged her way into the strapless gown, feeling no more covered in the red chiffon dress than out of it. As she zipped it closed it fit like a second skin and not something she would ever wear in public. At least she wouldn't have to bother with her hair or make-up, given that her face would be obscured by a mask – well, half of it anyway. Pulling her hair over her right shoulder she made her way back into the office. She must look entirely out of place in the police station, standing in her office in a dress fit for the red carpet.

"Sheriff Swan?" came his incredulous voice; she didn't have to turn around to know who it was. She rolled her eyes, pulling the hem of her dress higher to cover more of her chest.

"Mr. Gold…" Slowly turning to face him, she forced a tight smile. His eyes swept over her, confusion written all over his face as he met her gaze.

"Aren't you a tad overdressed, Sheriff?"

"No, the masquerade is tonight and I'm being forced to attend."

"Ah…" he continued to stare in obvious amusement, "Isn't that dress a bit…modern for a masquerade ball?"

"Yea, well, it was all that was left by the time I bought it. I planned on trick or treating with Henry tonight."

"Regina strikes again, eh?" Emma only nodded in reply. She held his gaze, waiting him for say something, anything but stare at her with such empathy and understanding.

"Well?" she asked, resting her hands on her stomach. Confusion took over his features once more. "How do I look?" he scoffed, laughing slightly.

"If you must ask, I think you look rather…stunning." There was no teasing or mocking tones to his voice; a genuine compliment from Rumpelstiltskin himself.

"Thanks, I feel ridiculous. The red in the shoes doesn't really match the red of the dress, but it was the best I could do at the last minute." She rambled on, suddenly anxious for this evening to be over before it even began.

"Your shoes are black."

"But there's some red in them, see?" she held out her left foot, the slit opening and baring her leg, revealing just how high the slit actually went. Self-conscious as his gaze was glued to her skin, Emma set her foot back on the ground.

"Honestly, Emma, it will be dark and no one will be looking at your feet." His extravagant ring tapped against the gold handle of his cane, seemingly holding his breath as he stared at her. It dawned on her that he wasn't nearly as intimidating, and far less snarky, than he usually was. From the moment he walked in they've been speaking almost as if they were…friends. It was too unsettling a thought.

"Why are you changing here? Don't you have a bathroom at home?"

"I do, but there's only one for the three of us. I stayed a little late here to avoid the chaos and drama; I mistakenly thought I'd have some privacy." She said accusingly, quirking her lips in a smile.

"My apologies; you were already dressed when I arrived, if that's what you're worried about." He was quick to explain. Emma waved her hand dismissively.

"Are you going to the ball? You're always so overdressed it's hard to tell," she teased. He scoffed, that airy little chuckle escaped his lips.

"No, Belle wanted me to take her, but alas, I can't dance." He said, holding up his cane. "She'll be attending without me." Lucky bastard… maybe it wasn't too late for Emma to trip in these heels and break her ankle.

"Pity…" she mumbled, cursing herself immediately as he quirked an eyebrow, that smug smirk teasing on his lips.

"Were you hoping for a dance, Miss Swan?"

She shrugged, "I'm not much of a dancer, but given that you're as sarcastic and cynical as I am, I was hoping you'd save me from having to socialize. We could roll our eyes and judge everyone's costumes and make fun of the ridiculousness of it all."

"Miss Swan, I had no idea you held me in such high regard." His hand rested over his heart in mock surprise, but she stifled the urge to laugh.

"I don't, I just want to punish you as often as possible given that everything in my life right now is your fault…"

"Dearie, if spending an evening with you dressed like that was to be my punishment, than I would love to see what you deem a reward."

"Be on your best behavior, and you may just find out." She cringed at her own words, waiting for his suggestive and inappropriate reply. But there was a moment of silence; his eyes didn't even rove over her like she was a piece of meat and he a starving dog.

"While that is a tempting offer, I can't show up with you after I told Belle I wouldn't be attending. Imagine the scandal." He replied, giving her a regretful smile.

"Yea…" Emma held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. The beginnings of a familiar tension built between them. It was a feeling she knew well, something undefined she'd learned to live with, but now it seemed all too tangible. She tried to ignore it, turning back to her desk, her fingers fidgeting with the mask in her hands.

This wasn't her. These shoes weren't her, this dress wasn't her, going to a ball as if she'd been raised a princess, well…masquerades were all about pretending to be something you're not. None of this was her.

"You know, masquerades can be fun, but they are also rather dangerous." He said, his voice interrupting her thoughts.

"Is that why Regina has me chaperoning?" he laughed, limping towards her.

"Behind the safety of a mask people lose their inhibitions; it becomes easier to pretend they're someone else – to forget the things they don't wish to remember." He stood beside her, gently lifting the mask from her hands, his fingers ghosting over the jewels and the tiny flourishes of the butterfly wing. He smirked, giving her a sidelong glare.

"You can tell a lot about a person from the mask they wear. Butterflies are synonymous with transformation. Did you know, Emma, that in the cocoon, the caterpillar will completely liquefy before being made into its true form? The struggle to break free of their cocoon is what strengthens their wings and allows them to survive."

"I didn't know that." She admitted softly. He smiled at her then, looking at her with a measure of pride in his eyes that unnerved her, despite that it wasn't threatening. He always reminded her of her power, of how strong she was. It wasn't difficult to make the connection that she was the butterfly, and her struggles are what gave her the strength to be the savior.

"Allow me?" he held up the mask and Emma turned her back to him, sweeping her hair to the side. She could feel the warmth of his body so close to her back as his arms came down around her, fixing the mask to her face. "Is that comfortable?" she nodded quickly as he tied the ends tightly.

"Only half of your face will be obscured by the mask," he continued, "Perhaps symbolic of a part of you that you wish no one else to see, or your transformation is only half complete?"

"Or maybe you just talk a good game and you're making it up as you go along." She huffed, turning once again to face him. He smiled once more, shaking his head in amusement at her.

"I've known you for some time now, my dear, and I know you better than you might care to admit. The butterfly suits you perfectly." She startled slightly as he bent and kissed her hand. "Enjoy your evening."

He released her, and she stared in stupefied silence as he limped from her office.

"Gold," she called after him. He turned in the doorway, "Was there a reason you stopped by?"

"I'm sure there was, but upon seeing you in that dress I seem to have forgotten it. I doubt it was important and if it was, I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, dearie."

"Good night."

It was their most civil conversation to date, yet Emma was still rattled by it. Unable to dwell on it too long, she gathered her few things and headed for the door.

The days had been cool and crisp as autumn took over the landscape, but the nights were each a warning of the winter closing in on them. Tonight, however, as she locked the station doors, it was unusually warm. She wore her leather jacket more to cover up than to shield her from the cold. She felt ridiculous, she's certain that she looked ridiculous, but she refused to glance in a mirror. Otherwise she'd likely rip it all off and change back into her normal clothes.

Two doormen swung the enormous double doors open, one dressed as a gargoyle the other as the Phantom of the Opera, and Emma stepped into the haunted house. The white walls had been draped in black from floor to ceiling, dimly lit lamps along the halls were the only light. Smoke surrounded her feet, tickling her skin as she moved to the main hall. Her mother and the dwarves had really outdone themselves and surpassed her expectations, right down to the spider web themed dance card dangling from her wrist.

It was even darker inside where the hired orchestra played a Gothic tune that made her shiver. Emma was never so affected by a cheesy haunted house, but after her discovery that ogres, witches, wizards, magic, and fairy tale characters were all real, her fear that vampires, werewolves and other Halloween horrors were all just as real in this or another realm, became all too real. One she hoped never to fall into.

She easily spotted her parents on the dance floor with the few other couples. It was strange to see her mother dressed in a short black dress, the mask of a black swan obscuring her pale features. Her father too, while looking the part of a knight, was dressed all in black.

"Emma you look so gorgeous!" her mother said, rushing to hug her. "I love this mask!"

"Thanks, you guys did an amazing job in here."

"Well, I think we all needed a good diversion after recent events."

"What exactly are you guys dressed as?"

"Oh, I'm the Black Swan from the Tchaikovsky ballet, and Charming is Rothbart."

"The Evil Wizard that abducts the Swan Queen?"

"Oh come on, Emma, its Halloween, we're supposed to play the antithesis of ourselves." Her father argued.

"Right…" "I'm gonna just get something to drink." She said, and watched as her parents acted like teenagers, rushing back to the dancefloor.

Through the smoke she found the refreshments table situated next to a fake cemetery complete with skeletons and headstones. She was offered a choice between regular punch, and Regina's famous apple cider. Given what happened the last time Emma drank it, she opted for the punch.

Two worlds collided in a blend of fairies, vampires, goblins, royalty and werewolves wearing masks of all kinds: masks from history and masks from nature; animal masks and masks of no known creature. Masks that laughed, cried, threatened, mocked, begged and accused.

Emma let her lips linger on the rim of her plastic cup as her eyes surveyed the dimly lit room once more, keeping on the outskirts of the dance floor. She felt even more like an outsider, spectating rather than participating as she watched the couples dance in perfect unison to each other. She should've been raised by the parents who adored her, who she now felt entirely alienated from. Her search for them was over, for that she was grateful, but with that came a title she no more understood than the steps to these dances. Savior, Princess, it didn't matter which…she couldn't help but feel that she didn't belong here.

As the evening wore on, just about everyone in the town seemed to show up. Even under the cover of darkness, just about everyone she knew was recognizable beneath their masks, and some she's certain she's never seen. Belle was easy enough to spot dressed as Cleopatra, one of the few people who didn't dress as their fairy tale counterpart. She couldn't help but smile as she tried to imagine Gold dressed as Marc Antony. If Emma didn't know better, she'd say Jefferson was quite taken with Belle, and vice versa. Jefferson, wearing one of the many hats that made up his collection and who held her hostage, was at the masquerade ball. When the curse broke and she learned that Jefferson was in fact, not delusional, she let the matter slide. She had yet to feel at peace with the decision.

He must've had a death wish, mooning over Rumpelstiltskin's true love. They had danced at least 5 dances together already. Come the morning, Gold may have some competition. As far as she can tell, Neal didn't even bother to attend, nor Regina. Although, the black cat wears an all too familiar scowl of disdain any time she looks at her.

Hook was dressed in his everyday wardrobe of black leather with a sword secured around his hip and a Zorro-type mask and hat thrown on. It was cliché and shallow and… Emma laughed to herself, thinking of Gold's words about how you can tell a lot about a person from their mask. Cliché and shallow were entirely accurate. Emma studied the guests more intently, having found a little game she could play to entertain herself.

"Emma, may I be the first to sign your dance card?" her father asked. Emma laughed, and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. "Just follow my lead…"

She had no idea what she was doing, but she did as he asked. He led her with wide flourished steps around the dance floor, and if anyone asked, she would deny getting emotional over the first dance with her father. Her joy was short lived, however, when Hook cut in. Emma was about to say no when her father reluctantly released her. Dr. Whale followed and even Jefferson was brave enough to ask for a dance.

Hook had pestered her for another dance until Ruby walked in wearing her signature red cloak and a wolf mask. Given some of Ruby's more suggestive wardrobe Emma was surprised to see Ruby in a simple dress, something Emma thinks is straight out of the Enchanted Forest. Hook and Dr. Whale had been competing for Ruby's attention, up until the black cat walked up and whispered in the pirate's ear. After that, Hook was attached at the hip. Regardless, Emma intended to buy both women drinks in thanks for sparing her an entire night of frustration.

Emma refilled her juice for the fourth time on her third lap around the dance floor. It was the liveliest she's ever seen these people and she didn't recognize half of them. Perhaps the ball was just something familiar, or they really enjoyed the idea of a Halloween party or some mixture of the two, but they were having a blast. Dr. Whale was beside himself as he and Ruby spent most of the evening together before sneaking off quite early.

A jingling came behind her and she turned to see a man in a black and gold jester hat with bells at the tips and a matching mask obscuring half his face. He was tall, and were Emma not in platform heels she'd likely only reach his shoulders. He was lean and long, in a pair of leather pants and black boots that reached his knees. Tucked into those divinely snug pants was a white loose shirt with puffy sleeves, the kind she used to associate with pirates. Mr. Gold didn't quite fit the court jester mask, but Rumpelstiltskin, now that was a perfect fit. But the man was too tall and lacked the signature limp as he headed straight for her.

With a slight bow and crooked smirk, he extended his hand to her without a word. There was something so familiar in those warm, chocolate brown eyes as he stared intently at her. She felt like a mouse caught in the hypnotic gaze of a cobra, yet she felt no fear, which is perhaps why her hand slipped into his of its own volition, her feet anxious to close the gap between them. He led them to the dance floor and twirled her once.

Standing before him her breath came in quick pants through slightly parted lips. She attempted to curtsey as he bowed deep in the knees, but in this dress she only got so far. He said nothing, his dark eyes mischievous as enclosed her right hand in his, warming her cool skin and with his right hand on the small of her back, drew her body to his.

It was a waltz, slow, but still not something Emma was familiar with. The man was, though, quite confident as he guided her effortlessly to the music. There was distance between them at the start, so as not to touch her body with his, but as they settled into the music, he moved his hand from the small of her back to her hip, pulling her subtly closer, and closer still, until their bodies were touching.

All Emma knew of this dance was that there should be space between their bodies, and now, there wasn't. Their rhythm was off to the music but in sync with each other, dancing slower, closer than was necessary or perhaps appropriate. The thin material made an ineffective barrier against the heat of his hand, nor did it prevent her from feeling the tantalizing heat of his body where it was pressed against her. The seductive music surrounded them, his breath gentle and warm against her temple and with the subtle way he guided her, Emma found herself instantly aroused.

She studied him as best she could; the Jester mask obscured most of his face except his mouth and jawline.

"I don't think you and I have met." She said, her voice breathless.

His eyes were still on her, as if he saw through her mask to some buried secret inside her – something that mystified and galvanized him. An intriguing lure that made his eyes go a few shades deeper, and his pupils expand their radius. How could a virtual stranger make her feel so...whole? So precious and rare and vulnerable? But he wasn't a stranger – he was so…familiar, but she couldn't think through the hazy fog of her fevered thoughts.

When he didn't answer, she tried again. "Someone told me that masquerades can be dangerous. Would you agree?"

The man smiled and nodded, his hand splayed over the small of her back, dangerously close to the curve of her ass.

She stopped talking then, held so close – so firm against him. The stubble on his jaw scratched the skin of her cheek, tickling and teasing her senses. Had it been so long that a simple dance was enough to turn her on so completely? Was it the man himself, the mystery and thrill of not knowing who he was, or had he cast some spell? Every fiber of her being shivered with the anticipation of his next move; she wanted him and she was pretty sure he wanted her too. It was All Hallows Eve, anything was possible.

The tip of her nose brushed against his neck; her lips about to caress his skin before she pulled back, remembering they were in public – her parents not far away. He caught her looking at him and she smiled before diverting her gaze elsewhere, anywhere but his long, smooth neck.

The music stopped too soon and she wanted to protest the loss of his body against hers as he pulled away, still holding her hand as he bowed once more. She was focused solely on him, wondering how to get him alone – to get his name and number or anything she could to find him again.

"Are you going to sign my dance card?" Emma asked, holding up her wrist. His lips on the back of her hand sent goosebumps up her arm, radiating through her body. But to her disappointment he merely smiled and blended into the sea of masks.

She was about to chase after him when her mother gripped her forearm. "Who was that?" Emma was relieved that no one seemed to notice, the couples around them already dancing to the next tune.

"A court jester…" she replied, staring after him. Mary laughed and Emma managed a weak smile.

"Listen, your father and I are gonna head home for the evening."

"Already? It's only ten o'clock; why so early?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just so tired, Emma." Mary replied. Emma didn't say that Mary seemed more giddy than tired, but after the taco fiasco, she wasn't about to question her parents further.

"Ok, um, do me a favor and stop by Granny's for Henry. I have a feeling I'll be here until at least midnight, if not later." Her father already had his arms around Mary's waist, hugging her from behind.

"Will do."

"Good night, Emma." Her father said smiling and Emma watched as her parents snuck off.

After that dance Emma headed outside for some much needed fresh air. The air had cooled as the night deepened; the leaves that were left in the trees overhead jostled together as the night wind moved through her. But she didn't retreat inside or grab her jacket. She stayed close to the building, remaining outside the doors until her skin was covered in goosebumps and she could no longer stand the cold. But the heat he'd started building inside her hadn't cooled at all.

The masquerade lasted well into the night as Emma predicted. She had been leaning against the doorframe when the black cat approached her, handing her a set of keys.

"I trust you can lock up once everyone has gone and you've cleaned up the mess. Try not to steal anything." Regina said with a smug smile.

Emma nodded and took the keys, watching as Regina and Hook left arm in arm. Tomorrow was Sunday, and none of this mess was her idea or her making. Her feet were throbbing after four hours in these heels and she longed for the comfort of jeans and her boots. No, they would all clean up tomorrow.

One by one the couples filtered out, making their way back home. It was just passed midnight when the last remaining couple abandoned the dance floor. Emma locked the doors behind the band and the few remaining dwarves. All that remained were slowly deflating balloons, fog hovering over the floor and the occasional plastic cup crushed under her shoes.

She removed her mask immediately and poured herself a glass of Regina's apple cider. She downed it like a shot before pouring one more and then brought the remaining juice bowls to the refrigerator. She did a final walk through of the entire building to make sure no one was left. As she passed Regina's office door she was unable to suppress her chuckle at the sign which read 'The Witches Den' painted in large red letters. Regina must not have seen it or there would have been hell to pay.

She jumped as the overhead lights turned off, leaving only the lamps on the walls to light her way. Her hand went instinctively to her hip, forgetting for the moment she didn't have her gun as she moved through the hall to the staircase. The Jester was there, leaning against the railing with a smirk; his hands clasped behind his back as he blocked her exit. What was he still doing here? Despite the thrill that coursed through her at the sight of him, she tried to play it off.

"Party's over…" she said, closing the distance between them. Her eyes met his again, and swallowed discreetly when she saw a lascivious grin split his lips apart. "You never signed my dance card…"

He continued to smile at her, but he didn't reply; he didn't even move. If dancing with him made her damp between the legs before, the sight of him now nearly melted her to the core. Emma shifted nervously, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Can you talk?" he nodded once, "You're just refusing to speak…" he nodded again.

He held out his hand, and Emma lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. In the silence of an empty building, he pulled her once more into his arms. She went willingly, inhaling deeply the intoxicating scent of him. They danced slow, and she let him lead her back the way she came, twirling her away from the staircase, deeper into the building until her back was against Regina's door. They stopped dancing, but he didn't let her go. He was close to her now, trapping her between his body and the door.

She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding; if he knew she wasn't afraid. At first he teased her, letting his lips drift like a breath over hers. He reached out a hand, tracing it along the edge of her face, down the line of her jaw before gripping her chin. Her lips parted at his touch, and his thumb strayed, ghosting over her lower lip. He pushed against her lips gently, letting his thumb slip in, rubbing back and forth, coaxing; requesting entry. She drew him into her mouth, sucking gently, then insistently, her eyes never leaving his as her tongue swirled around the soft pad of his thumb and along the ridge of his knuckle. He groaned as the air escaped his body and she leaned into him, with her mouth near his ear.

"You never told me your name…" She removed the jingling hat and mask, only to find a similar mask of gold and black still covering his eyes and nose. She was disappointed, but somehow not surprised. "A man of many faces," she asked, "Or a man with no identity?"

"Shhh…" his breath on her skin made her shiver; the whisper turned into rash of kisses upon her neck. His mouth snaked down to her collar bone and back up to her mouth. He froze like a deer caught in headlights when he realized her eyes were still open, studying him. He was handsome, but he was as generic as they came: tall, short brown hair, athletic frame but not overly muscular. She was almost positive that she had never met this man, but his eyes, she'd seen those brown eyes before – of that she was certain.

When he lowered his head again, she lifted her lips for his kiss, but his mouth found her breast instead, sucking her nipple into his mouth until she nearly wailed with the sensation of it. Just when she thought he would let up, his teeth scraped against the hard nub; her back arched into him. He let go, only to trail kisses, his lips, his tongue, all the way over to do the same with the other until she was whimpering and breathless.

The thought that "This wasn't her" cropped up, and Emma disregarded it. Perhaps the mask didn't let her behave in a way she never would, it allowed her to behave the way she always had. This was something old and familiar, a part of herself she had repressed and tried to pretend no longer existed. But one night stands with anonymous strangers made up her sexual history. The only difference here is she couldn't see his face and somehow, that didn't even matter. There was no one here to stop her and she's not sure she would stop him even if there was.

Abandoning the sweet torture of her breasts, he left a trail of nibbling kisses up her neck; teasing with his teeth, his tongue. He wasn't teasing this time when he kissed her. He didn't hold back, letting his lips slide over hers, his tongue seeking out the recesses of her mouth. She drew him in, pulling him deeper, feeling the swell of his erection against her stomach. Her mouth began to water as her fingers untucked the white puffy shirt and his mouth left her skin just long enough to get it over his head.

But who was he? Maybe he was gentle, or maybe he was a sadistic bastard. Or maybe he was both of these things and more. Her head was swimming. She was about to let a total stranger...do what? Fuck her? But as she started to analyze and talk herself out of his embrace, his hand found the slit in her dress, moving her skirt like a curtain to reveal her bare legs. His hands were cool on her fevered skin where he gripped her, low on the hip where it dipped into her thigh.

He dug his fingers into her skin, kneading softly. She drew in a shaky breath as his fingers danced across her bare thigh and slowly ascended between her legs. Looking into his eyes, Emma felt her pulse throb between her thighs as her legs parted.

Don't question it, her body commanded, just enjoy it...enjoy him. And she did, placing her hands on his chest, pressing it there. For a moment she didn't dare move, his skin was blazing with heat. It was smooth and soft, with just a light flecking of straight, silky hairs. Her fingers fanned over his chest, sliding easily into the muscular indents between his ribs. She moaned softly catching his jagged breaths as she trailed to where his nipples stood out, rubbing her thumbs in circles around them.

The barest touch of her fingertips had his breath hitching and grabbing her wrists. He stared down at her, eyelids lowered over his dark eyes. She didn't remove her hands though, holding his gaze as her fingers wandered on his hot skin, reveling in the feel of his muscles trembling beneath her touch. He was either extremely sensitive, or it's been a while for him as well.

He released her wrists, but the look in his eyes pinned her down in a way his hands couldn't. The pulse between her thighs intensified and she felt an involuntary moan escape her as his teeth lightly grazed the skin where her neck and shoulder met. Her eyes closed; her head fell back, biting her bottom lip in silent passion.

She heard his voice, low in her ear, "Do you want me to touch you...here?" emphasizing 'here' with a firm stroke against her clit. She nodded, as if the damp satin fabric wasn't indicator enough. "Say it…"

"Touch me; I need you to touch me, please…"

Slipping his fingers inside the tiny triangle of satin, his deft fingers teased her, stroking up to her clit and back down. His mouth found hers again and he began to kiss her more aggressively. She was throbbing and with each stroke of his finger over her clit, the tension became more paralyzing. She wanted desperately to feel his fingers inside her. If she'd known his name she'd of been using it, begging him.

"Say something…just talk to me, please?" she whispered hoarsely. She felt rather than heard the low rumbling chuckle deep in his chest.

"Tell me what you wish to hear."

"Anything, I just…I need to hear your voice." Rather than remain with her back against the door, Emma draped herself around him as she pleaded. Her fingers weaved through his hair, her face nearly buried in his neck, hugging him to her body. She physically couldn't get any closer, yet she wasn't close enough.

"I've wanted you since the moment I first saw you," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "But I never wanted to care; you managed to crawl your way in and make me care very deeply." With every few words he brushed his lips against hers, excruciatingly gentle, devastatingly soft.

And with every word the wanting...the needing built until she was breathless, radiating with the heat of his words and the desire to fall and fall into the world he spun with every touch of his lips. Every nerve in her body was finely tuned to the slow assault on her lips and the simultaneous teasing of his fingers. Her mind had taken his words and recorded each syllable, as if saving it to play back later when she could focus on their meaning properly.

All she wanted now was to keep up with the slow brush of his tongue along the inside of her top lip. It had her clenching her thighs together, holding his hand in place, seized by a nearly painful throb of just plain needing him…him and nothing else. Fuck everything else. There was nothing but this.

"Is that what you wanted to hear…Emma?" he whispered. She liked the way her name sounded on his lips.

She hadn't pulled away yet, she couldn't; she didn't want to. His mouth was still so very close. As if something else was controlling her body, she touched her lips to his, tentative; trembling. He took her bottom lip between his, spreading his hand over the small of her back and tugging her away from the door as his hips surged forward, clutching her against him. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and she met it with her own, melting into his kiss. Her hands moved up his bare chest, smoothing over his hot skin and up around his neck, plunging her fingers into his hair, desperate for the kisses to never, ever stop.

God, he felt so good, like her body was made to be held so tight against him.

"Please..." she breathed, not even sure what she was asking for.

"Emma..." He growled against her neck. Her name on his lips was like a powerful drug that heightened her every sensation. He grabs and pulls and she lets him, inviting him to have his way with no thought of tomorrow. For so long she worried, planned everything accordingly and was never spontaneous. Yet in this moment, nothing mattered but them. The world outside faded to a distant memory that was easily forgotten at his searing touch.

His hands moved up to her hips as his mouth found the top of her breasts. She brought his head toward her, arching her back as he took her into his mouth. Her hips moved insistently, and as if on cue, his hand returned and he slipped two of his fingers deeply inside her, while greedily suckling at her breasts. She was grinding her hips against him, his head in her hands, her pussy feeling absolutely on fire as he alternated between rubbing her clit and moving his fingers within her.

Despite her desperate need, he was unhurried, his pace a steady rhythm suited for long, lengthy pleasure. He seemed more intent on exploring and tasting every part he could touch rather than following a surefire plan to make her climax. She wasn't far off, but still she didn't rush him. She needed this of him, just as he seemed to need this of her. Little else mattered. Love had nothing to do with this. It was all about a desperate need to feel like they belonged somewhere and that they had purpose; that they were important to someone, even if only for a little while.

Then he knelt before her, his hands moving over the tops of her thighs. His thumbs traced their way steadily down into the crease between her legs, gripping each thigh, thumbs pressing down hard in that little hollow behind the tendons of her inner thighs, brushing so close...so close. Instead, his hands slipped up under the infuriating bodice of her dress, caressing her bare stomach. His face was level to her thighs and he nuzzled her wet panties with his mouth. Emma tried to stifle the moan it elicited by biting her lower lip, then his fingers tugged the fabric of her thong from her body.

He hooked his hand behind her knee, draping her leg over his shoulder, kneeling between her legs as if she were the altar at which he worshipped. He ducked his head down, rubbing his chin against her inner thigh, the slight stubble creating a delicious friction that heated her skin, scraping rough against smooth, then teasing with alternating licks and kisses on her skin higher, higher to where she was spread open for him; her legs trembling.

Oh, but he was taking his time. An inch of bare skin. Little soft kisses, then a nip and she was writhing against his mouth. Another inch… his breath on her tender skin, the lapping of his tongue coming nearer to where she wanted him so badly. She nearly sobbed aloud in relief as his tongue slid out, gentle and slow, lapping at her wet entrance up to her throbbing clit. She braced herself on the doorframe gasping for breath as he rolled it, steady under his flattened tongue. He traced her clit with his tongue over and over while he moved his fingers in and out of her; her whole body quivering under the pressure on that one small area.

"You taste delicious, Emma…every bit as sweet as I imagined you would." He said, and then covered her with his mouth; a long, open-mouth kiss as long as her breathless wail. He held himself still, his hands digging into her hips, mouth concentrating in that one spot. She was begging for his name to scream it out loud, certain that all of Storybrooke could hear her. But the man between her legs ignored her cries and her need for release, just taking his damn time.

Her body went from quivering to full body wracking, feeling the heat as he covered her clit with his mouth and sucked her. It was like he'd set off a blazing firecracker, her body arching towards him, her hands clenching and unclenching in his hair. Her hips bucked once, twice. She writhed against his mouth almost, squirming as he plunged the tip of his tongue as deep as he could go, stretching her legs wide with a ravenous hunger. She forgot what she had been planning to ask, forgot her name; forgot everything but the swamping wave of pleasure.

Her words were running together as she convulsed around his fingers and her breath seized in her chest as the pleasure washed over her body in spastic, overwhelming waves. She panted, pulling at him. He gave her pussy one last, luxurious lick, and came up. He held her against him, rubbing the small of her back, allowing her a moment to regain her composure.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

He drew back just far enough to look down into her face, pushing his fingers into her hair, thumbs stroking softly at her temples, searching her eyes.

"I am yours…"

She wanted to argue, to rip that stupid mask off and see his face, but she didn't have the strength. A light sheen of sweat dampened her skin, and her heart was racing like a freight train as his lips pressed against her temple. She leaned into him, his body about the only thing holding her up.

"Good girl," he whispered, still gasping for breath, "Very good girl."

Her hand rested on his chest; her face buried in the crook of his neck as she struggled to catch her breath. But then he grabbed her hand and pressed it tight against bulge in his pants, molding her palm along the inescapable jut of it.

"Do you feel that, Emma? Do you feel how much I want you?" She shivered as he thrust gently into her palm, a low moan in her throat as her eyes closed, squeezing him gently.

The heat just radiated through the leather, along with an eagerness that was making it increasingly difficult for her to breathe. Her greedy fingers closed around him, trying to map the length and breadth of him through the tight fabric, thrilling at the low, guttural groan rumbling against her neck.

"I've waited so long…" he growled into her ear, "I've wanted – needed – to feel you...taste you; to know you'll be thinking about me every day. Will you be thinking about me every day, Emma, wondering who I am?"

There was a moment of stillness as he waited for her answer, their ragged breathing the only sound. His eyes were begging, praying for her to answer. She nodded, unable to find her words.

"What?"

"Yes…yes, I'll be thinking of you…" Both his hands cupped her face as he dipped his head to kiss her. She loved the taste of herself on his lips, sucking his lip into her mouth as she made quick work of the leather pants, slipping her hand inside. His lips never left hers, gasping into her mouth when she finally freed him.

Her hand slid down the length of him and back up again, lightly twisting over the head and going back down. She watched his breath become ragged and his body jerk with each stroke she made. She held his gaze as she rubbed the swollen head against her still dripping sex, teasing him and sending aftershocks of pleasure through her clit.

Licking her lips, she carefully coaxed him to lie on the floor of the hallway and positioned herself between his legs, her hair brushing against his thighs. His fingers tangled loosely in her hair; his cock stood like a glistening monument before her. Her hands roamed over his thighs, slid up to his belly, pressing against him as if to read every thought, every flex of his body. She was with him, totally, completely with him.

She could feel his eyes as he watched her, mesmerized, as she wrapped her hands around the base of his erection. And then she put her mouth on him, right at the base, underneath, and started licking and sucking her way up his cock. She traced the pointed tip of her tongue up the underside of his shaft and circled the top before taking him full into her. He drew in a deep breath as her grip tightened, causing him to gasp. He let his head fall back, eyes screwed shut at the sudden pleasure.

She began to stroke him again; he grasped handfuls of her hair as his guttural moans filled her ears. He began thrusting his hips, pulling harder at her hair, "Emma..."

Everything about her movements was controlled and deliberate, and when she took him deeper, causing him to fill the room with words that would make even a pirate blush, she began to feel herself coming undone. It surprised her, but the pleasure he received from her touch only heightened her own arousal. She'd never felt that before, nor had she ever wanted to do this with the other men in her past. It was just something she did because she knew it was expected, especially after they'd gone down on her. But there was no duty in her movements, no reluctance in her touch.

"I'm going to...I'm..." He blinked, as if disoriented, then met her eyes. She flicked her tongue at his cock again, watching his eyes move to her lips. The muscles in his thighs tensed even more. He was close. She was so close. So near the edge. An orgasm just on the other side of the next press of his slick, velvety skin against her clit. But not yet, not until he was deep inside her, filling up every emptiness she'd ever felt.

"I need you...inside me," h

He gripped her hair, pulling her off him and guiding her back to his mouth. His kiss was ravenous, as if he needed to reestablish some semblance that he was in control. His eyes opened, not relinquishing his hold in her hair.

"Go on, then…"

She straddled over him, settling the head of his cock right against her entrance. She lowered herself, slow. He thrust up, pulling back and pressing in again. Then her hips met his, his cock sinking deeper inside, she gasped in surprise as he gave a sharp little thrust.

He circled her wrists with his hands, gripping firmly, twisting them behind her back and holding them together with one hand. She squealed in complaint at the tightness of the restraint, the bowing of her back. He wasn't so strong that she couldn't wrench free of his grip, she just didn't want to.

She may have been on top, but in this position she was totally at his mercy, all her vulnerable places open and exposed. Her body was his to explore, and as he began his slow mapping of her body, her back arched, thrusting her breasts forward. He slid his hand over them one at a time, tracing the curves, brushing his knuckles over each straining nipple, absorbing every choked whimper that shook her.

He flexed his hips, sliding his erection down and underneath her, enjoying the slick friction of his cock along the length of her. God, she was so hot, arching her hips up towards him with increasing frustration, begging him with her body. He would drive her crazy yet.

Some distant part of her mind acknowledged that he was taking possession; staking his claim. With each caress, each touch, she belonged to him more. He must've sensed it because he smiled, angling his hips so he slipped out; the tip of his cock rubbing against her clit instead, denying her what she asked for but giving another pleasure in its place. She moaned and whimpered her protest; the desperate sounds only encouraged him to do it again, slow, teasing. So maybe he was a bit of a bastard.

He released her hands then, and she braced herself on his chest as his cock settled against her slick entrance. With aching relief he plunged into her, deep, hard; her frantic sobbing breaths encouraged him to keep going as she absorbed his every thrust, accepting the intensity of his onslaught.

He took her over and over, without restraint. She wanted him to come with her, wanted to clench around him in orgasm until he fell over the edge with her. She lowered her gaze to his, his eyes mischievous as he slid his hand along her hip, smoothing along the curve of her waist and down under her abdomen. His fingers were sliding into the wet folds at her center, finding the little pleasure point; swirling, circling, stroking.

And then she was lost. Her orgasm only started there and built in waves as he angled his hips and began to fuck her. Slow at first, grinding into her with each thrust, then losing rhythm and moving faster, more frantic; letting himself go even as he tried to retain control.

She cried out as she slammed down to meet him, every inch of her squeezing every inch of him. She wanted this to last longer but the anticipation of his actions, the slow build up to the frenzy of push and pull and back to slow worship was exhausting. She was already seeing stars, drowning in the rushing torrent of overwhelming pleasure and total surrender. She was flying and yet thoroughly grounded and crushed into the present by his relentless thrusting and guttural cries as he throbbed inside her.

"You feel...so...damn good," she said brokenly as he pounded into her.

Gripping her hips, he drove more forcefully into her, making her cry out louder, needing him to know that she felt his possession.

When it hit her, her body became rigid as the tremors of her climax shook through her. He fucked her even as she soared higher through her orgasm, thrusting until she started to come down, his softening but insistent cock still inside her as if he never wanted to stop. She collapsed on top of him, breathless and liquefied, unable to protest as he rolled her onto her back.

Her consciousness started to fade, but she wasn't lost; everything inside her was replaced by a warm, tranquil stupor that seemed to stretch on forever like a dark, infinite highway into a dark, ceaseless night. His relaxed and handsome face came into her view, hovering over her. His fingers played softly, tangled in the mess of her hair.

"I want to kiss you," he said, breathless. Emma wanted to laugh, given that he didn't exactly ask permission to tease and fuck her into oblivion. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on her as his lips captured hers in a slow and thoughtful torrent. Tasting, testing as if this was their first kiss; the slight flick of his tongue drawing the breath of a whimper from her chest.

With one of his hands holding her head and the other digging into her hip, she couldn't care less about the oddness of their progression. And though she was weak and listless, she pressed herself against him. This wasn't kissing. This was a drug, and she was more than willing to drown herself in it, her fingers tangled in the silkiness of his hair.

Then abruptly his lips were gone, moving along her jaw, down her neck.

"I am yours, Emma…" he whispered once more, dragging his teeth along her shoulder. She gasped at the sharp pain and the heat of his breath as his teeth sunk into her skin. Her hand fisted in his hair, clenching and her body stiffening, holding him in place as she allowed him to leave his mark. "And now, you are mine."

It took some time for the world to stop spinning, for Emma to feel as though she were back in her own body. Keeping her eyes closed seemed to work best and when she sat up she wasn't surprised to find him gone. Had she fallen asleep? But according to a clock in the hallway barely a few minutes had passed. She pushed herself to stand on unsteady feet, her head still spinning from such overwhelming pleasure. She gathered her shoes, her mask, burning with some combination of lust and shame as she realized he'd taken her thong with him.

She combed her fingers through her hair, and pulled the front of her dress back in place to cover her breasts. She didn't expect to run into anyone, but she wasn't taking chances. She made her way to the front door, smoothing the skirt and zipping her leather jacket. She exited town hall and locked the doors, walking in a daze back to the station, drenched and sore. The dress was likely ruined; she wouldn't be able to return it now. She needed a long, hot, thorough shower and maybe a bath as well for good measure. But she was dazed and sleepy and in no hurry to wash his touch from her skin.

Once she'd returned to the relative safety of the station, she changed back into her normal clothes. Falling into her office chair she sighed in contentment, rubbing her sore feet for what felt like hours before slipping her boots on. The cots looked good enough to sleep on, indicating just how exhausted she truly was. She reclined in her chair with one long last sigh before mustering the energy to rise and go home.

The dance card on her desk caught her attention, knowing she didn't have it when she left town hall. She opened it, seeing a new signature at the bottom. It was impossible, she hadn't seen him with a pen – he was never out of her sight. But as she leaned closer her heart stopped to read the name elegantly scrawled on the line – Gold.

It had to be a trick. The stranger had to be just some random guy with a grudge against Rumpelstiltskin trying to wreak havoc in his life. There was no shortage of them nowadays. Gold loved Belle; he wouldn't…

But then, his eyes were so familiar and Gold had been the name on the tip of her tongue since the moment she saw him.

Again, I hope you enjoyed it! Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)))