Another one of my comedy romances finessed by yours truly. So while looking through the tags on Ao3, I noticed that there were no Golf!rumbelle verses. So who else but me can change that fact lol (since I actually play golf)Sorry for the ridiculous title, and if you have an idea for a new one, let me know in the comments.
-RL

Just breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Knees slightly bent. Shoulders aligned with feet. Back straight. Elbows locked, and don't forget to follow through. She took a look down the fairway, then back down at the small white golf ball on the tee. She squeezed the grip tight and lifts up her club, pulling it back into the air and beyond her head. She closed her eyes and swung with a powerful strike.

Whoosh!

Belle felt good about this swing and knew that she sent her ball soaring. She reopened her eyes and stood on her tippy toes in her golf cleats searching the blue skies for her aerial ball, using her hand as a visor to shield her eyes from the sun. Where was that damn ball?

"You won't find it up there, Ms. French." That familiar chauvinistic voice of her coach said, mocking her contemptuously. "Look down."

She did, and there was her golf ball, still sitting neatly on its tee, mocking her just as much as her instructor did. She groaned in frustration and assumed her stance again. Breathe, knees bent, shoulder squared, back straight, elbows locked, and swing.

Crunch was the sound she heard this time as her nine wood dug up a patch of earth, sending the sod flying in the air at least 10 feet away from where she stood on the tee box.

"Keep digging Ms. French." He said. "You just may dig a grave big enough for the whole team when our opponents bury us at district next week."

He was such an arrogant asshole. Why did Belle ever agree to this? Yeah, at the time it was to help out her friend Ruby who'd injured her leg snowboarding, but to put up with this insensitive prick was becoming too much for her to bare. Belle took another hard swing at the ball, slicing through the air, missing the ball and the ground entirely. Internally cursing the ball, Belle swung hard again. Over and over, without using her proper golf technique and each time, she missed the ball, digging large divots in the grassy tee box with each stroke of her club.

His hand attached itself around the shaft of her club, stopping her in mid swing. "What on earth do you think you're doing? This isn't softball Ms. French, and you will show this course some respect."

"How about showing me some respect too?" She snapped in frustration, snatching her driver from his hand. "How about instead of just standing there judging me, you could try teaching me."

"I've taught you everything, and you insist on forgetting the most important step." He shouted back at her. " Every stroke, you close your eyes like the club magically knows where you want it to go. Watch the damn ball."

"Why can't you see that I'm trying!"

"Try harder!"

Belle threw the club to the ground and folded her arms across her chest. She had enough of his impatient attitude towards her. She didn't mind helping her friend, but not at the cost of being ridiculed. Ruby's coach was impossible. Belle has never met a man so challenging and down right rude in her life.

Gold sighed. Maybe he was a bit too overbearing. Belle didn't have to be here picking up Ruby's slack, and in fact, he and the team needed her. It was the pressure getting to him. It was the district championship, and the stakes were high. Winning this tournament could place them in State, then next Regionals. The Lady Golfers of Storybrooke University have never been this close to the taste of victory before, but his stress was no excuse for picking on Ruby's stand-in. No matter how bad she was at golf, or how good she looked in her practice uniform.

He often lost his train of thought while watching her take practice swings. Her form was horrible, but her body was flawless. The little tank top of her uniform bared her flat stomach and curvy hips. The high hem of the ruffled skirt showed off her toned thighs and legs, and he frequently had to pray for calm weather that was absent of strong winds. Her first day of practice was perfect for training in gusty conditions, but Belle wasn't as familiar with her outfit like the other girls were, and didn't get the memo to wear undershorts beneath her skirt. Gold got an eyeful of her blue lacy panties with every passing breeze, and every time he was forced to walk off his boner instead of riding in the golf cart with the rest of the team. The next day, Gold made a request to his assistant coach about changing the uniform's design to shorts as a better alternative, but Coach Mills declined it stating that the girls would be more comfortable in free-flowing skirts. Now he was forced to watch Belle prance up and down the fairway in her little attire.

These extra private lessons were hard on him too. Perhaps that was another reason why he was so short- tempered with her. Gold's snide remarks were his last line of defense to keep his feelings hidden from her. But it wasn't her fault that she had beautiful blue eyes, smooth creamy skin, and a perfect body that drove him insane. Besides, his rude comments weren't helping her golfing skills. If Belle was ever going to learn how to play golf, he had to take control of her training.

"Pick up the club Ms. French." He told her, subsiding his annoyance. "I'm sorry for being brash with you."

"Fine." She said, bending over to retrieve her club, and Gold involuntarily got another ample eyeful of her panties. "But if you yell at me one more time, I'm leaving."

"I won't. No more shouting." He promised. "Besides I think I see what the problem is."

"What is it?"

"I think you require a more hands-on demonstration." He said, taking a step closer to her. "Take your stance."

Belle rolled her eyes as she turned and faced the little ball, keeping it square between her feet, and her feet aligned with her shoulders. Unexpectedly, her Coach took the same stance behind her, placing his arm around her stomach, and merging his body against hers.

"Breathe Ms. French." He told her, demonstrating proper breathing by taking a deep breath. His chest rose and fell against her back, urging her to adjust her breathing to his. Belle took in a breath and exhaled, relaxing her mind and easing the tension in her body.

"Good, now open your legs a little wider. Even spacing with the ball." He said, softly shifting his knee between hers and pushing them outwards.

The soft tone of his voice compelled her to listen, and his arm around her waist wasn't helping her either. It never occurred to Belle that a gentler man resided in him. She wished he brought this persona out more often. Her coach wasn't a bad looking guy either, and now as he held her close, she was beginning to see just how handsome he was. Helplessly trying to stay focused, she did what he advised and spaced her legs evenly, forming a box-like square around the ball below on the tee.

"Bend your knees more." he whispered in her ear.

As she did what he instructed, her body pressed closer to his, leaving not even an inch of space between their bodies. Her backside leveled with his crotch, and Belle stiffened up again while being so close to him. She closed her eyes and felt almost breathless as her instructor placed his hands on hers and together they simultaneously gripped the rubber handle of the club.

"Deep breaths Ms. French," He reminded her, caressing his thumb over her gloved hands that were wrapped securely around the handle of her driver.

"Loosen your grip, don't clutch it so tight. Let your back and hips do all the work for you," Gold murmured the instructions in her ear. "Keep your head down and eyes on the ball. Don't think too hard about where you want the ball to go. Just focus on your technique."

"Okay," she said staring at the ball, keeping her breathing steady, and matching the same rhythm as her coach's. She probably should say something to him about standing so close to her, but something in her didn't want to ruin this perfect moment.

"Are you ready to swing?" He asked.

Belle nodded, and together they pulled the club backwards into the air and over their shoulders. Belle could feel his breath on her neck, and it sent chills down her spine, placing a need that pooled in her lower stomach. While her club was in the air, in the backstroke position, his hand left her grip and trailed down her wrist and arm to her elbow. He tucked it in, locking her elbow in place before continuing to pad his hand down her side to her waist.

"Keep all your movement right here. Control your swing with your hips," Belle's instructor said with his hand touching her waist. "They're very bountiful, so I know you can handle it."

Belle bit her lip. For the past week, all her new coach has ever done was patronized her. Where was this man hiding? She was quickly losing her concentration while his hips hugged against hers. His hand softly held on to her waist to indicate where all her power laid. She sunk deeper into him, and his body's posture was the only thing keeping her upright.

"Very good Ms. French." Gold said. He was just as turned on by this lesson as she was.

Her little waist was nuzzled in his hand as he ran it over her curves and down her hips. He could smell the lavender of her shampoo in her hair as a cool breeze swept through the trees. He would give anything just to kiss her neck and shoulders, but he doubted she would appreciate that after how he treated her for the past week. So he was left to ignore the strong desires to remove the club from her hands and lead her back to the clubhouse for a more in-depth lesson on how to score a hole-in-one.

"What should I do next?" Her heavenly voice asked, sending more arousal to the region below his belt.

"Keep your eyes on the ball, and follow through." He said, placing his hand back on hers.

Belle followed the instructions he fed into her ear and kept all her strength in her back and hips, refusing the need to close her eyes and keeping them locked on the ball. They shifted together, slicing the club through the air until she heard a piercing cling. Belle followed through with her shot, keeping her perfect form with the club behind her head. Her eyes hadn't left the ground, and she noticed that the ball was gone. All that stood there was her solid blue tee.

"Look up."

Belle looks into the sky, searching the clouds for her ball. "Where, I don't see it."

"There." He said, letting go of her so he could point to the sky, but Belle couldn't see the ball he was aiming to. She followed his hand as it lowered until she heard a distinct plopping sound that signaled her ball's safe return to earth. "It's on the fairway."

"That's good right?" She asked, turning to her coach to see the very impressed expression and the astonishment he held in his eyes, but something else about him caught her attention.

"Indeed. It was perfect Ms. French. That was at least 200 yards." He said mesmerized by her shot and mentally calculating how much distance she'd got.

"Um- coach?"

"I've never seen a curve like that either," He said with an excited smile, still looking down the fairway at her ball. "Only the professionals can get distance like that."

"Coach there's-" she muttered as her cheeks turned flushed with color.

"If you keep this up Ms. French, the other teams won't stand a chance against you."

Belle giggled, and Gold finally stopped remarking about her shot and turned to her when he heard a muffled snicker and saw her laughing delightfully behind her hand.

"What so funny?" He asked curiously.

"I think you may want to take care of that." She said, pointing to the center of his pants, still laughing and blushing. She supposed Mr. Gold was very excited, in more ways than one.

When Gold looked down to where she was gesturing to, he found his pants tented by his erection. He quickly shielded his lower body from Belle with his shirt as deep wrinkles set into his forehead from embarrassment.

"Get in the golf cart and go find your ball Ms. French." he said, turning slightly, trying to dodge her eye contact.

"You don't wanna ride with me?"

"No, I much rather walk today." He said, declining her offer and choosing the wise decision not to ride down the fairway with her so he could walk off his boner.