The Pawn Shop Chronicles

The Martin Guitar

An unrepentant work of RumBelle Smut with no moral fiber whatsoever.

Chapter 1 of 1

Rating NC-17

A/N: This takes place in modern day Storybrooke. There were never any ogres, Belle grew up to marry Gaston and never knew Rumplestiltskin at all. It contains adultery, sex in a pawn shop and lots of cursing so ...to read or not to read, that is the question.

"I don't see what the point is at all, Belle." Gaston Avonlea shot his wife an exasperated look and started to walk back to the living room. Good God, wouldn't it just be easier if he bought a nice futon and slept there so he could watch every single fucking sport that came on? There were over 2,000 hours of time on their DVR and Belle still managed to miss her favorite shows, of which there were a grand total of two, because her dumb ass husband insisted that he had to watch hockey games several times to feel the nuances of the puck on the ice. And the truly sad thing was, he actually thought she believed him when he said that.

"For the last time, Gaston, my car is on empty and I have to go to the post office. I need 25 bucks for gas. They have a package or something I need to sign for." She hoped she sounded agitated enough that he would just relent. Fortunately he did.

He sighed heavily, hoisted his lazy ass off the couch and dug in his wallet, producing a twenty. Belle snatched it. She didn't have time to argue with him. This was plenty.

"Pick me up some beer." She was actually at the door when he yelled it at her down the hallway.

She was so pissed off that she just yelled back. "Fuck off. Take that damn chopper you payed nearly 40 grand for and never ride and get your own. I'll be back." She slammed the door, went to her car, and pulled out of the driveway. She actually made it to the gas pump before the tears started. She had actually been a nice woman many years ago when they got married. It was through their marriage that she had learned to curse like a sailor and despise every single sport on the planet with a fiery passion unlike anything known to God. She even hated tennis and gymnastics. How does one go about being conditioned to hate gymnastics? Some of those athletes were amazing ...and many of the guys were hot, and yet she couldn't watch anything to do with competition without it making her nauseous. She hated fishing ...it was that bad.

She angrily wiped the tears away. For years and years she had been trying to make this marriage work and she knew she could no longer stand it. It was not in her nature to quit, but she'd been packing and looking for her own place for weeks. She probably wouldn't mind so much if he would let her get a job. Even a small, part-time position serving burgers at Granny's would suit her fine. All she wanted to do was keep gas in her car and something that didn't come out of a box on the table. In all these years, she had yet to manage either one. Perhaps it was time they called it what it was. A travesty, an honest to God Shakespearean fucking tragedy that needed to be shot and put out of its misery.

Belle put gas in the tank, got a soda, and headed to the post office. They had never called her home before. She'd had packages, of course, but they had always been good about leaving them on the porch, or barring that, putting one of those yellow sticky notes on the door telling her they would bring it back the next day, so this was truly a mystery.

Fortunately, Storybrooke wasn't a big place, so it didn't take long to satisfy her curiosity. She was surprised when an attorney met her at the glass doors. "Mrs. Avonlea?"

"Belle, please. You are?"

"My name is Ambrose DeLuca Montemayor, I was your Aunt Rose's attorney. I am sorry to tell you that she passed away." Belle tried to look sad but she could not recall ever even knowing she had an Aunt Rose, let alone meeting one. "I am sorry for your loss."

Belle looked at the floor, hoping it seemed like she was grieving, and nodded her thanks.

Ambrose cleared his throat. "We called you down here because I need you to sign some papers to release the item she left to you."

Belle looked up. Had her Aunt Rose been rich? Had she left her some money? That would solve so many of her current issues, since getting money from her husband was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone. Miser and tightwad were not nearly close enough to expressing her opinion of her husband. He was a doctor for Christ's sake and she couldn't get him to give her 25 bucks for gas, but he also wouldn't allow her to work either. He felt it reflected badly on him. As if he wasn't taking care of his family.

The attorney handed her several pieces of paper, pointed to were she should sign, handed her a guitar case, and shook her hand. "Thank you, Mrs ...Belle. You have a wonderful day."

A fucking guitar. Super. What the hell was she supposed to do with a guitar? She had no inclination to play and Gaston ...yeah, right. As she was driving back toward home she passed Mr. Gold's pawn shop. Now there was an idea. Maybe she could get a little cash for the guitar. She did the fastest and most illegal U-turn in history, pulled up along side the shop, and got out.

She had never actually met Mr. Gold. Her husband refused to rent from him, instead he had bought their home. And since she almost never left her own neighborhood, it wasn't surprising that she didn't know many of the business owners. She thought she'd seen him once across the street from Granny's, but hadn't paid much attention.

The door jingled when she walked inside and a strongly accented voice came from the back room. "One moment, if you would."

"No problem," she yelled back.

She wandered around looking at the many items he had on display and finding herself completely engrossed in the rare books section when a throat cleared behind her. She turned around to find ...she blinked ...nope still there, a very attractive man. From what she had always heard he was supposed to be the devil incarnate, but he smiled and nodded and Belle found herself struck dumb. "How can I help you?"

His voice alone was literally beauty in sound. She couldn't help but take a guess. "Scottish?"

His grin widened. "What gave me away?"

Belle laughed and that caused the smile on his face to reach his soft brown eyes. "It's the kilt," she said seriously. And now he laughed. A deep, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through his chest. Belle did not feel either threatened or fretful under that sparkling gaze. He was ...hot. Truly. And his laugh alone tightened things low in her body that she believed had gone extinct, like a volcano. Apparently it had just been dormant.

She had no idea what people were talking about when they said he was stuffy and hard to deal with. He had on jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt that hugged his body showing that he while he might be quite thin, it was all lean muscle. He was a bit taller than her, but not overwhelmingly so, which was unusual in a man given how short she was. His hair was brown with streaks of gray that was long enough to cover his collar and those eyes, especially when they were focused on her, made all the hair on her body stand on end. God, he was attractive.

He held out a hand. "I'm Mr. Gold. What can I do for you?"

"Belle," she said, placing her hand in his. Even his hands were beautiful. Large, long and slender. He had the hands of a concert pianist. Which, fortunately, reminded her why she'd stopped here to begin with. "My aunt left me this guitar and as I have no use for it ..."

His gaze quickly fell on her ring finger and then back to her face. "And your husband? Does he not play guitar?"

Belle scoffed. "He can't drink beer and play at the same time, so I'm going with no." His eyes quickly scanned her face to see if she was joking. When he had ascertained that she was not, he said nothing else. He didn't miss much.

"Well, let's take a look." He held out his hand for the case and walked over to one of the many glass counters in the room. He set the old case down and opened the lid. Belle thought she heard him gasp when he saw what lay inside, but she would never be sure. She walked up and stood, perhaps slightly too closely, next to him. She had no idea what she was looking at aside from the fact that it was, indeed, a guitar. He looked over at her and they were so close she could feel his breath on her face. Neither of them chose to correct the invasion of their personal space. Their gazes held for far too long before he cleared his throat and turned back to the guitar. "I guess your aunt really loved you."

Belle shrugged. "I didn't know her." She then caught on to what he was saying. "Why? What is it?"

He reached inside the case, closed the lid and gently lay the guitar on the top. "This is a Martin guitar. One of the best made guitars in the world. It looks vintage at least, if not antique."

She was still lost. "What does that mean?"

"Well, let me see if it's real or not." He picked it up and Belle watched in a sort of lust filled fascination as he turned it over gently in his hands. She wondered briefly what those hands would feel like on her. She could not recall ever having a reaction like this to a man. This sudden, all consuming lust. Damn. If he kept caressing that guitar she was going to lean over and start licking things that were highly inappropriate.

He kept talking. "The bridge and frets should be ivory, and they are. Wow, this is really high end, and old. The side wood is Brazilian Rosewood, the top is Sitka Spruce. The rosewood is very rare. Usually only put on custom made guitars. People like Elvis Presley and Paul McCartney would have a guitar like this one. It must be at least 75 years-old. Your aunt took amazing care of it." He paused long enough to see the glazed look that had come over Belle's face and laughed. "Okay, so guitar is not your thing. How about this, if it plays as good as it looks ...it's worth about thirty thousand."

Belle gasped. "Dollars?"

He laughed again and shifted his weight so that their shoulders were touching. Belle honestly and truly hoped he was doing that on purpose. "Yes. Dollars. May I play it?"

Her smile lit up her face. "That would be amazing. Do you play well?"

He smirked and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. "I need to sit. Let's go in the back." He indicated a curtain behind the counter. "I'll be right there. Actually we're closed today. I'm doing inventory. Let me lock the door. I'd hate for anyone to just walk in." His eyes and his voice were filled with so much innuendo Belle knew he was feeling the same strange, immediate attraction that she was. She was not going to complain. Maybe this day would turn out better than it started.

#

As she watched his long, slender fingers slide across the neck of that guitar and make some of the most beautiful music she'd ever heard resonate from within it, she moistened her bottom lip. Every person she'd ever heard talk about him had acted like he had no soul and she seemed to recall Ruby saying he always wore a suit. Clearly, Ruby was mistaken. He had said the shop was supposed to be closed. Perhaps these were casual, non-business day clothes. Well, she'd like nothing better than to strip them off of him. He could put a suit on later. She would be happy to help him with that too.

The music stopped and Belle sighed. "Just beautiful."

His eyes locked on to hers. "Yes ...very." God, that voice. He might make her come simply by talking to her with that amazing, soft, husky voice. He set the guitar gently back in the case and turned his attention to her. "Shall we talk about pricing this beautiful guitar, or was there something else I might help you with?"

He reclined on the couch; stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. She could think of about 800 things she'd like him to help her with, and not one of them had anything to do with that guitar. She had never in her life physically wanted someone as much as she wanted this man. She couldn't say why exactly, but a leisurely afternoon of pleasure she'd been devoid of for years would go a long way to making her feel wanted again.

She bit her bottom lip and Gold nearly groaned. She had to stop doing that or he was going to pull her onto his lap and screw her with absolute abandon until she screamed his name ...and then, he would do it again. He was so glad he'd worn jeans. It wasn't something he would normally have on at work, but today, he was doing inventory. He'd forgotten to close up the shop. If it had been a normal day and he were wearing one of his suits, his desire for her would be absolutely clear.

She was watching him with her stunning crystal blue eyes and it was making him crazy. "If you want to, you can come over here with me." The thought escaped his mouth before his brain had time to tell him it was inappropriate. When she stood he almost groaned. He'd fucked up this time. But she …she wasn't leaving. In fact, she was walking toward him, still biting her lip. When she came to a stop in front of him, hovering like an angel from heaven itself, a slight moan escaped him. He had no idea if she realized how stunning she was simply standing there, but he was more than happy to show her ...damn, he didn't want to do anything to make her uncomfortable.

Her voice was so soft he almost didn't hear her. "Will you kiss me?"

Every muscle in his body flexed as a jolt of desire and want rocketed through him. He held out his hand, offering, but not demanding. When she took it, he pulled her forward gently. There was no urgency here. He'd made sure the door was locked. He had not really planned for this to happen. Hoped? Oh, god yes, he'd hoped the looks she was giving him were as suggestive as he thought, but it had been so long since a woman had shown interest in him, he honestly had no idea. She allowed him to pull her close enough that his knees were in between her legs. All she needed to do was take one more step and sit down and she would be in his lap.

At that point, there would be no hiding his desire from her. She would be able to feel how rock hard he was inside his jeans. She took the step and he put his hands on her waist, pulling her down so she could sit. She had to be getting uncomfortable standing there. When they came in to contact, both of them gasped and he pulled her face down so he could capture her mouth with reckless intensity. He slid his tongue along her lower lip and she gasped, allowing for him to deepen the kiss, his tongue danced in her mouth, along the roof, teeth, lips, anywhere he could reach. She groaned, pillaging his mouth, sucking on his tongue, and there was an edge of desperation to what she was doing. It seemed likely that things at home were rather nonexistent. He couldn't begin to fathom a man who would look at this woman and not want her immediately. Her tongue slid up his neck, tasting, searching until it found the pulse point just behind his ear and he gave up analyzing the situation. He could feel guilty later.

His hands came up to cup her breasts through her clothing. God he wanted to bury himself inside her. He wanted to screw her so completely that she never went to anyone else for sex again. He wanted her to leave here thinking about him, with the taste of his body on her tongue, and search her home to find something to bring him to pawn the next day ...her mouth found his again and her fingers trailed down his chest to his belt and he lost his train of thought. Fuck it, it would come back to him. By the time his senses returned, his jeans were unbuttoned. He lifted her shirt and pushed her bra aside so he could wrap his tongue around her tight, hard nipple. She pulled her shirt off and started to unclasp her bra, when his hands stilled hers. "Let me." He leaned forward, pressing his hard on, covered only by the cotton of his underwear at this point against her center; at the same time he plucked at the clasp on the bra until it came free and he could slide it off. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her hard against him, pulling a nipple into his mouth, suckling it, laving it with his tongue until she was pressing and squirming against him.

She reached between them and pulled his underwear aside, exposing him and allowing her to wrap a hand around his hardness. He made a sound somewhere between oh my god and fuck me hard and he had no idea which one he meant and he frankly did not care at all. He reached under her skirt and pushed his hand inside her panties, cupping her, feeling how wet she was, how much she wanted him. He pushed them to one side so he could slide a finger insider her and she threw back her head, groaning. He let a second finger join the first until she was moving up and down, wanting more; needing it. "Please."

Her plea almost made him explode. It was the hottest, sexiest thing he'd ever heard from a woman. She wanted him so much, she was begging him to be inside her. He removed his fingers and she hastily clambered off his lap. He was stunned for a moment, trying to figure out what he'd done until she slid her panties off and slid back in to place, pressing her nakedness against his shaft. He did groan this time. One hand found the back of her neck where he massaged gently, the other grabbed her ass and pulled her up. She realized his hands were, quite literally, full, and reached between them to guide him to her. When she sank down on his shaft and had pressed him into her as far as he could go, she sighed, content for just a moment to have him there, filling her. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her, pulling her back down as he thrust up. Oh ...it felt ...it was ...god. He leaned forward and pulled a nipple into his mouth, rocking her gently on his lap.

Belle was squirming. She wanted this, god how she wanted this. He was kneading her breast, rocking himself inside her, back and forth. It was too slow, her whole body was singing with need. She leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders, changing the angle slightly, and then using him as balance, started pulling up and shoving herself back down, harder and faster. He gasped and allowed her to take the lead. He could feel her body searching for release as she started moving faster, pressing down harder. He couldn't stand it, he wanted to feel all that tightness wrap around him and he wanted it now.

He lifted her up and for a moment she looked confused until he turned her around and leaned her over the edge of the couch. He took just a moment to savor the beauty in front of him, trembling, waiting, wanting him ...of all people, and then he gave up trying to be controlled, guided himself inside her and pulled her against him fast and hard. It took only a few thrusts before she cried out and shuddered all around him. Oh, it was good, it felt amazing. His thrusting became erratic as he fought for control. He didn't want this to end ...not yet, but he couldn't stop it. He leaned over her back, whispered in her ear and kissed just behind it and then slammed himself inside her as fast and hard as he could. She cried out as another orgasm hit her, and this time, he joined her. One, two, three more thrusts and he shuddered, spilling himself inside of her, and trailing kisses down her spine.

It took several moments before either of them could move enough to turn around and sit together on the couch. She curled up at his side, running her hand over his chest, down his abdomen, back up, and repeating. He stroked her hair and kissed her lightly. "Keep that up and we'll never get out of this room."

Belle gave him the most mischievous smile he'd ever seen. "Trapped in a room with you and nothing to do ..." She laughed. "I'm good with that, but I should get home."

He felt suddenly empty. "Will you come back?"

She leaned forward and kissed him. They were like that for long enough that he had to pull away. He was going to go all cave man, throw her over his shoulder and lock her up in his home.

Belle grinned. "We still have to negotiate over that guitar."

The smile he gave her lit up his entire face. "I foresee those being some very interesting negotiations."